Pursuant to my discussion of synesthesia, I decided on a lark to tabulate my color mappings. The first is for days of the week; the second is for letters of the alphabet. I don’t have number-color associations.
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Musicophilia - Publisher: Knopf
- Year: 2007
- Pages: 400
I have read Oliver Sacks before. The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat was a fascinating book, but it could get a bit dry at times, consisting as it did of short, informal case histories without much in the way of frame narrative or Bryson-esque exposition. I picked up Musicophilia both because I still like Sacks and his writing, but also because the book’s subject—music and music therapy—is very much a part of my life: my longtime girlfriend, Allison, is studying to become a music therapist, and while I’ve never had the disposition for such a line of work, I’ve always been fascinated by the potential neurological effects of it.
I rather enjoyed this book; I would say I enjoyed it even more than The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat; to start, I think Sacks writing has improved in 20+ years. Second, it seemed more focused, tied as it did around music rather than various and sundry neurological disorders common only by virtue of their disorderly nature.
Sacks covers a lot of different neurological disorders: the book ranges from people stricken with amusia, or have in some way are bereft of the ability to either enjoy music emotionally or even hear music as music, to those who suddenly gained an undying passion for music after being struck by lightning. These are all fascinating, and Sacks spends quite a bit of time talking introducing these case histories, and exploring the possible neurological reasons for these things; there is, too, a certain tawdry fascination with the broken—or sometimes enhanced—minds of other people: we can suddenly feel glad that a symphony doesn’t sound to us like the clanging of pots and pans.
About 2 years ago I wrote a piece called Five things that Desktop Linux really needs, attempting to air out my five biggest grievances with Desktop Linux. If you follow FOSS news, every year is heralded as “The Year of the Linux Desktop,” although such a thing clearly hasn’t happened yet. Now, two years later, I thought it would be interesting to revisit those five problems and see what kind of progress has been made in two years.
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Napoleon's Buttons - Publisher: Jeremy P Tarcher
- Year: 2004
- Pages: 384
I happened upon Napoleon’s Button entirely by accident when I was looking for cover art for His Excellency: George Washington; was so intrigued by the premise promised by the book cover that I decided to read it. It seemed right up my alley: chemistry and history mixed together, perhaps reminiscent of Bill Bryson’s A Short History of Nearly Everything.
What Napoleon’s Buttons is about, in brief, is a look at 17 different molecules or groups of molecules that have been historically important. The author(s) attempt to explain the chemistry that makes these molecules unique or interesting, with liberal use of diagrams and the occasional superfluous black and white photos of olive trees or whatnot. The additional information, and what promised to be the redeeming value of the book, is how these compounds have played out in history. The introduction cites Napoleon’s army being soundly discouraged and defeated in their attempt to march into Russia, perhaps because the tin used in the buttons on French military uniforms crumbles in cold (read: Russian) weather, meaning that the French soldiers suffered from poor clothing and eventually death and illness from the harsh climate. Disappointingly, even though the authors return to Napoleon’s army on several more occasions, including with regard to ascorbic acid (read: scurvy), the story of the tin buttons is never actually covered in a chapter. I’m not sure why that bothers me, but it does.
The chemistry here is good, and very interesting. That being said, the historical content seems tacked on: it takes a particular talent the blend the two well, and I’m afraid the authors of Napoleon’s Buttons just don’t have it (yet). Usually, each chapter begins with a brief teaser, and then the middle section consists mostly of chemistry—what molecules bond with what, &c.—with some history built in. What bothers me most, stylistically, is the chapter “conclusion,” which hearkens to middle school in its subtlety: reiterate the chapters main points and conclude, in essence, “[Molecule] is a very important molecule.” Ho-hum. Same format every time.
The book becomes gradually more complicated as it progresses, starting with relatively simple things like glucose (sugar) and ascorbic acid (vitamin c) and ending with things like chlorofluorocarbons. What was interesting to me was the way in which the historical importance of a molecule was not based on a binary value judgment: the chapter about quinine (the very important cure for malaria), for instance, revisits the compound DDT, a chlorocarbon known mostly for its harmful environmental impact but which the author credits with saving at least 50 million people from malarial death by its ability to kill mosquitos. CFCs (chlorofluorocarbons) were responsible for a dramatic increase in the quality of life before it was discovered that they harmed the ozone layer.
The Pill was discovered largely by accident, in an attempt to cheaply produce steroid compounds (not the sort that athletes take, but medicinal steroids). Olive oil may have been one of the most important compounds substances of the ancient world. The use of lime juice or other vitamin C-rich foods on sea voyages virtually eliminated the existence of scurvy among crews who used it.
I can’t help but feel a little disappointed by Napoleon’s Buttons, which has good science but fell short of the expository standard to which I tend to hold books like this (set, again, by the fabulous Bill Bryson). This is a very high bar, so my criticism shouldn’t be taken as a negative review: this book is still both highly interesting and well-written by most standards, and I recommend it as an engaging reading and a good chemistry primer that isn’t dry and boring.
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Night of the Avenging Blowfish - Publisher: Algonquin Books
- Year: 1994
- Pages: 304
I’ve read this one before, and yet a couple of weeks ago I got an inexplicable urge to read it again.
I’m not aware of Welter writing anything after the mid-1990s and I wonder what ever happened to him, though I can understand how his style of Marx Bros. ripostes and Monty Python silliness would wane in popularity in the cultural context of the new century. Don’t get me wrong: Night of the Avenging Blowfish is funny, but funny from a braver age.
I’m not sure if I realized, when I last read the book, how much its humor relies on relatively simple puns and turns of phrase: the banter between Doyle Coldiron and the rest of his Secret Service comrades-in-arms is mostly wordplay. Granted, it’s funny wordplay, but it also lacks meat—it’s funny only briefly, and Welter has to keep the pace blistering in order not to lose the reader’s attention.
I also realized that when Welter (as Coldiron) goes into his opining, Seinfeld-esque “And what’s the deal with women, anyhow?” shtick, I want to put the book down and walk away. It reminds me too much of my writing as a 15-year-old, thinking I was brilliant and funny when I was really just churning out self-referential schlock.
Then, too, Night of the Avenging Blowfish is really a romantic comedy, chronicling the pathetic love life and eventual torrid romance of its Secret Service protagonist, so it veers wildly between chuckle-worthy jokes and really, really maudlin passages where Doyle just wants to be held, &c., &c., which is all good and fine if you’re reading a Nicolas Sparks book, but it’s a bit passive-aggressive here, where it seems strange and out of place, as though Welter suddenly forgot what book he was writing.
I thought I enjoyed it more the first time I read it, though now that I revisit my old post, I see that I had many of the same thoughts as a do now. Then, too, my reading this time around was interrupted by the death of my father, which sort of cast a pall over any humorous stories.
Long story short: if you’ve got a taste for an easy book with rapidfire humor, heavy on puns and verbal jokes, you might just enjoy Night of the Avenging Blowfish; otherwise, you’re not really missing all that much.