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1101985186
| 9781101985182
| B071VHV6G1
| 3.79
| 335
| Jan 10, 2018
| Jan 30, 2018
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liked it
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One of my most favourite episodes of the new Cosmos (because, honestly, they are all so good) is Episode 10: “The Electric Boy”, which focuses on the
One of my most favourite episodes of the new Cosmos (because, honestly, they are all so good) is Episode 10: “The Electric Boy”, which focuses on the life and discoveries of Michael Faraday. In particular, the episode emphasizes how the invention of the dynamo and the electric motor spurred on a whole new technological revolution. The electric motor is just ubiquitous now, even more so than smarter digital electronics, and we take it for granted as such a basic piece of technological craft. Yet it is in fact a marvel of science and technology. With its somewhat sensationalist title, The Spinning Magnet: The Force That Created the Modern World—and Could Destroy It captures some of that same sense of wonder. In addition to Faraday, science journalist Alanna Mitchell takes us on a tour through history, introducing us to the people who marvelled at, experimented on, and made discoveries about electromagnetism. Thanks to Dutton and NetGalley for the e-ARC. As the title implies, the book focuses heavily on magnetism as it relates to our physical planet. There was quite a bit more geology and geophysics in here than one might initially expect (not that that’s a bad thing). Mitchell always links each point back to the central topic: our Earth is one, giant magnet, and the strength of the magnetic field plays an important role in protecting us from solar and cosmic radiation. Historically, understanding the way the magnetic field works—how it is laid out, and how it is changing—has been important for navigation and theoretical science. Now, though, as our technology base and even things like our power grids become increasingly dependent upon electronics, understanding the Earth’s magnetic field is increasingly a matter of survival. Reading this gave me a serious hankering to read more of Dava Sobel, and it isn’t just because Mitchell briefly relates John Harrison’s development of the marine chronometer. Like Sobel, Mitchell has the talent for breaking down complicated scientific concepts and putting them into a socio-historical context. I do so love when scientists can cross the line into writing popular science books, but even when they do, their closeness to the topic colours the way they explain it. Science communicators have such an important niche in our society: they understand the science enough to represent it truthfully, but because they haven’t devoted a lifetime to researching it actively, they have enough distance to interpret rather than explain. Mitchell comfortably covers topics like vectors, electron valences, and wave-particle duality, in a way that isn’t going to make your head spin like the very electrons she’s talking about. One important feature of The Spinning Magnet: it doggedly rejects the Great Man approach to telling stories about scientific discovery. Oh, it spotlights certain individuals in order to point out their contributions. Bernard Brunhes figures prominently, given that he is the originator of the idea of geomagnetic reversals. Some of the more usual suspects—Galvani, Volta, Franklin, Faraday—show up as well. Yet at every step of the way, Mitchell reminds us that science is ultimately, and has always been, a collaborative effort. This was true in the past, when each person stood on the shoulders of the giants who came before. It is true now, when scientists meet regularly in conferences to discuss all the things they have discovered that make their pet theories untrue. Although I feel like I could have done without a lot of the modern-day descriptions of where and how Mitchell met with the various people she interviewed that begin most of the chapters, I will give her credit for showing us how most contemporary scientists operate within this very interconnected community. It was also delightful to spend some more time thinking about geology and geophysics. Much like Simon Winchester’s The Map That Changed the World , The Spinning Magnet is a potent reminder of how much we can learn about the history of our planet and our universe just by examining the rocks beneath our feet. There are so many stories these stones can tell us; I am constantly surprised and stunned by how much scientists can uncover by devising new and intricate ways to interrogate and interview these otherwise silent artifacts. I’ve always stereotypically seen myself as a “space” person; I like outer space and the impersonality of physics involving inhospitable regions of the cosmos. So it’s nice to have a reminder that our own planet has secrets of the universe to unlock as well, and that we have a lot to learn from it. In the final chapters of the book, Mitchell turns to that sensationalist question implicit in the title: could a geomagnetic reversal be in the cards for our lifetimes, and if so, does that mean The End? Fortunately, she doesn’t buy into the hype. She pursues the question with the proper amount of skepticism. She points out the real dangers, such as the damage done by more intense solar storms back in the 1990s and early 2000s. She mentions the need for us to be prepared, to consider how better to shield our technology, to take this seriously—which, indeed, it seems like many countries are. Yet she is careful not to hype up the alarmist angle. Even though this book, really, just confirms my long-stated belief that the Sun has it out for us all! Goodreads tells me the hardcover version of this book clocks in at 300 pages. It’s always hard to tell in ebook form (this is the first book I read, by the way, on my brand new Kindle Paperwhite, huzzah for eInk!), but The Spinning Magnet felt very long to me. Maybe it’s simply because it has so many—thirty!—chapters, even if the chapters themselves aren’t as long. Mitchell certainly tries to be comprehensive. Yet I almost found myself wishing for … I don’t know … something more, some kind of story or theme to tie together everything that she shows us, beyond her quest to learn more about the obscure Brunhes or, of course, this spectre of geomagnetic reversal. This is a satisfying read and one I’d happily recommend to anyone interested in the topic. It’s edifying without being confusing or patronizing, and there is so much to learn in here. Sometimes it goes off on a tangent or I got a little bored (and that isn’t necessarily Mitchell’s fault). Overall, though, The Spinning Magnet is a great example of what I like to see in my popular stories of science, history, and how they come together. [image] ...more |
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1
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Jan 17, 2018
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Jan 19, 2018
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Jan 17, 2018
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Audiobook
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0231183364
| 9780231183369
| 0231183364
| 4.24
| 366
| Sep 05, 2017
| Sep 05, 2017
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liked it
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One of the benefits of deciding to request books from NetGalley is that it exposes me to more academic science writing than I might otherwise find. Th
One of the benefits of deciding to request books from NetGalley is that it exposes me to more academic science writing than I might otherwise find. Thanks to Columbia University Press for letting me read this. I’m really fascinated by the study of religion, from a sociological and anthropological perspective. I love to learn about the history of religions, and also about how we know what we know. Evolving Brains, Emerging Gods looks at the origins of gods—in the sense of anthropomorphic beings with discrete identities and roles—from the perspective of evolutionary neuroscience. E. Fuller Torrey traces the cognitive development of the human brain over time and attempts to link the advent of specific capabilities—increased intelligence, self-awareness, theory of mind, introspection, and autobiographical memory—to the development of the concept of gods. The result is an interesting mixture of evolution, cognitive neuroscience, and religious anthropology, although it’s probably heavier on the first two. Discussion of religion aside, I found this book very clearly debunks some of the myths and pitfalls that crop up when thinking, as a lay person, about evolution. For example, during the introduction, Torrey explains that, when discussing when certain cognitive developments occurred is always going to be a vague thing: Arguing that a specific cognitive skill is associated with a specific stage of hominin evolution of course does not mean that this skill developed only at that time. Evolution doesn’t have clear dividing lines. Torrey reminds us throughout the book that our record is scattered, incomplete, and biased (in terms of what types of materials are likely to be preserved and where we are likely to find them). The study of evolution and human prehistory, then, is fraught with all the complications that this imperfect picture of the past must create. Ultimately, we have to accept that there are some things we just may never know for certain, even if we can come up with a few very compelling, albeit competing, theories. I also like how Torrey nudges us away from the simplistic picture of the evolutionary ladder. For those of us fortunate enough to actually learn about evolution in schools, sometimes we get the mistaken impression that it was a discrete and one-dimensional progression, from Australopithecus to H. habilis to H. erectus and so on. And indeed, at one point this might have been the thinking—but science changes, even as our schools and textbooks are slow to adapt: Previously, it was thought that Homo erectus had descended from Homo