A book by Nikolaos Fragos
Project Ariadne
Software is a human problem
wearing a technical costume
One day, at the peak of the biggest project of my career, I did nothing at all. I don't mean a slow day. I mean nothing. I arrived in the morning with skills, energy, and a backlog full of work, and I went home having produced zero, because everything I could possibly touch was blocked. Blocked on another team's API. Blocked on a decision an architect hadn't made. Blocked on a database change that only one man was allowed to perform.
Why it is called that
The project was a sports-betting platform. It had serious money behind it, serious people on it, multiple scrum teams, modern technology — and somebody with a taste for mythology had christened it Project Ariadne. It was eventually scrapped. Totally. Millions spent, nothing shipped that survived.
In the myth, Ariadne is not the labyrinth and she is not the monster. She's the one who hands Theseus a thread at the entrance — a simple, almost stupid technology — so that no matter how deep the maze gets, he can always find his way back to something solid. Whoever named our project understood we were walking into a labyrinth. The bitter joke is that we went in without the thread.
Software is a human problem wearing a technical costume.
You think the job is code. You spend your twenties collecting languages and frameworks like trophies, certain that if you just get good enough at the technical part, everything else will fall into place. It won't. This book is the thread nobody handed us at Ariadne's entrance: thirty-one chapters, four interludes, and — in every chapter — the strongest case against what the chapter just argued.
Three ways in