After Steve Jobs anointed Walter Isaacson as his authorised biographer in 2009, he took Mr Isaacson to see the Mountain View, Calif, house in which he had lived as a boy. He pointed out its “clean design” and “awesome little features”. He praised the developer, Joseph Eichler, who built more than 11,000 homes in California subdivisions, for making an affordable product on a mass-market scale. And he showed Mr Isaacson the stockade fence built 50 years earlier by his father, Paul Jobs.
“He loved doing things right,” Mr Jobs said. “He even cared about the look of the parts you couldn’t see.”
Mr Jobs, the brilliant and protean creator whose inventions so utterly transformed the allure of technology, turned those childhood lessons into an all-purpose theory of intelligent design. He gave Mr Isaacson a chance to play by the same rules. His story calls for a book that is clear, elegant and concise enough to qualify as an iBio. Mr Isaacson’s Steve Jobs does its solid best to hit that target.
As a biographer of Albert Einstein and Benjamin Franklin, Mr Isaacson knows how to explicate and celebrate genius: revered, long-dead genius. But he wrote Steve Jobs as its subject was mortally ill, and that is a more painful and delicate challenge. (He had access to members of the Jobs family at a difficult time.) Mr Jobs promised not to look over Mr Isaacson’s shoulder, and not to meddle with anything but the book’s cover. (Boy, does it look great.) And he expressed approval that the book would not be entirely flattering. But his legacy was at stake. And there were awkward questions to be asked. At the end of the volume, Mr Jobs answers the question “What drove me?” by discussing himself in the past tense.
Mr Isaacson treats Steve Jobs as the biography of record, which means that it is a strange book to read so soon after its subject’s death. Some of it is an essential Silicon Valley chronicle, compiling stories well known to tech aficionados but interesting to a broad audience. Some of it is already quaint (Mr Jobs’ first job was at Atari, and it involved the game Pong). Some, like an account of the release of the iPad 2, is so recent that it is hard to appreciate yet, even if Mr Isaacson says the device comes to life “like the face of a tickled baby”.
Although Mr Isaacson is not analytical about his subject’s volatile personality (the word “obnoxious” figures in the book frequently), he raises the question of whether feelings of abandonment in childhood made him fanatically controlling and manipulative as an adult. Fortunately, that glib question stays unanswered.
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Mr Jobs, who founded Apple with Stephen Wozniak and Ronald Wayne in 1976, began his career as a seemingly contradictory blend of hippie truth seeker and tech-savvy hothead.
Mr Isaacson takes his readers back to the time when laptops, desktops and windows were metaphors, not everyday realities. His book ticks off how each of the Apple innovations that we now take for granted first occurred to Mr Jobs or his creative team. Steve Jobs means to be the authoritative book about those achievements, and it also follows Mr Jobs into the wilderness (and to NeXT and Pixar) after his first stint at Apple, which ended in 1985.
Of course the book also tracks Mr Jobs’ long and combative rivalry with Bill Gates. The section devoted to Mr Jobs’ illness, which suggests that his cancer might have been more treatable had he not resisted early surgery, describes the relative tenderness of their last meeting.
Steve Jobs greatly admires its subject. But its most adulatory passages are not about people. Offering a combination of tech criticism and promotional hype, Mr Isaacson describes the arrival of each new product right down to Mr Jobs’ theatrical introductions and the advertising campaigns.
Mr Jobs’ virtual reinvention of the music business with iTunes and the iPod, for instance, is made to seem all the more miraculous (“He’s got a turn-key solution,” the music executive Jimmy Iovine said). Mr Isaacson’s long view basically puts Mr Jobs up there with Franklin and Einstein, even if a tiny MP3 player is not quite the theory of relativity.
Mr Jobs’ love of music plays a big role in Steve Jobs, like his extreme obsession with Bob Dylan. (Like Mr Dylan, he had a romance with Joan Baez. Her version of Mr Dylan’s “Love Is Just a Four-Letter Word” was on Mr Jobs’ own iPod.) So does his extraordinary way of perceiving ordinary things, like well-made knives and kitchen appliances. That he admired the Cuisinart food processor he saw at Macy’s may sound trivial, but his subsequent idea that a molded plastic covering might work well on a computer does not. Years from now, the research trip to a jelly bean factory to study potential colours for the iMac case will not seem as silly as it might now.
Sceptic after sceptic made the mistake of underrating Steve Jobs, and Mr Isaacson records the howlers who misjudged an unrivaled career. “Sorry Steve, Here’s Why Apple Stores Won’t Work,” Businessweek wrote in a 2001 headline. “The iPod will likely become a niche product,” a Harvard Business School professor said. “High tech could not be designed and sold as a consumer product,” Mr Sculley said in 1987.
Mr Jobs had the last laugh every time. Steve Jobs makes it all the sadder that his last laugh is over.
STEVE JOBS
Walter Isaacson
Simon & Schuster
630 pages; $35
©2011 The New York Times News Service