habilis, but recent archeological research suggests that Homo habilis and Homo erectus lived side by side in what is now northern Kenya “for almost half a million years,” making this evolutionary sequence less likely. Additionally, Torrey does a good job communicating the impressive spans of time at work here. H. habilis and H. erectus lived side by side for 500,000 years! That’s longer than we’ve been around as a species and about 100 times longer than we’ve had writing. On a related note, you really do get a sense of how human development seems to have accelerated dramatically over the past 100,000 years. We went from nascent tribal groupings to civilizations to spaceflight in what is practically an evolutionary blink of an eye. Each cognitive development, whatever spurred it on, made it easier for the next development to happen. Evolution is somewhat random, but it is also a series of intense feedback cycles. I also appreciate how Torrey links cognitive development so explicitly to technological and cultural innovation. This might seem self-evident, but we forget this and tend to project our own, current cognitive capacity backwards. So it wasn’t just a case of, for X thousands of years, no human ever noticed something or tried whatever it was that led to an invention or a new idea. As Torrey illustrates, it might have been that, for that long, we were neurologically incapable of noticing or of having that idea or of doing whatever was required to make that leap. It’s just so weird and wonderful to think about how the structures in our brains literally make us who we are and determine how we can think! Torrey goes into great detail explaining human evolutionary history. As you can see, this is what stuck with me most. For better or worse, the actual thesis—how we developed ideas of gods—sometimes felt like it was lurking in the background, waiting in the wings for us to get far enough along in history for Torrey to really talk about the evidence at hand. It isn’t until the penultimate chapter or so that we actually talk much about gods per se. I don’t think this is a fault of the book’s structure itself so much as, you know, the facts available to us. Just be aware, going in, that this is more so a book about evolution and neuroscience that just so happens to talk a lot about gods and beliefs. The last chapter very briefly examines some of the other theories, most of them sociological, that have been proposed to explain gods. I don’t want to be too harsh here, because Torrey up front notes that this is about as short of a survey as you can get and still call it a survey. Still, it is very concise. Of Julian Jaynes’ famous bicameral mind theory, Torrey sums up his dismissal in a single sentence: “Jaynes’s thesis is at odds with almost everything known about the evolution of the human brain”. Although I lol'd at such treatment, I was hoping for a bit more of a takedown. I guess that’s what the 40% of the book that’s endnotes are for? (No joke, I love a book that is significantly composed of endnotes.) Anyone who has a basic scientific understanding of human evolution (i.e., you won’t find the language in here too difficult) will probably enjoy improving the depth of their understanding here. If, like me, you want to learn a lot about the history of religion, you’re not necessarily going to learn as much as you might think, but there’s still some good stuff here. In the end, Torrey succeeds in showing me how the gradual evolution of the human brain played an integral role in our ability to conceive of and use gods, whatever they might be. [image] ...more |
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Sep 06, 2017
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Sep 08, 2017
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Sep 06, 2017
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Hardcover
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0807010030
| 9780807010037
| 0807010030
| 4.05
| 9,080
| May 30, 2017
| Mar 06, 2018
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liked it
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Sometimes it seems like smug people like to point smugly to science to justify their smug opinions about their superiority. Alas, many of these people
Sometimes it seems like smug people like to point smugly to science to justify their smug opinions about their superiority. Alas, many of these people turn out to be men declaiming the natural inferiority of women. As much as some men would like you to believe it, however, “science” doesn’t prove that women are naturally inferior to men. As Angela Saini explains in her book of the same name, “science” backs up what many of us have observed for millennia: it’s complicated, y’all. Inferior references Delusions of Gender , which I also read recently. Whereas Cordelia Fine’s book is about the perceived differences between men and women (particularly neurologically), Saini is more interested in examining scientific explanations that have historically been used to justify the view that women are somehow the “inferior” sex. So, while there is some overlap between these two books, they by and large have different theses. Saini takes us right back to Darwin and his theories of natural selection and sex selection. She explains how Darwin, as important as his writing was for the development of the theory of evolution, nevertheless maintained sexist views about the role of women—and people like Caroline Kennard challenged him on it. From here, Saini starts to examine certain apparent biological differences between men and women—such as the fact that “females get sicker but males die quicker.” Finally, Saini confronts outright myths and misconceptions that have propagated across science and history, and she tackles how it’s difficult to determine how much of our sexual and social mores are biological or cultural in origin. My overall impression of this book is that much of what Saini says here won’t be, overall, that surprising if you’ve been interested in this topic for a while like I have. Nevertheless, what makes Inferior so interesting is the amount of detail. There is a wealth of knowledge here. It is, as she says in her introduction, a resource that you can refer to if you need specific evidence when you’re trying to refute someone’s annoyingly essentialist arguments (though I’m not sure I have the memory to actually remember these studies off the top of my head, sadly). The last few chapters are fascinating in their facts about the diversity of human sexuality. I loved learning about various cultures that have matriarchal elements to them, particularly when it comes to sexual behaviour and infidelity. For example, I hadn’t heard of the Mosuo “walking marriage” before. Saini does a good job highlighting these various departures from what we consider “normal” from our stunted Western perspective without exoticizing or fetishizing them. I do wish she had been somewhat more critical of evolutionary psychology in general…. Saini admirably criticizes specific experiments in evolutionary psychology, and she is quick to point out how various biases (cough, old white guys, cough) can taint results. Yet she doesn’t really delve into the problematic nature of evolutionary psychology in general. Saini demonstrates that even with the amazing tools of scientific method available to us, we need to be careful about the conclusions we draw, the theories we publish, and the statements we make about so-called “differences” between sexes. We are so obsessed with creating categories and labels and putting people in boxes, when the reality is that we are complicated, and that there’s a lot more to our bodies than certain chromosomes or specific hormones might determine. [image] ...more |
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1
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Nov 22, 2018
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Dec 02, 2018
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Aug 30, 2017
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Paperback
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1770413804
| 9781770413801
| 1770413804
| 4.50
| 185
| unknown
| Aug 22, 2017
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really liked it
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I’m not all that comfortable with our tendency these days to label or ask if a piece of media is “feminist”. I don’t think that’s the right way to be
I’m not all that comfortable with our tendency these days to label or ask if a piece of media is “feminist”. I don’t think that’s the right way to be looking at or critiquing media. All media are ultimately creations of our society and therefore contain threads of the implicit biases within our society. Rather than trying to decide if something is or is not feminist, as a whole work, we should be critiquing it through a feminist lens. But damn, if Orphan Black is not a feminist show, I don’t know what is. As much as I could rave about this show, of course, this is a review rather of a companion book: The Science of Orphan Black. I saw this on NetGalley a few days after the series finale aired, and I had to request it, even though it had already been released. As it is, I’m probably going to buy a copy at some point—the final chapter and certain details in the e-ARC are blacked out, I assume because they contain spoilers for the last season—because this is a cool coffee-table-style tie-in book. In addition to the writing, it is gorgeously designed and features great photos and quotes from the show. I’ve always liked how Orphan Black tries to stay as grounded with the science as possible for a show about adult human clones. Casey Griffin and Nina Nesseth obviously like it too, because they’ve done a fabulous job examining the various facets of the science of this show. They pick apart how the show approaches cloning, distinguishing between what’s science fiction and what’s science fact. They also examine the ethics of the science, both in the real world and in the way that Orphan Black treats with this topic. Overall, this