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Brainiac: Adventures in the Curious, Competitive, Compulsive World of Trivia Buffs

Brainiac: Adventures in the Curious, Competitive, Compulsive World of Trivia Buffs

by Ken Jennings

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One day back in 2003, Ken Jennings and his college buddy Earl did what hundreds of thousands of people had done before: they auditioned for Jeopardy! Two years, 75 games, 2,642 correct answers, and over $2.5 million in winnings later, Ken Jennings emerged as trivia’s undisputed king. Brainiac traces his rise from anonymous computer programmer to


One day back in 2003, Ken Jennings and his college buddy Earl did what hundreds of thousands of people had done before: they auditioned for Jeopardy! Two years, 75 games, 2,642 correct answers, and over $2.5 million in winnings later, Ken Jennings emerged as trivia’s undisputed king. Brainiac traces his rise from anonymous computer programmer to nerd folk icon. But along the way, it also explores his newly conquered kingdom: the world of trivia itself.

Jennings had always been minutiae-mad, poring over almanacs and TV Guide listings at an age when most kids are still watching Elmo and putting beans up their nose. But trivia, he has found, is centuries older than his childhood obsession with it. Whisking us from the coffeehouses of seventeenth-century London to the Internet age, Jennings chronicles the ups and downs of the trivia fad: the quiz book explosion of the Jazz Age; the rise, fall, and rise again of TV quiz shows; the nostalgic campus trivia of the 1960s; and the 1980s, when Trivial Pursuit® again made it fashionable to be a know-it-all.
Jennings also investigates the shadowy demimonde of today’s trivia subculture, guiding us on a tour of trivia hotspots across America. He goes head-to-head with the blowhards and diehards of the college quiz-bowl circuit, the slightly soused faithful of the Boston pub trivia scene, and the raucous participants in the annual Q&A marathon in Stevens Point, Wisconsin, “The World’s Largest Trivia Contest.” And, of course, he takes us behind the scenes of his improbable 75-game run on Jeopardy!

But above all, Brainiac is a love letter to the useless fact. What marsupial has fingerprints that are indistinguishable from human ones?* What planet has a crater on it named after Laura Ingalls Wilder?** What comedian had the misfortune to be born with the name “Albert Einstein”?*** Jennings also ponders questions that are a little more philosophical: What separates trivia from meaningless facts? Is being good at trivia a mark of intelligence? And is trivia just a waste of time, or does it serve some not-so-trivial purpose after all?

Uproarious, silly, engaging, and erudite, this book is an irresistible celebration of nostalgia, curiosity, and nerdy obsession–in a word, trivia.

* The koala
** Venus
*** Albert Brooks

Editorial Reviews

If anybody is destined to become a Jeopardy! answer, it's Ken Jennings. The Utah resident's record-breaking 2004 six-month winning streak on the popular TV quiz show netted him over $2.5 million plus worldwide fame. Brainiac, perhaps best described as a combo autobiography and trivia fest, describes Jennings's 75-game, 2,642-correct answer march to immortality, with healthy doses of trivia wisdom. Good-spirited cranial stimulation.
Publishers Weekly
Did you know that Trivia was a Roman name for the goddess Hecate or that Jeopardy! tapes a week's worth of shows in a single afternoon? Jennings's record-setting 2004 six-month stint on the syndicated TV quiz show won him $2.5 million and instant fame as he landed on Letterman, Leno, Sesame Street and Barbara Walters's "Ten Most Fascinating People" list. Sprinkling trivia questions throughout his first book, the former computer programmer is a charmingly self-deprecating guide to the subculture of esoterica as he relates how he answered his first trivia question about the Wright brothers at four and made his chops on the ego-driven college quiz bowl circuit; confides how he mastered the "tricky" Jeopardy! buzzers; bonds with professional trivia writers; and describes being bested by the puzzler "Most of this firm's seven thousand seasonal white-collar employees work only four months a year" (Jennings answered FedEx; H&R Block is correct). You don't have to be a couch potato to answer this: what's an eight-letter word for a highly entertaining, fast-paced read that demystifies "America's most popular and most difficult quiz show" while pondering how trivia is a cultural phenomenon that offers a tidy alternative to life's messiness as well as instant camaraderie between people from different walks of life? (Sept. 12) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
Jeopardy! contestant Jennings broke the record for the largest cash prize won on a TV game show a piece of trivia about a trivia champ. His new book chronicles the history of trivia from its humble days in newspaper queries to its rise into a television phenomenon. Each chapter combines trivia on trivia and Jennings's own personal narrative revolving around his 2004 Jeopardy! appearance. In researching trivia, Jennings undertook interviews with the likes of Fred Worth, author of The Complete Unabridged Super Trivia Encyclopedia, and the people of Steven's Point, WI, where a trivia radio game show takes over the entire town every April. Jennings offers his own unique philosophy on trivia: in an era of specialization, trivia is not trivial; it allows us to know a little bit about a lot of things. Trivia questions are scattered throughout the text, which makes the book interactive and fun. With a time line of trivia and endnotes; recommended for all public libraries. Jennifer Zarr, NYPL Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Trivia maven Jennings, who won millions and broke records on Jeopardy, puts his knowledge of all those worthless factoids to good use. The former software programmer from Utah and self-proclaimed information geek, has produced a test considerably easier to take than you might expect. Naturally, it is stuffed with challenges to the reader to identify ephemeral curiosities, esoteric records, odd information and all sorts of historical detritus. (Answers at the end of each chapter: no cheating!) But Jennings's prose is competent enough to keep even the trivia-impaired turning the pages in this survey of his nerdy avocation's lore and history. Once upon a time in the pursuit of odd facts, newspaper archives were called upon and public librarians were accommodating, more or less. Then there were the cartoons of Ripley's Believe It or Not! and radio's Information Please! Now, of course, there's the Internet to provide a proliferation of solid information and false facts. Jennings chronicles the evolution of game shows. He discusses the current state of the trivia business, the proper composition of questions, the role of nostalgia, the uses of mnemonics and the neurotic dedication of a true competitor. Are all those disparate pieces of information just useless esoterica hiding under your Snapple caps, or are they more? Does "knowing all your state flowers and the kings of Saxony . . . the longest book in the Bible and the shortest Shakespeare play" really constitute cultural literacy? Is that your final answer?A report from the contestant's podium of particular interest to anyone who endeavors to become a human equivalent of Google.

