I really wanted to hate this book because it features some of the standard annoyances of our age: "priv lit" where the protagonist makes strides with the help of wise non-white others, relentless name dropping, and corporate hagiography.
Yet I stuck with it, and it ends up being both a useful business book and a solid meditation, a critique even, of our working world. One of the main points is that working for J. Walter Thompson sucked - screw that non-disparagement agreement! I've never understood the ad agency mystique, so I might have some confirmation bias. I like how he goes from corporate brown-nosing and hatchet-jobbing and abstract persuasion to the death of his career, to face to face commerce with the public. Granted, only one of his customers (the backpack guy) is a jerk, and he's also the one that doesn't fit the precious professional Manhattanite mold. But what a relief to get away from white collar skullduggery and business-speak like "passion" and "facetime".
I enjoyed this book. I think of it as off-kilter business read. Would I have liked a more balanced critique of Starbucks as a corporate citizen? Sure.