is a very complete, well-rounded look at these parts of the series. The book almost parallels the way the show’s awareness and depth of its approach to science develops over the seasons. Griffin and Nesseth begin by teaching us the basics of human cloning at a cellular level. They explain how scientists first went about cloning whole organisms, and why human cloning might be difficult (not to mention, you know, ethically problematic). They point out the missing pieces of the puzzle that weren’t available in the 1980s when Project Leda was up and running, conjecturing what the Duncans must have solved on their own in order to make human cloning successful back then. From there, Griffin and Nesseth dig into the science surrounding clones. They talk nature versus nurture, heritable diseases, and explain how Leda and Castor lines can come from a single donor. I loved this last chapter, because while Cosima mentions a chimera onscreen, Griffin and Nesseth have the time to go into much more detail about how this works on a genetic level. The chapter on Rachel’s brain injury was also fascinating. Again, it’s lovely to learn how much the show got right, and the effort made by the showrunners, crew, and of course, Tatiana Maslany. I was already giving mad kudos to Maslany, Manson, Fawcett, et al, and this book really just enhances my appreciation of everything they did to pull this off. They managed to take a show about women who are (more or less) genetically identical and present us with more than a handful of diverse, differentiated, interesting female characters. I’m not sure what it says about our society that one of the shows with the best representation of women on TV right now has them all played by the same actor … regardless, Griffin and Nesseth point out how, as the show goes on, it grapples with deeper and richer questions in science. In this way, I think The Science of Orphan Black also helps readers understand how science is stratified. There’s very surface-level inquiry, like “how do I measure this, how do I microscope?” and then there are deeper questions, like “how do I introduce gene therapy into my germ-line cells??” Parallel to these run the ethical considerations. Is it a good idea to clone people? What are the legal ramifications for personhood? Although this book doesn’t engage deeply with these debates, it highlights where the show introduces them and also provides an historical background, such as when they talk about the origins of eugenics. The book concludes with a transcript conversation between Manson and Cosima’s namesake, science consultant Cosima Herter. This provides so much insight into the genesis of Orphan Black and how Manson hammered out the direction and ethos for the show, with input from people like Herter. The Science of Orphan Black is an insightful, well-written, must-read for anyone who is a fan of the show and its approaches to science. I miss the Clone Club already (though that series finale was one of the best I’ve ever seen), but it was nice to dip back into that universe, in a very scientific way. [image] ...more |
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1
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Aug 20, 2017
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Aug 21, 2017
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Aug 20, 2017
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Paperback
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0345812700
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| 0345812700
| 4.17
| 60,227
| Oct 29, 2013
| Oct 29, 2013
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it was amazing
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Buckle up and make sure you’re wearing your g-suit, because this is one of those rare books that live up to all the hype. An Astronaut’s Guide to Life
Buckle up and make sure you’re wearing your g-suit, because this is one of those rare books that live up to all the hype. An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth comes with ridiculously high expectations: it has a bunch of awards, and everyone gives it such glowing reviews. So, naturally, I tempered my excitement. As anyone who has read my reviews knows, I love space and science fiction. I welcomed the opportunity to read a book written by someone who has actually been to space. But I was not prepared for how inspirational and genuine Chris Hadfield’s storytelling would be. I could quote a lot of this book in an effort to try to convince you it’s worth reading. I have underlined, annotated, and emphasized so many passages. Here’s one from the introduction: Throughout all this I never felt that I’d be a failure in life if I didn’t get to space. Since the odds of becoming an astronaut were nonexistent, I knew it would be pretty silly to hang my sense of self-worth on it. My attitude was more, “It’s probably not going to happen, but I should do things that keep me moving in the right direction, just in case—and I should be sure those things interest me, so that whatever happens, I’m happy.” Plenty of people dream of becoming astronauts. When Hadfield’s dream began at 9 years old, he also recognized that it was a long-shot. Canada didn’t yet have a space agency, and when it did, the selection process for astronauts was ridiculously competitive and often required a lot of luck. Then again, so much of life is like that. Hadfield’s philosophy, as articulated above, is level-headed and applicable to pretty much any aspirations: if you predicate all your self-worth on a mere possibility of the future; if you define success only by a single, perhaps unattainable goal, then you will spend a lot of your life unfulfilled and unhappy. I suppose, in retrospect, the book’s title should have forewarned me; nevertheless, I didn’t anticipate how much of Hadfield’s thinking is relevant to our everyday life. Much of what he espouses fits with philosophies of mindfulness and self-compassion, which are increasingly popular these days and are things I am striving for within my life. As a teacher, I keep coming back to how much of what Hadfield says applies to education too. He notes that the life of an astronaut is a life of constant learning, both in the traditional form of classrooms and tests as well as on-the-job experiences. There is no such thing as “knowing all there is to know” when you’re an astronaut; you’re constantly learning new things, training on new systems, and re-training on the old ones. The same goes for teaching, and indeed, I suspect it’s true for most careers. And Hadfield emphasizes that the process of learning is a communal effort: The debrief is a cultural staple at NASA, which makes this place a nightmare for people who aren’t fond of meetings. During a sim, the flight director or lead astronaut makes notes on major events, and afterward, kicks off the debrief by reviewing the highlights: what went well, what new things were learned, what was already known but needs to be re-emphasized. Then it’s a free-for-all. Everyone else dives right in, system by system, to dissect what went wrong or was handled poorly. All the people who are involved in the sim have a chance to comment on how things looked from their consoles…. It’s not a public flog: the goal is to build up collective wisdom. I love this idea of debriefing and want to use it in the classroom. I’ve recently gone gradeless, attempting instead to re-focus students’ attention on what really matters: the actual learning, the use of feedback and self-assessment to monitor and improve learning, and community in the classroom. Debriefs, or guided discussions, are nothing new to a classroom, of course, but Hadfield articulates the process here clearly and empathetically. Throughout the book, he points out that it’s possible to be helpful and to provide constructive criticism without tearing people down. Hadfield writes with humility despite being one of the few humans who have visited space. He chronicles the majesty and wonder of space flight with all the zeal one might expect of an astronaut. Reading his description of the nail-biting, g-force–inducing ascents and descents, with the miracle of life in microgravity in between, truly rekindles all the passion and enjoyment for stories of space travel that I have felt ever since I started watching Star Trek in my childhood. Hadfield also explains, in sometimes too-great detail, the mundane aspects of life in space, such as how he pees into a cup (for science) when weightless…. Suffice it to say, I don’t want to be an astronaut. And as much as we romanticize the career, it’s clear that the life of an astronaut is more waiting to be in space than actually being in space, and that life in space is not all it’s cracked up to be. The last few chapters of the book are as heartbreaking as they are honest and amazing. Hadfield recounts his third and last mission to space, sharing the feelings of the final re-entry and his subsequent retirement from the CSA. It’s bittersweet, and Hadfield doesn’t mince words as he shares some of his melancholy moments—but overall, the tone is one of enduring appreciation and pride. He has so much enthusiasm for his ongoing goals to educate and inspire passion for human space flight. We get a little blasé about pictures from space these days, I feel, just because the Internet makes it easy to disseminate them so quickly. Seeing the Earth from space in person must be such a different, jaw-dropping experience, though. Even having read his description of it, I cannot imagine what it must be like to gaze at the Earth from the Cupola of the ISS, knowing it’s the very last time you will ever see the planet in this way in person. Hadfield closes by reminding us to find satisfaction in the small things in life: If I’d defined success very narrowly, limiting it to peak, high-visibility experiences, I would have felt very unsuccessful and unhappy during those years. Life is just a lot better if you feel you’re having 10 wins a day rather than a win every 10 years or so. And just like that, An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth is a welcome tonic to the voices that encourage us to measure success in the currency of celebrity or wealth or visibility. We define what success means to us. I have no reservations recommending this book: it’s a great, interesting, uplifting read. [image] ...more |
