Books and literature – Page 27 – a sibilant intake of breath

The Man Who Loved China

Simon Winchester’s The Man Who Loved China is a competent and sometimes compelling biography of the scientist and sinologist Joseph Needham: a man who started off as a Cambridge biochemist and later devoted his life to documenting the scientific history of China. While it contains a lot of interesting narrative and information, it does sometimes feel more like a catalogue of achievements, written by an admirer, than a substantive examination of either Chinese scientific history or Needham’s own work.

The book is essentially divided into two phases: one describing Needham’s life and explorations within China, in the period of the Second World War, and a second describing the process of writing his masterwork: Science and Civilization in China. More accurately, it must be said that he began his masterwork, as he was only able to produce the overall plan and the first few volumes before dying as an elderly man. During the first section, Needham is serving as a kind of official scientific liaison between the British government and the Chinese nationalist government during the period of Japanese occupation. During the second, he is principally installed in Cambridge as an academic, though he did return to China to lead an easily-duped team of weapons inspectors, investigating claims that the United States had used biological weapons during the Korean War.

The book is a somewhat odd one to read at this point in history. Needham’s work was published long enough ago to have become the mainstream understanding: namely, that a great many critical inventions and discoveries happened earlier in China than elsewhere. Most members of the public are probably able to identify gunpowder and the compass as Chinese inventions. Those with knowledge in other fields – from engineering to nautics – are probably similarly familiar with early Chinese contributions. By not providing much evidence about the prevailing view beforehand, the book makes it a bit awkward to assess Needham’s own contribution, aside from the indirect evidence provided by all of his subsequent academic recognition.

The book does a fairly comprehensive job of expressing Needham’s curious personal characteristics: his polyamory (spending most of his life within reach of both wife and mistress, both well aware of one another), his socialism, his love of trains and boats, and his overwhelming dedication to China. The strength of the latter is revealed through his inability to appreciate the problems with Mao’s revolution, at least, nor until the man himself had been dead for some time. Needham is portrayed as quite a dashing figure: scientist, activist, diplomat, and adventurer. In terms of the sheer number and variety of experiences, his life is one that must be envied by anyone who is curious about the world.

The so-called ‘Needham question’ of why scientific innovation in China stalled, prior to exploding in the West, gets surprisingly brief and superficial treatment in this volume – just a few pages in the epilogue. This is a curious way for a biographer to treat the central subject of his subject’s fascination. It would have been interesting to see various hypotheses discussed more thoroughly, with a focus on the evidence supporting and challenging them that arose from Needham’s investigations and subsequent scholarship.

For me, this book didn’t manage to be as compelling as Winchester’s history of the Oxford English Dictionary. Nonetheless, it would probably be of interest to those who enjoy reading about people who lived notable and unusual lives. It certainly tends towards inspiring a person to wonder what more exotic and worthwhile things they might be doing themselves.

The Kindle and electronic books

In a recent article about Amazon’s Kindle e-book reader, The Economist declared that:

It seems likely that, eventually, only books that have value as souvenirs, gifts or artefacts will remain bound in paper.

Despite being a big fan of electronic content delivery systems, I wholeheartedly disagree with this assessment. There are considerable advantages to having a personal library of physical books, and there are big disadvantages to taking your books in electronic format.

Physical books possess the many advantages of immediacy. One can display them and quickly glance through the whole collection. One can take notes in them, mark pages, stack them, pass them to others, and so forth. Collections of books are also physical representations of the reading a person has done. I often find that, when I first find myself in someone’s house, flat, or bedroom, their collection of books is the first thing I scrutinize. There is a reason why the personal libraries of intellectuals and political leaders are objects of interest, and I don’t think they would retain the same importance if they consisted of a bunch of PDF or text files.

Electronic books have the same disadvantages as other electronic media: you can’t be confident that they will be intact and accessible decades from now. Furthermore, they are often hobbled with digital rights management (DRM), which means you can never be sure that you can use them on future devices, or in various ways you might wish to. A library stored on a small device may be easier to transport, but it is a lot less trustworthy, durable, and reliable than one that you need to cart around in a heavy collection of boxes.

