Okay, the first question the reader should be asking is “Why is a book on poker being reviewed in Skeptical Inquirer?” Followed by “Why is it being reviewed by a psychologist?” And then “What does he know about poker?”
Let me answer in reverse order. I’ve been a poker player all my life. I’ve cashed in several WSOP (as in World Series of Poker) tournaments with buy-ins (your entry fee before you can sit down to play) of $1,000 and up. I’ve won more than a few smaller events in poker rooms on both coasts and, until we got sidelined by COVID-19, played in a regular “home” game with some pretty sharp opponents.
The answer to the second is Konnikova has a PhD in psychology from Columbia University, where she worked with Walter Mischel, one of the more influential social psychologists of the past half-century, and psychological issues run through every aspect of this book. I’ve also written a longer and more technical review of the book for the American Journal of Psychology.
The answer to the first question is simple. Konnikova understands the complex interplay between skill and luck and is clear on the fallacy of how luck gets “reified” and treated as though it were some mysterious “thing” that one can have (for a time) or not (for a time) rather than what it is: a statistical necessity that plays a role in virtually every interesting thing that people do—including playing poker.
The book is a story told, a tale of how she went from a complete naïf (she’d never played poker before and didn’t know how many cards are in the deck) to becoming a professional player in one year. She started with a shrewd move: linking up with Erik Seidel to be her mentor. Seidel is one of the best poker players of all time and has amassed over $38 million in tournament winnings (no, that’s not a typo) and routinely plays in tournaments with entry fees in the hundreds of thousands of dollars (neither is that). They meet, chat, text, phone, and “sweat” each other (watch a friend play). Remarkably, within one year Konnikova has won a major international tournament, is signed up as a sponsored player by a major website, and—as the title suggests—comes to know a lot about herself she didn’t know when beginning this adventure.
What is most relevant in the world of the skeptic is Konnikova’s approach to luck, karma, kismet—whatever you want to call it—both in poker and life at large. Life is a “game” of partial information. You only know some of what is going on, only a few of the factors that cause events occurring around and to you. Poker, often described as a microcosm of life, is also a game of partial information. You know your two hole cards and the five common cards dealt on the board. You do not know what your opponent(s) have and must use all available information to make the optimal decisions—never forgetting that each hand is going to turn on that statistical, mathematically calculable factor: the luck of the draw, the fortune of the turned card.
A surprising number of people believe that luck is something real, something that can be cultured with just the right rituals or avoiding just the wrong ones. The number thirteen is considered unlucky (many hotels don’t have a thirteenth floor). In China and Japan, it’s four, and many buildings don’t have a fourth floor. Of course, there really are such floors, but they’ve been assigned different numbers—which makes you wonder whether it’s the numeral or some “four-ness” quality that carries the “bad luck.”
Konnikova’s focus is on the extent to which people act on these beliefs and what the consequences are. If you think you’re “due” to fill a flush because you’ve missed on the past six draws, you will have no chance at poker. Cards have no memories. They do not “know” that you’re “running bad”—and they don’t care.
I suspect that a good part of Konnikova’s rapid rise comes from her psychology background. Her dissertation was on the paradoxical effect that individuals who have high levels of confidence in their abilities often misunderstand the extent to which positive outcomes are due not to their own abilities but to the vagaries of life—to chance. She found that these individuals, the ones with high self-esteem who are generally more successful than those with low self-esteem, actually perform more poorly when the conditions have a significant element of chance. Because they are used to being in control of most daily situations, they tend to underestimate the role statistical, noncausal fluctuation actually plays.
The research is within what’s known as “attribution theory.” To what do people attribute the causes of the events around them? Do they tend to take responsibility for success and blame for failure? Do they attribute outcomes to chance or the actions of others? In poker, you need to be highly skilled but not fall prey to a misattribution. You can make the right decisions and still fail. As Konnikova wisely puts it, “Nothing is all skill,” and those who fail to appreciate this often find themselves handicapped by their misplaced attributions—in poker and life.
Can she keep it up? Poker is jokingly called an easy way to make a tough living. Playing in the world of tournament poker means being on the road, living out of hotel rooms away from family. Before this voyage, she had cadged a pretty good gig—staff writer for The New Yorker—so she does have fallback if she needs it.