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Jul 04, 2017
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Jul 05, 2017
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Jul 04, 2017
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Hardcover
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1479827134
| 9781479827138
| 1479827134
| 3.97
| 35
| May 23, 2017
| May 23, 2017
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liked it
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Hello, and in this instalment of “Ben continues to be behind on reviews and on NetGalley reviews in particular” we’re reviewing Paranoid Science: The
Hello, and in this instalment of “Ben continues to be behind on reviews and on NetGalley reviews in particular” we’re reviewing Paranoid Science: The Christian Right's War on Reality, by Antony Alumkal. I was drawn to this book in much the same way that other people are drawn to evangelical Christianity: the promise of answers. Of course, in this case, I was looking for answers as to why and how the Christian right continues to be such a vocal minority in politics and policy in the US. Living as I do in Canada, we also have our conservative moments—we just saw a year-long race for leader of our own Conservative party with several candidates spouting anti-abortion lines, climate-change denial, xenophobia, etc., to appeal to those more extreme elements of their party. Yet we have a tenth of the United States’ population, and our conservativism looks downright liberal compared to what y’all got in America. So what’s up? Given that this book is published by New York University Press, it should come as no surprise that it is quite academic in tone and style. Alumkal is writing from a sociologist’s perspective and provides a survey, essentially, of evangelical propaganda literature using the tools and techniques of the sociologist. Although he does not hide his disagreement with evangelical views, his intent isn’t so much to judge or denigrate the evangelical positions so much as examine how they exist in relation to the wider American society, and how they have fluctuated over the past fifty years or so with changes in that wider society. This book was perhaps too academic for me, and this is mostly what held me back from enjoying it more than I did. I’m thankful that it doesn’t overstay its welcome; the book is structured very orderly and tightly, and the editing is strong in this one. It wasn’t that I was getting bored or that the book was being repetitive; however, I don’t have the background or passion for sociology that Alumkal’s target audience would have. This isn’t a pop science book—nor is it trying to be. It’s trying to be academic, and it accomplishes that goal. Alumkal has plenty of citations to back up his research, and it’s clear from the depth of his knowledge of evangelical literature that he has done his research and done it well. As the title implies, Paranoid Science isn’t just about evangelical attitudes towards science. Alumkal asserts a stronger claim, namely that evangelicalism takes a paranoid style in its writing about science. The evangelical centre and right, as he calls the two most extreme camps within evangelicalism, believe that “postmodern” science and scientists are part of a conspiracy to promote secularism, weaken Christianity, and turn the United States into a country of heathens. He examines the literature and leaders of the intelligent design movement, the ex-gay movement, the climate-change denial movement, and the bioethics movement. Each of these chapters would make excellent extract material for a more focused class. Altogether, they result in a triangulation of the evidence, making Alumkal’s case far stronger than if he had merely examined one of these movements. Rather than discussing all four of these chapters in detail, allow me to just point out a few things that I found interesting. Firstly, Alumkal sheds some light on the personalities involved in these movements that people who don’t follow them closely wouldn’t necessarily know about. This seems particularly important for the intelligent design movement, which in many ways positions itself in direct opposition to the “New Atheism” movement that has a similar cult of personality around figures like Dawkins and Hitchens. Secondly, I learned a lot more about the ex-gay movement than I knew going into the book! I had a vague awareness of “pray away the gay” conversion therapy outfits in the US. Alumkal furnishes the reader with a much more specific description of these ministries, their origins, and most importantly, how they have changed over the years. Ministries that began with highly optimistic promises of totally “curing” someone of homosexuality have walked back these claims. Now they only “reduce urges” but acknowledge a “lifelong struggle” for most people who seek these “cures”. Alumkal also points out, with no small note of irony, how many of the prominent people in this movement have later abandoned it, culminating in one of the most well-known ex-gay ministries, Exodus, completely changing its tune, apologizing for its harm, and stating it will reform and start promoting tolerance. The chapter on bioethics—namely, the connections between the anti-abortion movement and the anti–stem-cell research movement—intrigued me, because to be honest, it’s the one I’m most sympathetic to. Evolution is a fact; climate change is real and caused by humans; gay people exist and have a right to be, you know, gay—but bioethics is such a grey area! And I’m not talking about abortion: women have a right to access to safe, unshamed abortions. I’m referring more to the germline editing of cells. Genetic engineering of humans (and to a lesser extent, animals) freaks me out, from an ethical and a practical perspective. Of course, the difference between me and members of the evangelical right is that I am happy to exist within shades of grey. One of Paranoid Science’s overarching themes is this observation that evangelicalism largely eschews shades of grey. It presents its apologies for the Bible as the “truth” that sheds light on the confusion and lies perpetuated by science and other media. The exception, here, comes in the bioethics debates. Alumkal points out how the evangelical ministries are often less strident when it comes to matters like birth control, because, unlike the Catholic Church, their base isn’t so opposed to contraception. So the message turns from “science is ignoring what we know to be true because Bible” to “science is unclear on this one, please pray for your personal answer”. Paranoid Science, overall, is a detailed and interesting look into the structure of these evangelical movements against and in suspicion of science. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it for general consumption, just because I think most readers will find it drier than they like. This is definitely more aimed at scholars and others—I’m in that camp, but not in that mood at the moment, and that affected my enjoyment of the book despite my appreciation of its merits. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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May 31, 2017
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Jun 02, 2017
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May 31, 2017
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Hardcover
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0770437737
| 9780770437732
| 0770437737
| 3.33
| 1,029
| May 16, 2017
| May 16, 2017
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it was ok
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I really loved James Kakalios’
The Physics of Superheroes
, so I jumped at the chance to get his new book, The Physics of Everyday Things, when it
I really loved James Kakalios’
The Physics of Superheroes
, so I jumped at the chance to get his new book, The Physics of Everyday Things, when it became available on NetGalley. The Physics of Superheroes was such an engaging way to look at physics! I was intrigued by this new concept, the idea that Kakalios would teach us physics while stepping through a single person’s ordinary daily activities. However, the tone and conceptual density of this book leave it somewhat lacklustre compared to my (admittedly faded) memory of the first book of his. The Physics of Everyday Things starts with waking up and making breakfast and ends with a business presentation and a trip back to a hotel. Along the way, our protagonist drives through toll booths, has an x-ray, goes through airport security, takes a flight, and engages in all sorts of activities that rely on our society’s exploitation of physics. Kakalios pulls the curtain back on the technology we depend on, and the secrets he reveals really are quite fascinating. One of my enduring understandings, particularly from taking a Philosophy of Science and Technology course back in university, is how artificially we separate different types of technology in our minds. For example, a pencil or a pen are technologies. Chairs are technology. My glasses are a technology—and assistive technology, at that. These things are so ubiquitous, cheap, and reliable that they have faded into the background noise of life. Vehicles are more recognizable as technology, or as a collection of technologies, but are also so much a part of our life that we tend to think of them differently. Digital tech—that is, something with a computer somewhere in its guts—is almost always what people think of nowadays when they hear “technology”. Yet so many technologies that once were analog are now digital and computerized, from toasters to clocks, not to mention the scary and possibly doomed Internet of Things. Kakalios engages with a lot of digital technologies in The Physics of Everyday Things, from credit card readers and wireless