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Random House Publishing Group
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5.50(w) x 8.20(h) x 0.60(d)

Read an Excerpt

What is Ambition?
Here's some trivia for you. The red rock country of southern Utah is red for the same reason that the planet Mars has a pinkish tinge when you see it in the night sky: both are loaded with iron oxide, a.k.a. ordinary household rust. The shadows of these red desert crags are lengthening toward our car as it pulls into a dusty gas station on the Utah-Arizona border. The air smells of diesel fumes and sagebrush when I open the passenger-side door. My friend Earl Cahill unfolds himself from the driver's seat, relieved we've made it to this, our last chance at gas for fifty miles.
Earl is my old college roommate, and though he's a remarkable six-foot-nine in height, he's one of those giants who hope that by holding their head and shoulders at just the right dejected angle, they may somehow—if not disappear completely—at least give the appearance of being only six-foot-four or six-foot-five. He blinks into the setting sun through the shock of floppy brown hair hanging over his face, a face that bears the perpetually disappointed look of an English foxhound or a Cubs fan.
As I pump gas, we re-enact the ritual of all road-trippers since the days of Jack Kerouac, and try to figure out how we're going to divvy up the trip's costs. Unlike our beatnik freeway forefathers, however, Earl and I are both computer programmers, and we're driving down to Los Angeles not to hear jazz or harvest lettuce or watch the sun set over the Pacific, but to try to land spots on Jeopardy!, America's most popular and most difficult quiz show. Appropriately, geekily, we are squabbling about the most elegant algorithm to calculate and divide up our expenses.
"How about this?" I offer. "There's two of us, so that vastly improves our chances that one of us will make it on the show, right? And, as we know, that person is guaranteed at least a thousand dollars, even if he finishes in third place. So here's what we do: we split all expenses when we get back, but if one of us makes it on the show, that person pays for the other's share of gas and other expenses from this trip."
Earl's brow furrows, suspicious he's being conned.
"It's no-lose," I persist. "If you get on the show, you pay for all expenses, but you still turn a big profit from your winnings. The one who doesn't get on loses nothing."
"Deal," he finally agrees. We shake on it as we switch spots and climb back into the car. It is a no-lose scenario, but I'm guessing that I'll end up being the beneficiary of my own plan. Earl, I figure, is exactly the type game shows look for. Besides being incredibly smart and, as he likes to put it, "sideshow-freak tall," he has a booming baritone voice and an eccentric way of speaking—an inside-joke-rich patois of computer-hacker lingo, Simpsons references and, mysteriously, quotes from Merchant Ivory movies. He's exactly the kind of larger-than-life personality Jeopardy! needs—a lock to get on the show. I figure I've just negotiated myself a free trip to L.A.
But, I admit to myself, I'm not just along for the ride as Earl's road-trip buddy. For as long as I can remember, I've dreamed of being on Jeopardy!, and Earl knows it. "You know," he says, "I keep telling myself that even if I fail the test, at least I can tell people I was the guy that got Ken Jennings on Jeopardy!" We pull back onto I-15 and drive off into the sunset.
• * *
I've been meaning to try out for Jeopardy! for twenty years now, but I've loved trivia for even longer. My generation tends to think of trivia as an eighties craze, something we cherish nostalgically in the same neurons of our brain responsible for remembering Members Only jackets and Ralph Macchio. The watershed trivia year of my youth was clearly 1984, the year that the Alex Trebek version of Jeopardy! debuted on the airwaves and Trivial Pursuit sold twenty million copies, supplanting Pac-Man as the game craze of the era. But ask someone ten years younger what year trivia peaked, and her "final answer" would probably be 1999 or so, when Who Wants to Be a Millionaire became so explosively popular. Someone of my parents' generation might associate the word "trivia" with the vogue for college campus trivia contests in the late 1960s, while my grandparents would certainly remember America holding its breath as contestants sweated it out in isolation booths on the high-rated (and highly rigged) TV quiz shows of the 1950s. A scholar in the field might even point you back to 1927, when the best-selling book Ask Me Another! ignited the very first question-and-answer craze in America. If trivia is a fad, in other words, it's certainly a pesky one. Like the Terminator, Halley's Comet, or genital herpes, trivia just keeps coming back.