Electronic books can certainly complement physical ones. It would, for instance, be very valuable to be able to search electronic copies of books you own. A custom search engine, containing all the books in one’s library and that one has borrowed, would be excellent for tracking down particular passages or conducting general research. Partly for these synergistic reasons, and partly for the reasons listed above, I don’t think physical books are ever likely to become rare.

I do see much more promise for electronic periodicals. Hardly anybody wants to keep physical copies of their newspaper or magazine subscriptions on hand: especially when they are available in an easily searchable form online. If I got a Kindle, it would be for the wireless newspaper and Wikipedia access, not for the $10 book downloads.

OxBridge and the future

The two books I am reading most actively right now both make me miss Oxford. They also make me regret the fact that I am not out traveling or working somewhere exciting.

The first book is Simon Winchester’s The Man Who Loved China: The fantastic story of the eccentric scientist who unlocked the mysteries of the Middle Kingdom. I have read several of his books before: one on the Mercator projection, and another on the genesis of the Oxford English Dictionary. While I am only halfway through this latest book, I think it is better than Mercator but worse than OED, though that probably reflects my own interests as much as anything else. In any case, the book conveys a wonderful sense of what was possible for a motivated and intelligent individual in the position of its protagonist: Noel Joseph Terence Montgomery Needham.

The second book is Oliver Morton’s Eating the Sun: How Plants Power the Planet. Evidently, it is largely a study of the nature and history of photosynthesis. The book contains a good summary of early climatic science, with engaging and informative asides on nuclear physics, biochemistry, and much else. It also includes a great many references to life in Cambridge, during the period between the early outbreak and late aftermath of the second world war. It is a period of unusual interest for climatologists, for reasons I described in my barely-remembered thesis. Personally, my impressions of Cambridge are dominated by the music video to Pink Floyd’s “High Hopes” – one of the very few music videos I have ever watched, and one of the handful I have enjoyed.

What they brought to the forefront is that it is possible to be out and doing interesting things (though certainly more challenging if you mean to do it in a low-carbon way). I would certainly be strongly tempted to strike away from Ottawa to more interesting places, once societal dues have been paid. Where or what that would involve, I cannot yet guess.

Three passages from Payback

There are three further elements of Margaret Atwood’s Payback that seem in keeping with the themes of this blog, and the current conversations here. I am not going to comment on them excessively, since I think they provoke enough thinking in themselves.

The first is her list of possible responses to major crises. You can “Protect Yourself, Give Up and Party, Help Others, Blame, Bear Witness, and Go About Your Life.” In the context of climate change, it seems like we are all engaging in a particular combination of these behaviours. It is worth contemplating if it is the right one. She doesn’t really discuss how there is a prisoner’s dilemma at work here. If nobody else addresses problems, protecting yourself or partying are your best options. If you can convince others to cooperate, you can help others and get on with your life.

The second is her description of an international approach to climate change mitigation:

[G]lobal warming has been dealt with at a global summit during which world leaders gave up paranoia, envy, rivalry, power-hunger, greed, and debate over who should start cutting down the carbon footprint first and rolled up their sleeves and got with it.

While that is a very appealing vision for how developed and rapidly developing states might behave, it does seem appropriate to recall that, in many places, the reduction of extreme poverty and insecurity is a more urgent task. Let Canada, China, and the United States learn how to run a zero carbon society, before calling on Sudan or Afghanistan to do so.

The third is a hypothetical response the American president could have given to the September 11th attacks:

We have suffered a grievous loss – a blow has been struck at us that was motivated by an obsessive desire to harm us. We realize that this was the work of a small group of fanatics. Other nations might bomb the stuffing out of the civilian population where those fanatics are at present located, but we recognize the futility of such an action. Nor will we accuse any bystander nation of having been involved. We realize that acts of vengeance recoil upon the heads of the inventors, and we do not wish to perpetuate a chain reaction of revenge. Therefore we will forgive.

The quote is an interesting one. For me, the last sentence somewhat clashes with the rest. It is one thing to say: “We will not take this fight to those who did not start it.” It is quite another to say that we will not respond directly to those who did, while being careful to spare the innocent. While it is on the fringe of what is imaginable that the United States might have responded to Al Qaeda through international cooperation and the vigorous efforts of law enforcement and the courts, it doesn’t seem either moral or believable that they would not respond in some way to those who were directly involved.

