I agree with readers who found this to be lighter than they had hoped, and also with those who found it sufficiently absorbing. De Botton provides a nicely phrased but ultimately superficial pensée on his week spent in or adjacent to Heathrow. The idea of this project is a good one, though not de Botton's--he was a recipient of the opportunity. There's nothing to dislike about the narrative, and the photos provide a additional medium that is wonderfully atmospheric.My dirty secret is that I love airports. I regularly kill up to 12 hours at international airports. If I were to be a writer in residence at an airport (and let's be frank: Many of us have spent many days trapped in a single airport), I'd have explored aspects unexamined by de Botton, such as sleeping in the airport (not at the adjacent hotel)--at a gate, in the women's room, behind an unused counter, in a car in the parking garage--, riding a baggage cart on the tarmac, eating foods I never eat, watching rest room traffic, or determining the feasibility of visiting the other terminals, for example. I'd want to evaluate the art, see what long-term menu variety can be constructed at the shops and restaurants, try on clothes, or see how good a haircut and massage I could get. The man is in Heathrow, where I'd assuredly sample as much Scotch as God and nature permitted, perhaps purchased by strategically flying in to Terminal 5 from a trans-border point of origin so I could stock up at the World Duty Free Arrivals Store. If I were lucky they'd have my favorite, Glenmorangie Cellar 13, a 10-year-old special bottling that until recently was only available at duty free and was not exported, and to which I am extremely partial. To sip a wee dram at Heathrow, perhaps accompanied by a "luxury chocolate" from The Chocolate Box while perusing a copy of Jackson's beautifully illustrated Whiskey: The Definitive World Guide (acquired at WH Smith) would be a deep and quiet pleasure with no plane to catch or security queues to endure.