Let’s deal with Trump first. Yes, he’s a part of the timely, often witty Charlatans: How Grifters, Swindlers, and Hucksters Bamboozle the Media, the Markets, and the Masses. But he’s not the whole story. Of course, it may be hard to believe it’s possible for a book about con men to have room between its covers for anyone besides Trump.

But as has been frequently noted during this weary decade of his political prominence, our president isn’t so much a source as a symptom of our societal ills. There are plenty more like him — always have been, always will be: opportunistic predators who trick the trusting in order to gain money, power, and fame. Charlatans succeeds in explaining how they do it and tries to help us defend ourselves against them.

It all starts in our head, insist Moisés Naím and Quico Toro. Charlatans, say the authors, know how to exploit a collection of mental traits we all share: confirmation bias, our tendency to embrace information that supports our opinions and ignore that which doesn’t; “motivated reasoning,” a process of confirming information to further bolster our pre-existing beliefs; “fast thinking,” which responds intuitively to stimuli without actually thinking; and “social proof,” our herd-animal instinct to assume something’s fine if we see other people doing it.

But our real vulnerability is in our heart. Charlatans ruthlessly hijack our dreams — of getting rich, finding love, feeling connected — and turn them against us. Yet their manipulation, say the authors, takes a different form than you might expect:

“…charlatans never set out to change a mark’s beliefs. Persuasion never enters into the equation.”

That’s right: Bilkers don’t try to convince their victims of anything new but instead feed them an addictive brew of what they already want to believe.

What distinguishes a charlatan from run-of-the-mill fraudsters? According to Naím and Toro, “charlatans are public figures who keep one foot on the legal, above-board world while also developing exploitative swindles.” In other words, a charlatan is a swindler with a strong enough storyline and following to stick around even after tricking a whole bunch of people out of their money, autonomy, even country (see “United States”) rather than disappear like a pickpocket melting into the crowd after relieving you of your wallet.

The book offers no new reporting, only amalgamation and analysis. Each of the dozens of modern figures profiled was originally exposed by other investigators (who are duly acknowledged). Those figures include infamous Americans — such as Charles Ponzi, Sam Bankman-Fried, Dr. Mehmet Oz, Jerry Falwell Jr., and, naturally, Mr. Trump — and other individuals unfamiliar to this reader: the Brazilian televangelist Edir Macedo and Dutch YouTube spiritualist Bentinho Massaro, among many others.

It seems to me that one way to break (or at least weaken) a charlatan’s spell is through humor, and the book provides a good dose of it. In the earliest profile by far, we’re told that an insincere alchemist mooching off the Venetian court centuries ago “partied like it was 1599.” In the section about Zach Avery, a handsome Hollywood charlatan who keeps making bad movies, we’re informed that in a scene from one hack thriller, “A brooding Avery is shown broodily brooding.” And in their review of the meta conspiracy theory QAnon, the authors explain:

“For QAnon, making exactly no sense at all, even on its own terms, seems to be not so much a weakness as a recruitment strategy.”

On the other hand, if charlatanry (a delightful noun I was previously unaware of) depends at least in part on smooth patter, there are a couple errors and irritants to note. We’re told the covid-19 pandemic began in 2016 instead of 2019, for instance, and the use of “well” in a bashful, folksy way…well, let’s just say it’s severely overdone.

The authors stress that what’s remarkable is not that there are people willing and able to use their wiles to get what they want — this, after all, is perfectly rational if not terribly noble — but that so many of us willingly go along. If enticed slowly and carefully enough, we humans will almost always continue down the wrong path rather than admit we’re on it and turn back.

The authors are rightly concerned that what used to be a rare encounter — the classic snake-oil salesman on the soapbox — is, thanks to the internet, now a constant presence. (AI will only automate the whole process.) Their solution mostly consists of avoiding isolation so people close to us can warn us when we’re getting crazy. Too bad that didn’t work during the last presidential election.

William Rice is a writer for political and policy-advocacy organizations.