Mark: A study of middle schools in Portugal found that giving students more high-speed internet access actually made their grades worse. Michelle: Wait, so more information made them dumber? That's completely counter-intuitive. I thought access to knowledge was the whole point. Mark: It is. But it turns out, having all the answers at your fingertips might be the very thing that stops you from asking the most important questions. That's the central paradox explored in Curious: The Desire to Know and Why Your Future Depends On It by Ian Leslie. Michelle: Curious. I like it. It’s one of those books that’s highly rated by readers but doesn't scream for attention, which makes me even more interested. Mark: Exactly. And Leslie is the perfect person to write this. He's not just an academic; he's a journalist and a former communication strategist for major brands. He's spent his career figuring out what makes people tick, and he argues that curiosity is this endangered, crucial skill for the modern world. Michelle: Okay, so if curiosity is so important, what does it even mean? I feel like I'm curious about a million things a day, from a weird bug on my window to what my neighbor is yelling about. Is all curiosity created equal? Mark: That is the perfect question, and Leslie argues, absolutely not. He says there are two fundamental types, and one can be incredibly dangerous, while the other can literally save your life.

Michelle: Dangerous? How can being curious be dangerous? Mark: Well, Leslie starts with this incredibly tense story. It’s the 1960s in St. Louis. A ten-year-old boy named Brian Smith is playing in his parents' bedroom with his younger brother. They're rummaging through drawers, and under their dad's underwear, they find a gun. Michelle: Oh no. I have a bad feeling about this. Mark: As you should. They are instantly fascinated by it. It’s a heavy, metallic, forbidden object. For weeks, they play with it in secret. Brian later recalled, "My curiosity got the better of me." This is what Leslie calls diversive curiosity. It’s that restless, novelty-seeking impulse. It’s the magpie brain, attracted to shiny new things without any deeper purpose. Michelle: It’s the human equivalent of a cat batting at a piece of string. Or, in a more modern sense, it’s doomscrolling. It’s that endless, mindless clicking from one hyperlink to the next just to see what’s there. Mark: Precisely. And it can have consequences. One evening, Brian is home alone. He gets the gun, goes to the window, and starts pointing it at people on the street below, pretending to shoot. He cocks the hammer, pulls the trigger, and suddenly, there's a loud crack. The gun fires. A bullet smashes into the giant neon sign of the Red Goose Shoes store across the street, and the whole thing goes dark. People on the sidewalk are scrambling for cover. Michelle: Oh my god, that's every parent's nightmare! He’s so lucky no one was hurt. That’s a terrifying example of where that kind of untamed curiosity can lead. Mark: It is. And Leslie contrasts that raw, dangerous impulse with the second type of curiosity, which he calls epistemic curiosity. This isn't just about finding something new; it's the deep, disciplined desire to understand something. To build knowledge. And his prime example is a man named John Lloyd. Michelle: I feel like I should know that name. Mark: You probably do, indirectly. Lloyd was a hugely successful TV producer in Britain. He worked on iconic shows like Blackadder and Spitting Image. But by the early 90s, he was in a deep depression. He felt his life was meaningless, that despite all his success, he was profoundly ignorant. He had a full-blown existential crisis. Michelle: I’ve been there. The feeling that you’ve just been faking it the whole time and you actually know nothing. Mark: Exactly. So what did he do? He didn't go on a lavish vacation. He started reading. He just followed his curiosity, diving into ancient history, science, philosophy—anything and everything. He wasn't studying for a test; he was feeding his mind. He said he had a realization: "The closer you look at anything, the more interesting it gets." This deep, sustained quest for knowledge pulled him out of his depression. Michelle: And what came out of it? Mark: It sparked an idea for a TV show. A quiz show where the answers were less important than the fascinating facts and connections behind them. A show that celebrated the joy of knowing things. He created QI, or Quite Interesting, which became a massive, long-running hit in the UK. Michelle: Wow. So one type of curiosity, the diversive kind, almost leads to a tragic accident. And the other, the epistemic kind, saves a man's career and creates something brilliant and beloved. It’s the difference between being a tourist just snapping photos and being an explorer trying to map the terrain. Mark: That's a perfect way to put it. And here's the most critical part of Leslie's argument: to be an explorer, you need a map. His big, counter-intuitive point is that knowledge isn't the enemy of curiosity; it's the fuel for it.

