Edward Castronova had hit bottom. Three years ago, the thirty-eight-year-old
economist was, by his own account, an academic failure. He had chosen
an unpopular field—welfare research—and published only a handful of
papers that, as far as he could tell, “had never influenced anybody.”
He’d scraped together a professorship at the Fullerton campus of
California State University, a school that did not even grant Ph.D.s.
He lived in a lunar, vacant suburb. He’d once dreamed of being a major
economics thinker but now faced the grim sense that he might already
have hit his plateau. “I’m a schmo at a state school,” he thought. And
since his wife worked in another city, he was, on top of it all, lonely.
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