Payback: Debt and the Shadow Side of Wealth

This series of lectures, published in book form, shows Margaret Atwood at her lively best. It is reminiscent of James Burke’s series ‘Connections,’ in which he traces a seemingly random path through history, choosing the most interesting and unexpected road at every juncture. In some ways, Atwood’s consideration of debt occurs in an even richer world, since it includes literature, mythology, and religion among the kind of paths that can be followed.

The first section of the book examines debt in a historical and conceptual way: considering different kinds of debt (financial, moral, spiritual, etc) as well as different modes of repayment. It considers the ethics of being a borrower and a lender, as well as the consequences that can arise for those who happen to be near either. Atwood’s examination highlights how lenders can err both in being too harsh on their debtors and in being too stingy with their money – both the vicious loan shark and the penny-pinching miser are culpable. The book discusses revenge as a special form of debt repayment, as well as the complexities that arise when debts are being incurred by states and princes. All this is made quite entertaining by the cleverness of the connections being identified, and the teasing and humorous tone of the narration.

The second section is an exposition of our current state of deep indebtedness, and a recognition that the greatest and most threatening of those debts are ecological. While Atwood’s updated Scrooge story includes asides on the unjustness of the World Bank and IMF, as well as the risks associated with fiat currencies, her primary concern is with the wanton destruction of the natural world that has been accelerating since the industrial revolution. She singles out overfishing, biofuels, deforestation, overpopulation, soil depletion, and climate change as examples, painting a general picture of extreme human recklessness. The redemptive vision is one based around neo-hippie victory: renewable power, an international agreement to stop climate change, and organic food for all.

The concluding story feels a bit trite, really. Any corporate baron paying the slightest bit of attention would already be jaded about the messages from the ghosts Atwood’s Scrooge Nouveau receives. That said, and while the literary merits of the first section exceed those of the second, it is appealing that this is a book of action as well as contemplation. It is hard not to agree with the thrust of Atwood’s argument. By all means, let’s increase the fairness of the global financial system and curb humanity’s self-destructive ways. This book contributes to that project by provoking a great deal of thought about the symbolism and meanings of debt. We will need to look beyond it for concrete ideas about how to overthrow or convert those who favour the status quo and thus bring about a sustainable (appropriately indebted) new order.

I say ‘appropriately indebted’ because the book makes a strong case that we can never really be out of debt. As social entities, there are always tallies of obligation between us, and nobody can ever be said to be sitting perfectly at the balance point of these transactions. Indeed, given the way they are denominated in different currencies (honour, favours, wealth), seeking such an outcome is hopeless. What we can attain is the position of borrowing and lending rightly, with forgiveness and an awareness and concern about the consequences for those around us and the wider world.

In any case, the book is highly topical, informative, and makes for a quick and rewarding read. It is telling that, while other books have been sitting around my apartment for months, I received this one in the mail yesterday and finished it today.

Dreams from My Father

For those hoping to gain an understanding of the life and thinking of Barack Obama, his first book is probably a better resource than his second. Given his new position of power, it is impossible to read Dreams from My Father while thinking more about the ideas than about the man expressing them. While reading the full story certainly provides a grit and nuance that is lacking in the campaign speech version of Obama’s autobiography, the book doesn’t take the reader up to the present day. Both chronologically and conceptually, it leaves a big gap between Obama’s decision to leave Chicago for law school (after visiting Kenya) and his subsequent political ascension.

The major topics covered in this book are Obama’s family history and the development of his views on class and race. There are hints about the emergence of his personal politics and religiosity, but those are definitely not the major thrust of the account. All told, the book is best understood as a description of the process through which Obama answered key questions about himself, thus leaving him in a position to move forward with that foundation under him. Actually, the book doesn’t even go that far; it leaves the reader with the sense that Obama has collected the basic materials for that foundation, but ends before giving a clear image of the shape and structure that it will ultimately have.

