Sometimes I think great teachers represent a kind of genius—a command and love of their subject by which they inspire in students a vision of its power and beauty. But maybe student geniuses simply resonate to a subject that engages their hearts, and even mediocre (or worse) teachers can’t deter them from their quest. For our primary and secondary schools, however, the real question is how we optimize what most students learn, with competent teachers to take them there. Blending extensive data and focused personal stories, Amanda Ripley’s marvelous book suggests that we know more about good teaching and real learning than we may suppose.Real learning means that graduates can “read, solve problems, and communicate what happened on their shift” (p. 5), and that’s for line workers who make the pies you get at McDonald’s. That American employer, and others, aren’t shifting jobs overseas only because of wages and benefits but often because they can’t find high school graduates who can do the work. “Better” jobs demand more; diesel mechanics must know geometry and physics, read blueprints and technical manuals, and understand percentages and ratios. Sales people have to comprehend engineering or chemistry or medicine (e.g. pharmaceutical reps) to communicate with their clients. Finance requires a command not only of markets and regulations but of financial analysis, statistics and probability. Ripley notes the extremely high recent correlation between nations’ educational accomplishments and economic growth, and America is slipping badly.The data to my mind are irrefutable (and, to paraphrase a quote in the book, without the ability to understand and process complex data, in today’s world you’re just another schmuck with an opinion). In language and science we score poorly in relation to almost all other developed nations, but our mathematics outcomes are execrable—in the bottom five of around thirty nations. It’s not about money; we’re second in the world (!) in just one category, per-pupil expense. It’s not about students studying longer. True, Korea’s schooling sounds to me like an industrial-strength nightmare—long school days followed by homework followed by hours in costly private academies followed by more hours of homework. (Korea’s students, says Ripley, spend more time on schoolwork than American kids spend awake.) But Finnish students do less homework than Americans and have far more free time (with much less scheduling and supervision from their parents) while leading the world. Nor is it about the advantages of less diverse cultures or more prosperous families. Race and family background matter, says Ripley—but how much they matter varies greatly, and we’re just dreadful by this measure, too (poor kids in Poland are poorer than poor kids here but do much better in school). Conversely, Norway (with all the “advantages” of Finland and much higher spending) has fallen behind dramatically, now trailing us and all other nations among the fifteen with long-term data.The heart of Ripley’s presentation lies in extended stories of three high-school students: Kim (from Oklahoma, who went to Finland for a school year), Tom (from Pennsylvania, to Poland), and Eric (from Minnesota, to Korea). She corresponded with them and traveled to interview them, their own and their exchange families, and the teachers and education administrators here and in the host communities. The stories and the data frame and interpret each other, clearly and effectively. America’s schools would do well to adopt “best practices” wherever we find them (as American companies do with their competitors), and I would suggest three benchmarks, from the Finns in particular.First, we need very demanding requirements for teachers. In Finland it starts with admission to one of a handful of colleges for teacher training, with admission standards “on the order of MIT” and prestige comparable to admission to med school. Then come six years of training. Once the graduates begin teaching, they have much more accountability for results (national textbook standards and testing) but also much greater autonomy and flexibility in how they do their jobs (after all, their competence and commitment can be presumed). Second, schools, homes, and communities have high expectations for students. ALL students (“tracking” by “ability” turns out to be counter-productive and debilitating). Apart from clinical cognitive disorders, the hypothesis is that every kid can learn. The students see it happening, have a high estimate of themselves and each other (and they respect their teachers’ preparation and competence), and contribute peer pressure (and mutual encouragement) to the hopes their families and schools have for them. Third, every student is expected to—fail. Frequently, but not finally. Nearly everyone finishes high school. (We used to lead the world in graduation rates, but have dropped to around 20th, with a 20% dropout rate). Their diplomas demonstrate their fundamental competencies. But high standards and expectations mean that students have to be told when they’re not measuring up. “If the work is hard, routine failure is the only way to learn.” Then kids also learn to pick themselves (and each other) up, get help, dig in, and make it work. Praise and affirmation are effective only when they are “specific, authentic, and rare”.I tremble to consider the cultural and political obstacles in our way. How can we get past our shibboleth (“hard-wired for inefficiency”, crossed purposes and compromised standards) of local control? How many of our public schools hire people more as coaches than teachers, with a Master’s in Phys. Ed. and (at best) an undergraduate minor in their teaching field? We do have some good teachers here, and Ripley has found a few of them; why can’t we learn from them as well as from other countries? In the book’s most moving story for me, an American primary student asks her teacher why he “gave” her an F in math, and he replies that an F was what she earned. Callous and harsh? Not as he works with her and believes in her, and she responds by doing the homework and forming a study group with other pupils. With a C as her year-end grade and a new sense of her own prowess and potential, she says to her teacher through her tears, “I cannot believe I did this.”