communications to touchscreens and LCD projectors. However, he also highlights technology we take for granted, or technology that it might never occur to us to question how it works. One of my favourite examples might be an explosive trace detector, as seen in airport security screenings. Kakalios explains how the machine ionizes and then measures the rate at which gas molecules make it through a test chamber to determine what type of molecule it’s dealing with. That’s really neat and not something I would ever have considered. Similarly, I loved his explanations of comparably simpler phenomena, like the fact that coils in things like toasters (not to mention microwave ovens) mean we are cooking with light. So as a reader of popular science, this book admirably ticks the “chock full of scientific information” box. There are also diagrams! Where I struggled was more with Kakalios’ patter. He explains things very well; I didn’t often feel lost or confused or in too deep. Yet I just wasn’t … invested. At all. I didn’t care about the gimmick—I’m not saying it’s a bad gimmick, but I just have no connection to this unnamed hypothetical person whose day we’re stalking. It didn’t enhance my reading experience; I feel like if the book had just said, “Hey, we’re going to explain how these x number of inventions work!” I would have enjoyed it more. I have a theory for why this didn’t hold my interest, though I’m not sure it’s true. Most of the popular science books I read examine science with a historical mindset. The authors explain scientific and technological discoveries and innovations by talking about the people and circumstances that led to them. The Physics of Everyday Things notably retains the spatial location of a technology (where we use it) but strips the temporal aspect (its history and invention). Kakalios doesn’t often mention who came up with an idea, who discovered how to use something, why a particular technology took off. And so I realize that maybe I enjoy the history of science as much as the science itself (it’s this damn unicorn math/English brain again). But it’s hard to test this theory, because I think Kakalios’ book stands out in this regard. And so, maybe, if you’re not so much into the history of inventions and just want to know how they work, this book might be your jam. It is also the right length—I’m finding that with some of these non-fiction books I’m reading electronically, that percent count never seems to increase as fast as I’d like, no matter how fast I’m reading. The Physics of Everyday Things isn’t long, but it’s dense enough to be educational. Would I recommend this? Conditionally. I can’t get as excited about it as I can with other science books. I’m not sure a casual reader is going to pick this up and read it cover-to-cover. But for a DIY-type person, a hardware enthusiast who likes to get their hands dirty but lacks the scientific background on the subject, this could be a cool exploration of these topics. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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May 12, 2017
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May 15, 2017
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May 14, 2017
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Hardcover
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149264935X
| 9781492649359
| 149264935X
| 4.15
| 159,318
| Jun 2016
| May 02, 2017
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it was amazing
|
This book makes one uncomfortable from the very start. Moore lists the ways in which American society embraced the use of radium at the turn of the ce
This book makes one uncomfortable from the very start. Moore lists the ways in which American society embraced the use of radium at the turn of the century. They put it on and in practically everything. It glowed in the dark, after all! It was miraculous! Moore’s blithe list is just so jarring to a 21st-century reader who is aware of radioactivity and the dangers of radium. Yet it’s an effective way to establish the setting for The Radium Girls: although plenty of people in positions of power at these companies were aware that radium could be dangerous, they weren’t eager to advertise this fact to the public or to the girls they hired. I received this from Sourcebooks via NetGalley in exchange for a review. It quickly becomes apparent that this is not an easy story to tell, either from an emotional perspective or a narrative one. I’ll talk about the emotional angle in a bit, but first I want to examine the way Moore approaches the whole saga. There are so many people involved, so many names, that it’s easy to conflate people. Moore basically keeps everything in chronological order, marching forward from World War I through the Depression, the Second World War, and then into the 1940s and beyond. To do this, however, she has to jump among several different towns and factories, introducing women and then dropping them until they re-enter the story years, if not decades later. I’d often find myself reading over a name a few times and wondering, “Is she new? Or did we meet her before?” Similarly, I needed to keep reminding myself that we weren’t dealing with a single, monolithic corporation. There was the United States Radium Corporation, and then Radium Dial, and even, finally, Luminous Processes—they were slightly different beasts, with slightly different stories and strategies and tragedies. In other words, the story here is a complicated one. Moore does her best to tell it as simply and clearly as possible. Some of the medical and scientific details are very complex, and Moore does a great job to explain them without jargon. While a basic understanding of what elements and isotopes are and why ionizing radiation is so bad for human tissue would be helpful here, you will also learn a lot from this book. For instance, I didn’t make the connection between radium building up in the bones like calcium (yay periodicity of elements!) until Moore pointed it out. So at first, while Moore sets the stage and introduces us to the players of this drama, The Radium Girls can feel slightly dense and occasionally opaque from the thick dust of details that settles upon the page. But as the story continues and the damning evidence mounts that radium poisoning is at the centre of the girls’ ill health, the emotional payoff of this story is far more intense and provocative than one might first expect. Indeed, although this is non-fiction and Moore frequently quotes from both primary and secondary sources, with pages upon pages of endnotes and references at the end of the book, The Radium Girls reads more like a novel at times. That’s how much these women, their families, and those scurrilous villains of company managers and lawyers come alive. As Moore describes, with elegance and empathy and pathos, the deterioration of these women’s teeth and jawbones and legs … heartbreaking doesn’t begin describe it. Moore reminds us that this saga unfolds over decades. This is not a matter of years but a lifetime. While the oldest radium girls were bringing the first suits against USRC and Radium Dial, a younger generation was still dipping their brushes in paint and then pointing them with their lips. The simultaneity of these events boggles the mind in hindsight, and reading it … just knowing that these women are ingesting an insanely dangerous and harmful substance … and that the companies know but don’t care … … well, I took frequent breaks while reading this. I just couldn’t keep going sometimes. Normally the kinds of non-fiction stories that get me are the ones that focus on a single person, of course, and their struggles. This book has a much vaster cast, yet it still got to me. It still made me cry, several times over, because this story is just so awful and unnecessary and therefore needs to be told. It’s not just the women’s physical decline, either, the senseless and unnecessary suffering of it all. It’s also the carelessness. The lack of consent. The companies would bring in doctors to examine these women, sometimes in very personal and invasive ways—and wouldn’t share the results. Long after the radium had begun to take its toll on these women’s bodies, the companies would compound that injury. Women’s bodies have long been a battleground they should never be, and Moore highlights that here. The last act of the book ramps up on the emotions to well past 11, though. As Moore recounts the test case trial by Catherine Donohue, the story takes on all the hues of an epic legal drama deserving of a miniseries or at the very least a movie. Catherine is in so much pain, but she tries so hard to stay strong, to stay alive, long enough to bear witness to what Radium Dial did. And the lengths to which the company tries to appeal the judgments, mostly to delay long enough for Catherine to die before she can receive any compensation, are truly despicable. After seeing my reading pace pick up steadily for the middle of the book, I was back a crawl, looking up every page or so and just staring off and covering my mouth and trying to fathom how human beings can have so little regard and empathy for each other. The Radium Girls reminds me a lot of Hidden Figures, another history book authored by a woman about a largely untold story about women. Like Hidden Figures, I think this would make a fantastic movie; this story definitely needs to be more widely known. I also love how Moore mentions the contributions of so many other professional women in this book. Dr. Alice Hamilton is a name I could just barely recall from stories about the fight against leaded gasoline. She’s involved in the battle to classify radium poisoning as an occupational health concern/industrial disease—and a quick jaunt to her Wikipedia page informed me of what a stone-cold badass she was over her 101 year on this Earth. In addition to her tireless science work, she was a political activist and professor. And then you have someone like Frances Perkins, then–Secretary of Labour and first woman cabinet member in the United States. Moore juxtaposes these powerful and inspiring women against a society that largely divests women of power or influence, even over their own bodies, as mentioned above. The epilogue traces the impact of the radium girls over the latter half of the 20th century, including their ongoing contributions to research. Although Moore rightly commends the protections that have since been enshrined in American labour law, she pragmatically points out that those standards are only effective if followed. The radium girls’ suffering is just one example where corporations have outright lied and deceived the public and government officials simply because it might affect their profits. We saw it with leaded gasoline. With tobacco. Polymer giant DuPont was doing it quite recently. The radium girls’ story is essential not because it is a milestone from our past but because it is a mirror of our ongoing reality. For all of its bright moments and successes in court, unlike Hidden Figures, The Radium Girls is not an upbeat and triumphant story, of course. Nevertheless, it is a testament to the fortitude and courage of the radium girls who pressed forward in legal and medical challenges over the years, as well as the experts who fought alongside them against the corporation who sought to keep everything in the dark. They should have known better—the dark is where these girls shone brightest. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Apr 23, 2017