One unescapable question that arises from the book is whether the author has an essentially perfect memory, or whether he was willing to take considerable liberties in describing his thoughts and conversations. The introduction makes it clear that this was not the book he originally set out to write, and that he didn’t have voluminous primary source recordings to draw upon. That produces the major question of just how accurate and complete an account this really is.

It will be very interesting to see the expansion of this biography, both by outside scrutineers and Obama himself, once his time as president has come and gone and his attentions have turned to other things.

Book on communicating climate science

Over at RealClimate, they are encouraging people to read a free book on communicating climate science: Communicating on Climate Change: An Essential Resource for Journalists, Scientists, and Educators. It was written by Bud Ward for the Metcalf Institute for Marine and Environmental Reporting. It is available online as a PDF, and printed copies are available by mail for US$8.00.

Given how much public communication on climate change is of low quality, we should hope that good books on this topic get the attention of authors and editors.

The Name of The Rose

[Image removed at the request of a subject (2019-10-01)]

Umberto Eco’s The Name of The Rose reminded me of both An Instance of the Fingerpost and My Name is Red – the former largely because of how multiple perspectives were employed, and the latter on account of the character of the mystery. All are historical fiction, as well as murder mysteries. All involve the question of which unsympathetic suspect is a murderer. In one form or another, all involve theological disputes. In the end, I found them all reasonably compelling as narratives, but not especially interesting insofar as the major topic under dispute was concerned. Particularly in the case of Red and Eco’s book, the motivations of the murderer turned out to be of fairly marginal interest.

The most interesting aspects of the novel are those concerning the politics of the church and the middle ages, as well as the sections about empiricism and investigation. The more tiresome sections include references to the history of the period insufficiently detailed to make much sense to those not already educated about the middle ages. All told, this is the kind of book best suited to someone with a pre-existing interest and base of knowledge around the time period in question, rather than someone who wandered into it by chance. One well designed element of the story is the ironic contrast between the perceptions of the narrating character (both in reminiscence and during the action), the other characters, and the reader’s own perceptions about some of the issues in question. The sometimes naive observations of the narrator as a young novice are a good mechanism for inducing critical thought.

One annoying choice Eco made was including many untranslated passages in French, German, Latin, and Italian. While I can see what a delight it would be for polyglots to experience these sections in the intended tongue, would it really have been unacceptable to add translations in footnotes or endnotes? Hardly anybody is going to work their way through a Latin-English dictionary word-by-word every couple of pages.

In any case, the mystery itself is well structured and the book well written. Those with a particular interest in the time-place set will probably find it gratifying.

The science section at the Rideau Chapters

The science section at the Rideau Centre Chapters always depresses me. It is often the most disorganized section of the store – tucked, as it is, in the very back corner. Books have frequently been relocated by customers and not re-shelved by staff, and the organizational system is deeply flawed even when properly implemented. For one thing, it has too many confusing sub-sections. It hardly makes sense to have a single shelf set aside for ‘physics’ books, when it is almost impossible to guess whether a specific tome will be in ‘physics,’ ‘mathematics,’ or the catch-all ‘science’ category. To top it all off, the catch-all category has been alphabetized in a bewildering serpent pattern, twisted back against itself and interrupted with random intrusions.

My two final gripes are that the science section is mysteriously co-mingled with the section on pet care (our most sophisticated form of understanding about the universe, lumped in with poodle grooming) and that the science section contains so many books of very dubious scientific merit, such as paranoid and groundless exposes on how MMR vaccines supposedly cause autism (they don’t, though they have saved countless infant lives).

While commercial pressures may legitimately dictate that the pilates section be more accessible, better organized, and more well-trafficked than the physics or biology sections, it is nonetheless saddening.

Prose ‘translation’ of Paradise Lost

One of the best courses I took at UBC was an Honours Milton course I begged my way into, despite being an international relations major. The instructor was Dennis Danielson: a man extremely knowledgeable and passionate about Milton. The best part of the course was definitely portraying Satan in a spoken rendition of Book II of Paradise Lost.

Recently, Dennis Danielson (D^2 henceforth) released a prose ‘translation’ of the poem, hoping to make it more accessible. It includes the original text side-by-side with his interpretation.

It has been added to my lengthy ‘to read’ list, and I recommend that others with an interest in Milton, literature, or theology consider having a look as well.