Theo Baker is set to graduate from Stanford this spring, equipped with what most seniors lack: a book contract, a George Polk Award he earned for his investigative work as a student journalist, along with a firsthand narrative of one of the globe’s most glorified institutions.

His upcoming How to Rule the World: An Education in Power at Stanford University was featured in The Atlantic on Friday, and based solely on that, I eagerly await the complete work. The only question that truly matters is one Baker himself may struggle to address: Can a book like this genuinely prompt change? Or does the attention, as it often does, drive more students towards the institution?

The comparison that repeatedly comes to mind is “The Social Network.” Aaron Sorkin crafted a film that serves as a critique in many respects of the specific sociopathy that Silicon Valley often rewards. What it seemingly accomplished was to inspire a generation of youth to aspire to be like Mark Zuckerberg. The cautionary narrative morphed into a recruitment film. The tale of a character who — at least in the film — betrayed his closest friend on his way to wealth didn’t deter ambition; it amplified its allure.

From the excerpt, Baker’s depiction of Stanford appears much more intricate. He engages with hundreds of individuals to vividly portray the “Stanford inside Stanford.” “You sort of join it freshman year or you don’t,” a student remarks to Baker. It’s an exclusive realm where venture capitalists wine and dine 18-year-olds, where “pre-idea funding” amounting to hundreds of thousands of dollars is given to students before they have conceived an original idea, and where the line between mentorship and exploitation is nearly impossible to differentiate. (The stigma of pursuing teenage founders, if it ever was present, has vanished; for most VCs, ignoring them is no longer an option.) Steve Blank, who leads the renowned startup course at the school, informs Baker that “Stanford is an incubator with dorms,” a statement not intended as praise.

What’s new isn’t the existence of this pressure but that it has become fully ingrained. There was an era, perhaps 10 to 15 years ago, when Stanford students felt the weight of Silicon Valley expectations pressing on them from the outside. Now, many step onto campus already assuming, as a norm, that they will launch a startup, secure funding, and achieve wealth.

I think of a friend — let’s call him D — who left Stanford a few years back, partway through his initial two years, to initiate a startup. He was just emerging from his teenage years. The words “I’m considering taking a leave of absence” had barely left his lips before the university, as he puts it, gave him an enthusiastic nod to plunge wholeheartedly into the startup. Stanford no longer opposes this trend, if it ever did. Departures like his are deemed a typical outcome.

D is now in his mid-twenties. His company has attracted what would be considered an extraordinary amount of funding in any other context. He almost certainly possesses greater knowledge about cap tables, venture dynamics, and product-market fit than most acquire in a decade of traditional careers. By every metric the Valley evaluates, he stands as a success story. However, he also rarely sees his family (no time), has hardly dated (no time), and the ever-growing company seems unlikely to offer him the balance he needs anytime soon. He is already, in some significant way, lagging behind in his own life.

This is the aspect that Baker’s excerpt hints at but does not fully address, perhaps because he remains entrenched in it himself. The repercussions of this system are not only manifested through fraud — although Baker candidly notes this, defining it as widespread and largely without consequence. These costs are also deeply personal: the connections not forged, the typical milestones of early adulthood sacrificed in pursuit of a billion-dollar dream that, statistically, is highly unlikely to come to fruition. “100% of entrepreneurs believe they’re visionaries,” Blank shares with Baker. “The evidence indicates that 99% are not.”

What happens to the 99% at 30? At 40? These are not queries that Silicon Valley is equipped to answer, nor are they questions that Stanford will begin to address.

Baker also brings to light something that Sam Altman expresses clearly. Altman — OpenAI CEO, former head of Y Combinator, precisely the type of figure these students aspire to emulate — informs Baker that the VC dinner circuit has transformed into an “anti-signal” for those who genuinely recognize what talent appears like. The students traversing these circuits, showcasing their founder personas for rooms filled with investors, often do not represent the true builders. The genuine creators, presumably, are elsewhere, engaged in construction. The display of ambition and the actual process are increasingly difficult to distinguish, and the system that was supposedly designed to uncover genius has adeptly become proficient at identifying those who excel at creating the illusion of being geniuses.

How to Rule the World appears to be perfectly suited for this current moment. Yet, there’s a certain irony in the strong probability that this critically aware book concerning Stanford’s link to power and wealth will be lauded by the very class of individuals it critiques, and — if it performs well (it has already been optioned for a film) — utilized as further proof that Stanford not only produces founders and con artists but also significant writers and journalists.