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Apr 25, 2017
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Apr 23, 2017
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Hardcover
| |||||||||||||||
0525427538
| 9780525427537
| 0525427538
| 3.96
| 1,014
| Feb 07, 2017
| Jan 01, 2017
|
it was amazing
|
This is what I knew about vaccines prior to reading this book: * Vaccines work by delivering a killed or live, but weakened, version of a virus into t This is what I knew about vaccines prior to reading this book: * Vaccines work by delivering a killed or live, but weakened, version of a virus into the body, stimulating the body’s immune system into producing antibodies without actually causing an infection. * Edward Jenner gets a lot of credit for using cowpox to vaccinate against smallpox, though he wasn’t the first to think about this. * Vaccines are responsible for preventing death, disability, and disfigurement due to such diseases as smallpox, polio, measles, and even the flu. Indeed, we’ve eradicated smallpox and almost completely eradicated polio! * Vaccines do not cause autism. I love reading books like The Vaccine Race, because they make me realize how much I didn’t know that I don’t know about things! In this case, while I knew what vaccines were, I realized that I didn’t actually know how we make vaccines, the process used to kill or weaken the virus. Meredith Wadman explains this, along with all sorts of related developments in the science of vaccination. The title of this book is somewhat inaccurate, or at least too narrow: The Vaccine Race is really the story of virology and immunology in the 20th century. After all, the central character of this story is Leonard Hayflick, who does not himself develop vaccines but rather a critical line of “normal” human tissue cells that become integral to many vaccine efforts. This story goes far beyond the creation of vaccines, touching broadly on issues of biological research and human health. This is a story, albeit one supported heavily by research. Wadman begins from Hayflick’s earliest days as a scientist, chronicling his studies and start at the Wistar Institute. Along the way, she takes us on digressions to talk about other important figures and the vaccines they worked on. I love the amount of detail that Wadman goes into with regards to the science being done; equally, though, this is not just a book about science but a book about history. Wadman sets out to examine how social conditions and politics in the United States influenced vaccine development, and vice versa. The history herein is a mixed bag, and Wadman tries to celebrate the progressive aspects while acknowledging the shameful, harmful parts. She does not ignore the fact that vaccines were often tested on poor children and orphans, intellectually disabled people, prisoners, and military personnel. In so doing, she doesn’t just highlight the ethical problems with this, but the way they were embedded within the society of the time: In 1950 Koprowski began testing his vaccine on intellectually disabled children at Letchworth Village, a filthy, overcrowded institution for people with physical and mental disabilities in the tiny town of Thiells, New York. Wadman makes it clear here that Dr. Hilary Koprowski didn’t just happen along some intellectually disabled children—they were warehoused, making them ideal for his experiment. Of course, it’s difficult for me to say that things have gotten any better in the present day, considering we incarcerate our mentally ill when we should be helping them…. Anyway, I think the way that Wadman presents these dubious aspects of vaccine development is an important reminder that science is a human endeavour and therefore vulnerable to human flaws. It is impossible, in fact, to separate science and politics. We must push back against people who insist this is possible, people who think that scientists have no business commenting on public policy, that the existence of global warming has no bearing on how we conduct our lives. The Vaccine Race is a potent primer on science, but it’s an even better look into the political framework in which science was done in the 20th century United States. The scientists in this book lived and died by funding, which often came in the form of grants from government institutions like the National Institute of Health. Moreover, scientists in positions of power were not above using their influence to spin things their way: Koprowski had minimized the SV40 monkey virus problem only four months earlier, when his own monkey kidney–based polio vaccine was still in the running for U.S. approval. Now, with Sabin’s vaccine rolling quickly toward being licensed, he sounded more alarmed. The scientific facts were that the SV40 virus existed and that it could potentially survive the vaccine-making progress—but the potential for harm that this posed was still up in the air, and as you can see, Koprowski was willing to change his tune if he thought he could benefit. Someone who was a brilliant scientist—or, more notably perhaps, had a talent for recognizing, grooming, and enabling the brilliance of other scientists—nevertheless keenly acted in his own self-interests when he should have been safeguarding the public good. The officials in charge of government institutions could also play a huge role in aiding or standing in the way of progress. Wadman discusses how the Department of Biological Standards dragged its feet on allowing vaccines made with WI-38 cells to be licensed in the US, but the rest of the world wasn’t so conservative: If the WI-38 cells were ignored in the United States, abroad they were increasingly embraced.… It was a sign of the esteem in which Hayflick’s WI-38 cells were held that the British vaccine authorities … decided, perhaps as a matter of national pride, to derive their own analogous normal, noncancerous human diploid cells. I appreciate that, although largely about the US vaccine industry, the book acknowledges the global scope of medical research. In many cases, crucial advances in vaccines happened because of testing in other countries, or the participation of scientists from other countries—as is the case of Mrs. X and her aborted fetus shipped from Sweden to Hayflick to donate the cells that would become WI-38. Similarly, Wadman reminded me of the importance of scientific conferences—what might seem like a social occasion is really a chance for scientists to recombine ideas and find new, interesting avenues of exploration. If it weren’t for a meeting at a conference, Elizabeth Blackburn might not have heard of Alexei Olovnikov’s little-known theory of cellular aging and connected them to her work on telomeres. Crazy. Much of The Vaccine Race’s political treatment emphasizes the ways in which scientific and medical research’s evolution into an industry has shaped that research, for better or for worse. The pressure on scientists to secure lucrative grants, make big discoveries, and then patent those discoveries is intense. Post-secondary institutions have essentially turned into patent machines, in a sense, and this can often have an adverse effect on the quality of teaching and learning at that institution, not to mention the actual science being done and the mental health of the scientists doing it. Still, while I have been and remain critical of the pharmaceutical industry’s power, influence, and actions, I appreciate how Wadman shows the positive effects of nascent Big Pharma’s embrace of vaccines. At the risk of arguing counterfactually, I’m not sure how effective vaccination would be if it were not for the vaccine production industry. And I have no doubts that vaccines are good. At 27, I am old enough not to have been vaccinated with chicken pox (I have vivid memories of that itch when I was a kid, and then three occurrences of what might have been shingles in my early 20s). But I am too young to remember any kind of developed world scarred by polio, rubella, and measles: In the end, the rubella epidemic that swept the United States in 1964 and 1965 infected an estimated 12.5 million people, or 1 in 15 Americans. More than 159,000 of these infections included joint pain or arthritis, typically in women. Roughly 2,100 people developed encephalitis, a brain inflammation with a 20 percent mortality rate. Just think about that. It boggles my mind, those numbers—they are approximate, because physicians weren’t keeping track! And that was for one epidemic among a recurring cycle of epidemics every 5 years or so! Vaccines have saved literally millions of people from death or needless suffering, and The Vaccine Race is an up-front reminder of how fortunate we are for these discoveries. The Vaccine Race is a first-rate example of science communication. Wadman is detailed but clear in her writing. I could have done without some of that detail, I think—she loves to tell me all about the backstories of every minor character in the book, and at points my eyes glazed over—but I love this blending of science and history. Moreover, this book is meticulously research, and it shows! In addition to numerous primary and secondary print sources, Wadman interviewed any key players who were still alive (a benefit to writing about recent history!). As a result, she can provide a comprehensive and intimate look at the topic, while remaining somewhat more journalistic than a book written by someone directly involved, such as Hayflick himself. I learned so many interesting things in here. I am quite thankful for NetGalley and Viking making a copy of this book available to me to review. [image] ...more |
