The British have endured phonies for so many centuries more than Americans that they have developed not only a taste but a taxonomy for the entire breed. The brutal gamesmanship of Stephen Potter, the manic bureaucracies of C. Northcote Parkinson, the leverages of C. P. Snow have shipped well across the Atlantic. (There is no point in discussing the Angry Young Men; they were too much impressed by the entire business to be discriminating shoppers.)
The latest entry in this league is a calm volume—calm like a corpse is calm—which purports to be a guidebook to success.
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