And it's still around. In fact, though trivia isn't necessarily faddish at the moment, it's still somehow omnipresent. America plays hundreds of thousands of trivia games every day—in urban bars, on suburban coffee tables, on FM radio stations, on cell phones. Trivia appears on our beer coasters, under our Snapple caps, on our Cracker Jack prizes. It clogs our e-mail inboxes and magazine article sidebars. It fills the blank space at the bottom of columns in the phone book. It pacifies us while we watch the cola-sponsored advertising on movie screens. It's the bumper that takes us to commercial on cable news and entertainment shows. It's such a familiar part of American life that we don't even notice it anymore, and yet there it always is. We live surrounded by trivia.
"Trivia," the word itself, pre-dates 1984 and Trivial Pursuit, of course. In fact, it goes back millennia. Originally a Roman name for the goddess Hecate, in her role as guardian of the crossroads, "Trivia" derives from the Latin "trivium": a crossroads where "three ways" met. Centuries later, English writer John Gay named his most famous poem, a 1716 description of a walking tour of London, "Trivia," in honor of the same goddess. (Gay is better known for his satirical The Beggar's Opera, the musical work upon which Brecht's Threepenny Opera was based, which means he's also responsible for the pop song that was the #1 Billboard hit of 1959.)1
The Latin word "trivium" is also our source for the adjective form "trivial," meaning unimportant or ordinary. It's generally believed that "trivial" came to mean commonplace because a "trivium" or public crossroads was, literally, a "common place." Others claim that the adjective "trivial" derives from another use of "trivium"—in medieval universities, the course load was divided between the three-subject trivium and the four-subject quadrivium. The trio of courses in the trivium was always grammar, rhetoric, and logic, while the quadrivium was composed of home ec, driver's ed, wood shop, and band (oh, all right: arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and music.) The trivium contained the easier, more elementary subjects, thought to be less important than the advanced quadrivium, and, hence, "trivial."
In the 20th century, the noun form "trivia" first began to be used as a derivative of "trivial" to refer to trifles, or things deemed unimportant. As early as 1902, popular essayist Logan Pearsall Smith (the brother-in-law, incidentally, of philosopher Bertrand Russell) published a bestselling collection of brief philosophical musings under the title Trivia. But the word didn't adopt its current usage—"questions and answers about unusual bits of everyday knowledge"—until the mid-1960s.
I've always felt it was a shame that the "trivia" moniker stuck to trivia so firmly. Referring to your hobby with a word that quite literally means "petty" or "insignificant" doesn't strike me as the best way to popularize it. Would football ever have caught on if gridiron fans insisted on calling it "that stupid sport with the weird-shaped ball"? Do philatelists call postage stamps "little gummed squares that we pointlessly collect and pore over when we really should be out meeting girls"? And yet trivia fans happily adopt the language of the oppressor, tacitly but cheerfully agreeing that, yes, their tendency toward learning and knowing lots of weird stuff is completely valueless. Completely "trivial."
I first heard the words "trivial" and "nontrivial" in their scientific usage in the math and computer science classes I took in college. To math and computer nerds, a trivial problem is one with a ridiculously easy solution, one the teacher probably won't even bother to put up on the overhead projector. Science is, instead, about the pursuit of the unusual, elegant solution—the nontrivial one. For example, I remember learning once about "sum-product numbers," numbers equal to the sum of all their digits multiplied by the product of all their digits. There are an infinite number of numbers, said the instructor, but only three sum-product numbers. The number 1 is the trivial solution, the boring one: 1 × 1 = 1. The interesting solutions are the nontrivial ones—135, for instance (though there's one other):2
((1 + 3 + 5) × (1 × 3 × 5)) = 135
Ever since I can remember, I've had the idea that trivia, despite its name, is elegant, complicated, fascinating, worthy of study—that trivia is, in a word, nontrivial.

1 Bobby Darin's "Mack the Knife"
2 144 is as well

Meet the Author

Ken Jennings was born in Seattle but spent much of his childhood in Seoul, South Korea. A graduate of Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah, he worked as a computer programmer until becoming an unlikely celebrity due to his unprecedented record-breaking streak on the television quiz show Jeopardy! He lives outside Salt Lake City with his wife and son. For more information, visit www.ken-jennings.com.

To schedule a speaking engagement, please contact American Program Bureau at www.apbspeakers.com  

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