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Mar 04, 2017
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Mar 13, 2017
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Mar 04, 2017
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Hardcover
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0670016950
| 9780670016952
| 0670016950
| 3.59
| 3,363
| Dec 06, 2016
| Dec 06, 2016
|
really liked it
|
Dava Sobel does it again. I love learning about science, but you know what I might love even more? Learning how we know what we know about science. Tak Dava Sobel does it again. I love learning about science, but you know what I might love even more? Learning how we know what we know about science. Take the stars, for example. How do we know what they're made of without ever visiting them? How can we possibly know how big, or massive, or far away, or hot they are? The fact we've managed to deduce such knowledge from the surface of this planet is nothing short of astounding in my eyes, yet how often do we really stop think about the processes behind those deductions? That's why I love reading science history. Moreover, when we do read those kinds of accounts, they too often fixate on lone geniuses, almost always men, toiling away in obscure labs until their eureka moment. The Glass Universe is an antidote to that kind of portrayal. Sobel soberly recounts the efforts of the astronomers and computers whose ideas and labour helped us answer some of the questions I asked above. Those computers and some of the astronomers were women, yet their names are not often mentioned alongside the names of male astronomers. Without their work, however, the Harvard Observatory would not have been able to complete the work it did in cataloguing and uncovering the mysteries of the sky. I can't help but perceive a double meaning to this book's title: “glass” refers not only to the glass photographic plates over which the women pored but to the idea of a “glass ceiling” that many of these women encountered during their careers. Subtitle aside, this is not really a book about the lives of these women. Sobel relates details of their lives but in a very cursory way. There's a reason for that: there are just too many of them. Sure, you could write a whole book about Mina Fleming, Antonia Maury, Annie Jump Cannon, Henrietta Swann Leavitt, Cecilia Payne-Gaspochkin … but that’s a lot of books to write, and a lot of overlap. Sobel instead focuses on the overall picture, and while that sacrifices some fidelity on the biographical end of things, it provides a much more accurate portrayal of science as it enters the twentieth century. Gone are the days of lone scientists or small couples working in private labs. Welcome to the industrial age of science. So it’s not surprising, in this way, that Sobel focuses as much on the life of the Harvard Observatory as she does on the lives of the women who worked there. She spends a lot of time discussing the actions of its director, Edward Pickering. He and his successor, Harlow Shapley, share the distinction of being champions of a more equitable workplace, recognizing and wanting to acknowledge equally the contributions of the women who worked at the Observatory. I appreciate the level of detail and nuance Sobel brings to the exposition of the challenges that these women faced in being accepted and recognized. It wasn't as simple as basic sexism about whether or not women are capable of scientific work and thought. Plenty of men were happy to let the women toil and contribute, just so long as we didn't get too crazy and label them professors! The Glass Universe covers a roughly seventy-year period of time at the Observatory, from the beginnings of the Henry Draper Memorial project to the post-War era of government-funded science. I love how Sobel traces the development of a few specific strands of knowledge related to the glass plates: specifically, the evolution of the spectral classification system, both in terms of its scientific justification and the adoption of it by the International Astronomical Union. At the same time, we see the Observatory expand and the profession of astronomer further develop into an academic field. All of these various strands of history fascinate me, because I love learning about how we used to do things differently from how they are done today. It's amazing how much of our knowledge of the stars comes from women staring at small plates of glass for hours at a time, counting stars and looking at spectral lines. It wasn't easy work or exciting work, but it unlocked so much understanding! I also really enjoyed seeing the evolution of our understanding of the universe itself. Shapley, for example, was a proponent of the idea that the Milky Way was the observable universe, as opposed to the Island Universe theory that holds the Milky Way as a single galaxy among many. Sobel tracks the developing evidence for and against these theories, and how Shapley reacts. I have a two-volume collection from the early 1920s called The Outline of Science that I really need to dive into and review one of these days; it's just so cool and wild to read about what we thought we know versus what we know now—and wonder how much we'll have to revise in the future. One caveat lector: although Sobel briefly explains how we can use spectrography to learn about the makeup of stars, The Glass Universe does assume a certain amount of astronomical knowledge beyond the average layperson. As someone with a general interest in astronomy but not an amateur astronomer myself, I was comfortable but would have been happy with some refreshers. I don't think that a lack of knowledge will leave you struggling or reduce your enjoyment—this is more history than it is science. Nevertheless, that basic understanding helps you with the context of these discoveries. The Glass Universe helped to fill in some gaps in my knowledge for sure. It chronicles important developments in astronomy as well as the changing scientific method itself. Dava Sobel exhorts us to remember the many intelligent, dedicated women who have left their marks (literally) on the history of this science and whose years of effort brought us so much knowledge of the stars. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Jun 18, 2019
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Jun 20, 2019
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Jan 28, 2017
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Hardcover
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0307599809
| 9780307599803
| 0307599809
| 4.19
| 7,883
| Jan 07, 2012
| Jan 07, 2014
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liked it
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Who doesn’t like a good controversy in their popular science books? What’s a philosophical theory about the nature of the universe if it doesn’t ruffl
Who doesn’t like a good controversy in their popular science books? What’s a philosophical theory about the nature of the universe if it doesn’t ruffle some feathers? No one wants to write a book and then have everyone turn around and shrug at you. That doesn’t sell! So it’s not really surprising that Our Mathematical Universe: My Quest for the Ultimate Nature of Reality is a controversial book by a somewhat controversial physicist. I received this as a Christmas gift a few years ago, and that was the first I’ve heard of Max Tegmark. Since then he has popped up a few times here or there, and now I’ve finally made time to read this long and detailed treatise on the current state of physics and Tegmark’s personal conception of, well, reality. I don’t actually find it all that controversial, per se—though I should clarify that I’m a mathematician by training, and not a physicist, so maybe the way Tegmark presents these ideas is more insulting or seems more radical when one is a physicist. That being said, I’m also not saying I agree with Tegmark’s Mathematical Universe Hypothesis (MUH), because, despite probably being a mathematical realist, Platonism itself strangely makes me uncomfortable…. Oh boy, I think I’ve already used too many strange terms! This review is probably going to get pretty heady and philosophical at some point, much like Our Mathematical Universe does. So let me spend the first part here just discussing the book, its structure and writing, etc., in a more general way, to give you an idea of whether or not it is of interest to you before you read my whole review. I’ll get to my thoughts about Tegmark’s specific claims later. Firstly, regardless of any reservations I might have, I still recommend this book. This is a really well-written and approachable popular science work. Tegmark’s style is really accessible—despite going heavy on scientific and mathematical terminology, he is careful to proceed in a systematic way. This is not a book you want to be reading just before bed, maybe, or during a busy commute—it took me pretty much a week, albeit a busy week, to work my way through it. Nevertheless, I think it is a worthwhile use of one’s time. Tegmark first impressed me with a table at the end of Chapter 1 called “How to read this book”. He lists every chapter of the book, along