Stolen Focus

Stolen Focus — Summary

A boy who wanted Elvis, and then wanted nothing

There was once a little boy named Adam. At nine, only one thing on earth interested him: Elvis. He sang "Jailhouse Rock" in the living room and wanted to know everything about the King. Everything. His godfather, a journalist named Johann Hari, made him a promise: one day he would take him to Graceland, Elvis's home. Ten years later, Adam had dropped out of school at fifteen and spent almost all his waking hours in front of his phone, bouncing back and forth between WhatsApp, YouTube, and porn. He could not stay with a single topic of conversation for more than a few minutes. Hari reached for the old promise like a lifeline, hoping it might pull the boy back.

When they got to Graceland, Hari noticed something strange. The tourists were not looking at the house. They clutched tablets, earbuds in, and visited rooms that stood an arm's length away by staring at a screen. In the Jungle Room, Elvis's favorite spot, a middle-aged couple swiped the iPad to switch between two camera angles instead of simply turning their heads. Hari pointed out that there was an old-fashioned way to swipe, called turning your head, because we are HERE, physically, in this room. The couple backed away from him as though he were a lunatic. Hari turned to share the irony with Adam. Adam was standing in a corner, secretly checking Snapchat under his jacket.

And Adam is not the only one. At the Louvre, Hari watched the Mona Lisa now surrounded by a crowd that shoves its way forward only to immediately turn its back and take a selfie. Not one person looked at the painting for more than a few seconds. The Mona Lisa's smile seems to ask: why won't you look at me the way you used to? In Iceland, at the Blue Lagoon, people filmed themselves live with waterproof phone cases, and a ripped influencer bellowed, "Here I am in the Blue Lagoon, living my best life!" Hari suggests the motto of our age could be this: I tried to live, but I got distracted.