Robert, I can agree or sympathise with much of what you say just above, and I'm sure I'm not alone in looking forward to your next book, but I am both encouraged and a bit dismayed by this statement:
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E.g., I tried to start every chapter with an example. It did not work because the example was floating unrelated to the contents and the reader would need to read on, learn about the general ideas and then go back to the example to understand it.
I am encouraged in that you appear to be responding to comments (not just from me) that there are various ways to skin a cat. I'm dismayed because of the way you dismiss that attempt. Even if you haven't got the experience or the will to make it work, it is indeed a perfectly good way to present a topic by giving an intriguing example first and having the reader go back to it. The intriguing aspect provides motivation. If, for example, you also add text that asks the reader to try this problem using his usual approach and then read on and compare the new approach, you may create extra clarity (for him). And by engaging the reader in this friendly way, you are further increasing motivation. This is far from the only workable technique, but it does seem to work for many (most?) people.
The motivational aspect is important. You say yourself that great effort is required. You ought therefore to provide as much motivation as you can. In tennis, say, a good coach does not usually need to explain to his charge that he needs to move this muscle and generate so many kg/f while focusing on x and not forgetting y. Instead he handles this in the background, often simpy by example - hit it like this. Mostly, he simply tries to motivate the player to hit ball after ball thousands and thousands of times until the action becomes automatic. The player does not need to have any understanding of what he is doing. In fact, if he focuses on even one small part of his technique, instead of relying on automaticity, this is supposed to be the cause of choking in sport.
It's a bit different for some amateurs. They may want understanding of the mechanics to help them enjoy watching the sport more. Or they may want to become coaches themselves, or be umpires, say. But if they want understanding because they delude themselves into thinking that there are shortcuts to mastery or being a top pro, they will soon find that they make little progress. The "ten thousand hours" or "ten years" rule seems to have been confirmed in so many different fields (even for apparent prodigies like Mozart) that it is clear that precise understanding is irrelevant, and can even interfere with progress. The goal is not to understand but to effect a physical change in the brain, through repetition, so that no analysis is required. Only instant response is needed. You may claim that understanding can speed up the process. In terms of the ten thousand hours required, it makes not a ha'porth of difference apparently. You cannot shorten that time significantly. The brain seems to require that amount of time as a sort of physical constant.
Once that automaticity is achieved, the player is either unable to explain how his brain achieves the instant response (naturally enough - explain how you catch a ball) or unwilling even to try - focusing on technique can cause choking or other interference. When top sportsmen detect a glitch, they do not normally analyse it themselves but get a coach to do that and to devise a regime by which the sportsman can retrain his brain with even more constant practice. Go pros who don't make it in the tournament field and who have to rely on teaching amateurs by focusing on details instead of automaticity claim to become up to two stones weaker as a result. This is probably a manifestation of the choking effect as much as lack of practice. Viewed this way, your repeated criticisms of pros as terrible teachers unable to answer your supposedly penetrating questions takes on a different dimension. You are just asking the wrong questions of the wrong people.
Of course, gaining or giving someone else an
insight into something like go can be beneficial, but probably not in terms of improving the learning process directly. Rather, the little glow of understanding is more likely to provide a little bit more inspiration or motivation to put in the ten thousand hours.
If you look in this way at the example books you so often deride, you can see their great value. It may be something as simple as a favourite pro's name on the book. It may be the way the examples are graduated. It may be the book has a pretty cover, But one way or another, if it encourages the reader to go through and do every problem and put in part of the ten thousand hours, then that book is a success and, for the player who wants to be competent in tournament play, part of the only way to success.
Your derision of example books has one reasonable basis. The practice must be purposeful. If, like you, a western reader of an Oriental text is unable to get hints from the text as to how to approach a particular book, the purposefulness may be lost. But that is hardly the fault of the book or the writer. Maybe one needs to follow the example of chess players who used to learn Russian to get access to the best material. I think it is true to say that western go has sorely lacked guidance on purposeful study, mostly because of lack of access to the right teachers but probably partly through lack of the right books.
Obviously even an example book can still be badly written or designed (no purposefulness described, no graduation, etc), but the fact that the market supports so many of these books must give pause for thought beyond it being a conspiracy by evil capitalist publishers.
Purely motivational books have a market, too (viz. the self-help industry) but it is difficult to write such a book in go. Even if one were written, it may help some people but turn others off completely. I, for example, am put off not just by the Lego-brick and list style, but also by the relentless hectoring and false enthusiam of the snake-oil salesmen who write self-help books.
The real problem is that we don't and can't know what inspires an individual. I might include a line in a history book that Jowa was the son of fisherman but by fanatically hard work he became Honinbo. Some reader, for all I know and maybe descended from a line of fishermen himself, might be inspired by that one line to put in ten thousand hours of practising examples and become the first western Honinbo.
If that happened, I couldn't take any credit. The best any writer can do is to add motivational fish to the pool and so make it more likely that novice anglers can catch one - any size and any one, not just yours. Trying to sell a book by claiming it is the only way it can be done, or that the writer is the only person who could possibly have done it, is not going to convince many of us that this fish is necessarily any better than all those other fish that have been thriving as they happily swim around out there. We just want the one special fish that can make us happy.
A fair number of western players have already tried to put in the ten thousand hours, not with real success yet. Maybe they haven't actually got close to ten thousand, but my own analysis leads me to think that what western go lacks most is guidance on the
purposeful part of the study. This is mostly because of lack of access to the right teachers but probably partly also through lack of the right books.
So, an interesting question is whether either Robert's book or his approach can help remedy that lack. As explained above, I don't think the book can help directly: it doesn't (can't) substitute for the ten thousand hours, and the ten thousand hours can't be reduced, so it can't provide shortcuts in that sense. The focus on details might even be detrimental. Perhaps, though, it can help with motivation, either of players or coaches, but in that area the approach, or style, may or may not be significant. Even if it does work, it can probably only work with the portion of people who find a specific trigger there to motivate them. And I would still be totally certain the cat could have been skinned another way, but of course the motivated portion might well differ too.
However, it may help with purposefulness more than with motivation. Still, if it does, how much does it matter? This is one thing I could never get a good angle on when reading about the ten thousand hours. Yes, all the experts insist purposeful practice is "important", but they also seem to give the impression that you can still become a pro or "gifted amateur" if you put sufficient hours in. The more purposeful person may, I gather, become a 9-dan instead of a 6-dan or 1-dan, but mastery is apparently within the grasp of all, even those who have no understanding of what they are doing.
Also, is purposefulness more important than motivation? I couldn't get a clear angle on that either. It is clear that repetitive practice over a very long period seems to be, by far, far, far, the most important aspect, and if motivation leads to that, motivation may be more important than purposefulness. But purposefulness may also feed into motivation (and, of course, there are other factors not mentioned here). It's real teaser.
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Different aspect:
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my current books do study the same (ca. 170) josekis throughout the books and do illuminate them from every possible angle
Even the historical angle as in Fukui Masaaki's recent joseki dictionary? Though small, this provided much more motivation for me to look at josekis than the dense Ishida etc dictionary. I've now put in the first ten thousand seconds...