Michelle: Okay, hold on. That feels backwards. I always thought being an expert, knowing a lot, could make you less curious, more set in your ways. You think you have all the answers. Mark: That's the common misconception. But Leslie introduces this concept from psychology called the "information-gap theory." It says our curiosity peaks when we know enough about a subject to realize what we don't know. There's a gap in our knowledge, and it feels like an itch we have to scratch. If you know nothing about quantum physics, you're not curious about it. It’s just a blur. But if you know a little—about atoms, and particles—suddenly you have questions. You're in what he calls the "curiosity zone." Michelle: That makes sense. It’s like, I don't care about the rules of cricket because I know nothing about it. But if you taught me the basics, I might start wondering why certain plays are better than others. Mark: Exactly. And this creates what Leslie calls the "curiosity divide." Knowledge fuels more curiosity, which leads to more knowledge, creating a virtuous cycle. But for those who lack that foundational knowledge, the cycle never starts. They remain incurious. And this isn't a new problem. He gives a stunning historical example. Michelle: Lay it on me. Mark: In the 17th century, China was arguably the most advanced civilization on Earth. They had incredible technology, a powerful economy, a rich culture. At the same time, European missionaries were showing up, bringing news of the scientific revolution—telescopes, new mathematics, incredible discoveries. Michelle: You'd think the Chinese elites would be fascinated. Mark: They weren't. They had a "curiosity deficit." They were so successful and so confident in their own knowledge systems that they essentially gave a collective shrug. They saw the European gadgets as clever toys, but they weren't fundamentally interested. They felt they already knew everything that mattered. They weren't in the curiosity zone. And Leslie argues this complacency is a key reason why the West surged ahead intellectually and economically over the next couple of centuries. Michelle: That is a powerful lesson. Success can be the enemy of curiosity. But okay, that was the 17th century. Today, we have the internet. We can look up anything in seconds. Shouldn't that close the curiosity divide and make us all explorers? Mark: Ah, this is where it gets really provocative. Leslie argues the internet might be making the divide worse. Think about it. A sociologist at the University of Chicago named James Evans did a massive study of 34 million academic articles. He found that as journals moved online, scholars started citing fewer articles and a narrower range of sources. Michelle: How is that possible? They have access to everything! Mark: Because search engines are built for answers, not for questions. When you Google something, you get a direct answer. You don't have to wander through the library stacks, stumble upon a dusty old book on a nearby shelf, and make an unexpected connection. The internet's efficiency can kill serendipity. It reinforces what we already think we're looking for, trapping us in intellectual echo chambers. Michelle: So it’s the difference between getting a meal delivered to your door versus foraging for ingredients in a forest. The delivery is easier, but you miss all the discoveries along the way. Mark: A perfect analogy. We get the answer so quickly that the itch of curiosity barely has time to form. We're not building the mental muscle.

Michelle: Okay, this is a little bleak. It feels like the modern world is designed to kill our deep, epistemic curiosity. So what can we actually do about it? How do we fight back and become foragers again? Mark: I'm so glad you asked. The final part of the book is a practical toolkit, which Leslie calls "Seven Ways to Stay Curious." It's not just abstract advice; it's a set of habits. And a couple of them are just beautifully illustrated with stories. Michelle: Give me the highlights. What's the first step? Mark: One of my favorites is "Be a Thinkerer." A thinkerer is someone who toggles between big, abstract ideas and small, concrete, hands-on details. The ultimate thinkerer was Benjamin Franklin. Michelle: Of course it was. That man did everything. Mark: He really did. He became obsessed with an old sailor's tale that pouring oil on water could calm rough seas. He didn't just theorize about it. He started experimenting. He carried a little oil in the hollow of his cane. He'd find a pond on a windy day, pour a tiny drop of oil on the water, and watch it spread out, instantly smoothing the surface. He was constantly moving between the grand question—"Can we save ships with this?"—and the tiniest, most meticulous observation of how a single drop of oil behaved. Michelle: I love that. It’s not just thinking; it's tinkering. It’s getting your hands dirty. It’s the opposite of just reading a headline. It's about engaging with the world directly. Mark: Exactly. And another one, which might be the most accessible for all of us, is "Question Your Teaspoons." Michelle: Question my teaspoons? What does that even mean? Mark: It means that anything—literally anything—can be interesting if you look at it closely enough. The name comes from a real event called the "Boring Conference." Michelle: A conference dedicated to boring things? That sounds... well, boring. Mark: You'd think! But people get up and give these incredibly passionate, funny, and insightful talks on the most mundane subjects imaginable. The design of supermarket self-checkout machines. The history of the patterns on train seats. The different types of mailboxes. The point is that by focusing intensely on something ordinary, you reveal its hidden complexity, its history, its significance. You transform the mundane into the mysterious. Michelle: I love the 'Boring Conference'! That’s such a hopeful idea. It's permission to be fascinated by the everyday. It’s not about having to climb Mount Everest to feel a sense of wonder; it's about looking at the salt shaker on your table and genuinely wondering how it got there, who designed it, and what its story is. Mark: You've nailed it. It's about cultivating the habit of paying attention.

Michelle: So when you put it all together—the two types of curiosity, the need for knowledge, these practical habits—what's the big takeaway? What's the one thing we should remember from Ian Leslie's work? Mark: Ultimately, Leslie's message is that curiosity isn't a passive state of wonder. It's not something you're just born with. It's an active, effortful practice. It's a choice. It's choosing to be an explorer, not a tourist, in your own life. Michelle: It’s about building your own map, not just following the GPS. Mark: That's it. It's building your knowledge base so you can ask better, deeper questions. And it's deliberately looking for the mystery in the mundane, whether it's in your job, your relationships, or your own teaspoons. It’s the engine of a well-lived life. As John Lloyd, the creator of QI, put it, "If human curiosity isn’t fed, then you die inside." Michelle: Wow. That’s powerful. It makes you wonder, what's one 'teaspoon' in your own life you've stopped paying attention to? What's one puzzle you could turn into a lifelong mystery? Mark: That's the question for all of us. We'd love to hear what you come up with. Find us on our socials and tell us what you're getting curious about after this. Michelle: This is Aibrary, signing off.