David Brooks’ How to Know a Person is a fantastic book that acts both as a “how to” for learning to connect with people and an examination of what it means to “connect” at all. While some people might pick up this book as a self-help books, it differs considerably from the “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” mentality of other books that might be placed in the same genre. This is not How to Make Friends and Influence People.

To start, I think that Brooks would push back against the idea of “optimization” and “productivity” in social relations. So many other books–take Atomic Habits, for example–push for a mindset that encourages us to be increasingly productive. How to Know a Person, on the other hand, has the implicit view that attempting to optimize human relations is counterproductive. Essentially, you can’t rush connection. It takes time and effort to learn a person; we must ask thoughtful questions without judgment, listen to people as they tell their stories, and see people as more than a personal end. “Of course,” we all say, “we know that.” But, why can’t we do it?

To get to know people takes serious effort. I personally struggle with it. I’m not sure if my hold-up is a generalized sense of social anxiety (including with friends, family, and other people who matter to me), an inflated ego, simply a lack of talent, or perhaps even the possibility that I underestimate my own abilities. But, when I see people who do it well–and, for most of these people, it seems to come naturally–I can’t help but feel impressed. Like other people, I feel seen, but I also ask myself: “How does this person do it?” People like these are extraordinarily rare: Brooks suggests that what he calls “Illuminators” make up approximately one-third of the population. I believe that the number is likely much lower.

However, just because connecting deeply does not come naturally to us does not mean we can’t do it. In fact, it is a skill that we can learn, practice, and put to work.

One of the things that I really appreciated about Brooks’ book is the way that he broke it down into three sections. In the first section, he teaches us some about the nature of connection generally and he offers good advice for meeting others where they are in most life scenarios.

In the second section, Brooks focuses his attention on how to connect with people who are struggling. How do we talk with someone who is depressed, who is grieving, or has low self-esteem? This task is particularly challenging: I know from experiencing both sides of the relation–as someone going through a profound depression and as someone trying to encourage others facing difficult times. From a communication perspective, I’m not sure that either side is easier than the other; it’s hard to talk to people when facing personal struggles, and it’s also hard to be receptive to those in the darkest of all possible depths. It should be easy; at least, I tell myself that it should be easy. After all, shouldn’t it be easy? It is not easy, nor should it be. The fight is real.

Finally, the last third of the book is dedicated to seeing the whole person. How do we talk to people about their values? How do we notice peoples’ strengths, especially when others have missed them? What does it mean to be wise? Why is it so important to learn about a person’s origins? This section is all about embodied, personal narrative.

What stands out here is less that we need to understand the “facts” in an “objective” or “scientific” sense. Much more important is the story that people tell about themselves. We must be especially aware that a person’s story will change over time. When this occurs, it is not because a person is lying or because they are intentionally trying to misguide others; instead, it is a fundamental human instinct for one’s personal narrative to change over time. In fact, I would go so far to argue that this is a fundamental human need: it is how we create meaning in our lives.

Brooks relies on a longitudinal study of Harvard students who matriculated in the 1940s to illustrate this point: there was one young man who was so closed-off, embittered, cynical, and potentially traumatized that he simply would not let anyone in. Most other students did not like him, and he was a real stickler for order, discipline, and coherence. Over time, he “mellowed out,” although he also experienced growth struggles with his daughters, his wife, and others. By the end of his life, he was such an amiable, sociable, generous, and warm man that the researcher of the study was impressed. He mailed the former student transcripts from their early conversations, and the student simply did not believe that he had ever said or believed those things. “You’ve mistakenly sent these documents to the wrong person,” he said. The “facts” of the matter were nowhere important as the student’s self-image, and this is true for all of us. To live well, we must take this message to heart. If we were to rely on pure “data” (if there even is such a thing), we would be operating in violation of our specifically human characteristics.

Throughout the course of How to Know a Person, Brooks is adept in unifying research studies by neuroscientists, psychologists, and other social scientists with memoirs and anecdotes. We follow stories and perspectives from Zadie Smith, Toni Morrison, Zora Neale Hurston, a young man named Deo who migrated from Burundi to the United States, and countless of Brooks’ personal experiences among many other narrative sources. Brooks’ capability in unifying these two “spheres”–the personal and the academic–breathes life into the subject while allow him to provide insights that I simply could not come to on my own. At the same time, his writing is charitable, warm, and encouraging. At some points, I felt outright inspired by Brooks’ book.

One of my core goals for 2026 is to connect more deeply with more people; strangers are part of this, as are friends and family, and especially my fiancee. As I read, I reflected a bit on my own experiences and realized how little my family and I really connect. I do think my siblings and I can speak from the heart, but it is a rare day indeed where I connect deeply with either of my parents. Why not start attempting to put Brooks’ suggestions into practice with them? New Years’ Day, on a car ride with my father to the airport, I asked him some things I thought would resonate with him, starting with a question about how he learned to play the guitar. Over those 45 minutes, I learned more about my dad’s history than I had in years. The conversation was illuminating and it felt good. I’m really happy that this was the first book that I completed in the new year; it strikes me as something poetic.

What Brooks says here does work, but it takes patience and deliberate effort, and it is easy to fall back on old conversational habits. For instance, in a conversation with my sister’s boyfriend, I was learning a lot, and–by the end–I realized that I stopped asking open-ended questions and instead offered pathways that leaned into “yes” or “no” or provided my own advice and perspective. Rather than being too hard on myself, I do find it worth recognizing the importance of the attempt here: it is still significantly more progress than I had made before, and there is no such thing as perfection.

For those who are not really ready or reflective, Brooks’ book might come off as one that offers suggestions that are too obvious or useless. But, with some deeper self-examination, I think virtually every person alive will find serious value in Brooks’ book. It is too good to pass up, and the content of it–if implemented by everyone–might be enough to resolve the “crisis of connection” in the United States and much of Western Europe.

Highest recommendation.