26 Books Like Risk Savvy

It wasn’t until reading this book that I realized how important it was to focus on the fast, instinctive part of our mind. Getting that initial judgment and reaction right makes everything else easier. Too often, I found myself wanting to understand things logically and rationally, assuming that my instincts and emotions were simply wrong.

This book helped me understand how useful both systems were and how to leverage them to achieve my goals faster and more effectively.

Published in 1997, DeBecker offered something no one else I was reading came close to: an explanation of warning signs that precede violence that are so subtle they leave many people with a bad feeling about a situation, for example, with a stranger, but no idea why they feel that way. The temptation then is to override the gut feeling: “What is wrong with me? It’s the middle of the day and this nice man just wants to help me carry my groceries up to my apartment.”

DeBecker himself is a fascinating figure. He grew up with a heroin-addicted mother who waved a gun around frequently and finally shot his stepfather before committing suicide when he was 16. DeBecker learned to rely on small, subtle clues to tell when she was dangerous and when she was not. After her death, he was taken in by Rosemary Clooney, the mother of… show more.

I recommend this book because it completely flips the idea of resilience.

Taleb argues that we shouldn’t aim to be unbreakable. Instead, we should aim to grow stronger from stress and volatility. I don’t agree with every example (and it’s dense at times), but it’s one of those books that forces me to think differently about systems, teams, and even my own mindset.

It’s a powerful reminder that disruption isn’t the enemy, stagnation is. 

What I loved about this book is that Norman Marks, a global expert on risk, wrote about the complex field of risk management in an accessible (lay) voice. I loved that, as a contributor to the ISO standards, he then pointed out the imperfections in the standards he had contributed to.

Intellectual humility is not often seen. I appreciated the way he explained world-class management as if he were having a conversation with the major risk management theories, pointing out strengths and weaknesses and boldly stating what he disagrees with or doesn’t actually work. I loved hearing his voice: “If I ruled the world, [I’d do it this way…].” Of course, I was curious to keep reading.

Ok: This is not an easy read like the other books I’ve recommended.

In fact, some parts of it require quite a lot of the reader. But it is a very smart and novel book on human reasoning, uncertainty, and probability.

Gigerenzer elegantly shows us how human behavior often is more rational than one might think, and his concept of “fast and frugal heuristics” is instrumental in understanding how we deal with probability and risk.

If you’ve read Thinking Fast and Slow by Kahneman and are open to some new and different perspectives on rationality and decision-making, this is your book.  

Reflection and reason are overrated, according to renowned psychologist Gerd Gigerenzer.

Much better qualified to help us make decisions is the cognitive, emotional, and social repertoire we call intuition, a suite of gut feelings that have evolved over the millennia specifically for making decisions.

Gladwell drew heavily on Gigerenzer's research. But Gigerenzer goes a step further by explaining just why our gut instincts are so often right.

I have heard Gerd Gigerenzer lecture and read several of his books. If you want to use your gut feeling and your mind, this book tells you how.

More than a century has passed since the First World War, but this book shows us that its humanitarian legacies are well worth remembering.

I appreciate this book for many reasons, but most of all, for the truly global perspective its authors take. They make it clear that the Great War was truly a world war. More than this, it should be remembered as a global humanitarian crisis. The authors examine many diverse efforts to assist both soldiers and civilians while also considering the messy politics involved in these relief efforts.

I find this book valuable for revealing the complex relationships between aid workers and relief recipients, a dynamic as central today as it was 100 years ago.

I especially like how this book widens the scope of analysis of humanitarian responses to include both human-made disasters (e.g., war, genocide, terrorism) and natural disasters (e.g., earthquakes, cyclones).

I learned much from the author’s multidisciplinary perspectives on the economics of humanitarianism based on his decades-long policy experiences in humanitarian aid and development.

I found several chapters in the book to be unique or rarely found elsewhere including “The Humanitarian Market” (covering data and perspectives on the supply and demand of humanitarian aid), “Survival Economics” (covering the deep needs of individuals and families living through disasters), and “The Transformative Power of Humanitarian Crises” (on how disasters can be springboards for institutional reform and long-term development).

Easy Travel to Other Planets by Ted Mooney, is a fictionalised story of an attempt at another Moon shot idea; the building of an interspecies communication bridge between humans and dolphins. This was a real experiment attempted in the 1960s, by neuroscientist John Lilly – which I made a film about, for the BBC, called The Girl who talked to Dolphins. Like God’s Debris, Mooney’s book challenges our perceptions of reality, and like Varieties of Scientific Experience, it tries to shed light on what it is to be human. Not only does it cover these grand ideas, but it also touches on some very prescient themes – such as our current epidemic of information overload and our existential environmental crisis.

I find this book outstanding for its various rare and extraordinary features: its expert coverage of the cleverly termed subject of ‘information overload’ in historical and modern contexts, the information explosion of Renaissance Europe, and the information revolution of our own time. 

It contains engaging accounts of knowledge collection and management in the comparative context of experiences from premodern Chinese, Byzantine, Islamic, and European cultures; fascinating illustrations capturing the book’s rich content;  and a wealth of primary and secondary sources, manuscripts and printed works, further enhanced by a comprehensive Index.

But above all, it is the book’s historically sensitive perspective that makes it literally ‘outstanding’: one not identifying a single factor, whether a technology, an institution, or cultural tradition, in explaining the nature and fate of our common heritage of knowledge transmission.