with three columns: Science-curious reader, hard-core reader of popular science, and physicist. Each column lists the chapters that reader would be best to read/skip—i.e., the science-curious reader should read the entire book; the hard-core reader can skip several of the earlier chapters because they presumably will have seen these explanations before; and the physicist can skip all but the controversial chapters (Tegmark also labels each chapter as “mainstream”, “controversial”, or “extremely controversial”). I love this approach and hope more popular science authors use it. Now, I, of course, ignored these suggestions and read the whole book anyway, because I wanted to see how Tegmark explained the Big Bang, inflation, etc. Yet I confess I skimmed some parts and felt better about it because I knew it was sanctioned. One reason I’ll recommend this book is simply because Tegmark’s explanations for the origins of our universe, as currently understood by “mainstream” cosmology, are really lucid. He clarified several aspects of the Big Bang and inflation that, until now, I not only did not understand but didn’t realize I didn’t understand. He didn’t just improve my comprehension: he actually showed me parts of my comprehension of these theories that were inaccurate. I am not a physicist by training by any stretch of the imagination (I only took physics up to Grade 12 in high school, and they don’t even get into relativity by then, let alone QM); all of this knowledge is entirely autodidactic, and hence it isn’t surprising a lot if it is inaccurately understood. But I think I’ve plateaued a lot lately because I was having trouble finding explanations that were calibrated for my knowledge level: either the explanations get too technical and lose me, or else I just end up reading the same ground-floor “hey have you heard of this thing called the double-slit experiment?” stories over and over again, which isn’t fun either. In particular, I really enjoyed Chapter 5, in which Tegmark explains inflation and why it is necessary to account for problems with the Big Bang theory. The idea of the Big Bang itself is now probably within the realm of general public knowledge, assuming a half-decent education (and regardless of whether one “accepts” the theory or prefers creationist nonsense). Yet there are probably as many misconceptions about this theory as there are explanations of it in popular science books, and once any two non-cosmologists start talking about it, we inevitably run into quasi-philosophical walls. Tegmark very clearly presents what the theory actually says; why it is compelling given the evidence; the problems with the theory without inflation and why inflation itself solves those problems. Tegmark refers a lot to data gathered by several satellites and ground-based microwave telescopes that have observed the Cosmic Background Microwave Radiation (CBMR). He himself worked quite a bit on many of these projects, or with the data from these projects, to help sharpen and analyze this evidence. And this is another reason I enjoyed and recommend Our Mathematical Universe: Tegmark provides a great perspective on how science is done. From conferences to international projects poring over satellite data to writing and publishing papers, Tegmark shows us the act of physics research as much as the end result. He shows us how individual physicists’ opinions of theories will evolve over time. He shows us how people have different specializations, which in turn lead to different predilections and levels of knowledge about parts of physics. It’s really fascinating, and it’s an aspect to the discourse around science that I wish more media would cover. So the first 6 or 7 chapters of this book are excellent, and I recommend reading at least those. After Chapter 8, Tegmark introduces the more “controversial” content. As I said above, I don’t see it as controversial so much as a bundle of claims that are either uninteresting because they are obvious or unappealing because they are largely unintelligible. Now we arrive at the part of the review that gets technical. Let me refer you to Scott Aaronson’s review. He is a computer scientist and much more well-versed in this stuff than I am, so his review goes into more depth behind the mathematical/physics claims that Tegmark makes. I found myself largely nodding along and agreeing with most of Aaronson’s opinions there. You might think that I, as a mathematically-inclined person, might seize upon the idea presented here. Tegmark’s MUH says not only that we can describe the universe using mathematics (a notion almost axiomatic to our physics) but that all of our physical reality itself is literally mathematical. That is, our entire subjective human experiences are simply the consequence of certain facets of a certain mathematical structure within a superset of structures, the entirety of which comprise the Level IV multiverse, i.e., the sum total of all existence and anything that could ever possibly exist. It’s tempting. And yet…. Years ago I read The Grand Design . This was back in my university days, mind, when I was high on philosophy classes of all kinds and armed much more to purpose for these kinds of throw-downs. Nowadays, my memory of the differences between ontological and epistemological arguments requiring jogging from Wikipedia, I’m not so sure I’m up to the task. Yet one idea has stayed with me from Hawking and Mlodinow’s book: that of model-dependent realism. They proposed that the reason we are having so much trouble finding a “theory of everything” to unify the physics of the big (relativity) and the physics of the small (QM) is because no such theory exists. Rather, different theories are required depending on the situation one is trying to model. It is an intriguing idea, one I hadn’t really encountered in a science book before. And I really liked how it short-circuited many anti-realist objections to scientific realism. Tegmark appears to move in the opposite direction. He backs the ToE horse (which is fine) by insisting that the ToE is reality. And then he kind of dodges the question of whether that means we will ever actually find a ToE (because if we did, wouldn’t that mean we just have … reality?). That’s what I mean about the MUH being uninteresting and unintelligible. He starts off by talking about how the movement of time is an illusion, all very much standard stuff depending on how you define spacetime, etc. Yawn. When we get into the more “controversial” material, his argument just sort of breaks down. He starts making a whole bunch of probabilistic paradox arguments, like quantum suicide, the doomsday argument, etc.—the kind of thought experiments that are fun to put into a first-year philosophy textbook but that have little connection to, you know, reality. These thought experiments rely explicitly on making assumptions to make up for our near-total lack of knowledge about a situation. The whole point is that, as we acquire more certain knowledge, we are in a better position to see if we are indeed a representative sample or if, perhaps however improbably, we are not. Tegmark’s MUH is also, despite his claims to the contrary, completely untestable/unfalsifiable. He insists that we will uncover evidence and create theories which logically imply the MUH, and that’s just silly. The MUH is untestable because we currently have no alternative to mathematics as a way of describing physical theories of reality. It is unfalsifiable, because even if we can get past the testing problem, how will we know if we’ve discovered a physical law or property that violates the MUH? Almost by definition, the MUH can take nearly any observational evidence and somehow fit into its framework. Tegmark claims that if the MUH is false, then we will one day run up against an insurmountable “wall” in physics beyond which our knowledge of reality can progress no further, since our mathematics will no longer be able to express reality. I disagree. I think model-dependent realism would be an effective way to counteract such a wall: maybe to progress, all we need do is abandon the search for a ToE and instead create theories of everything. The last half of Our Mathematical Universe is a wild ride of philosophy of mathematics and science. I loved reading it. I found parts of it very convincing, but I don’t think those parts (combined with the other parts) necessarily add up to the whole that Tegmark calls the Level IV multiverse, the Mathematical Universe Hypothesis. I think he is incredibly enthusiastic about this idea and has clearly spent a lot of time thinking on it—which is great. I loved that I got a chance to read it. But I don’t think his arguments are as sound as he thinks they are. I say this not from a physicist’s position (because I’m not one) nor even a mathematician/logician (because, let’s face it, my memory of higher math dims with each passing day) but as the target demographic for this book, the hard-core popular science reader who is looking for a new hit to bring on that theoretical physics high. It’s a nice try, Tegmark, and you almost had me going. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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Jan 20, 2017
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Jan 27, 2017
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Jan 20, 2017
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Hardcover
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006236359X
| 9780062363596
| 006236359X
| 3.97
| 107,876
| Sep 06, 2016
| Sep 06, 2016
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it was amazing
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No, but seriously, did you expect anything less of a rating from me? This book is kickass. It is literally everything I have wanted in a science histo
No, but seriously, did you expect anything less of a rating from me? This book is kickass. It is literally everything I have wanted in a science history book for a while. Hidden Figures details the lives and achievements of the Black women who worked first as computers, then as mathematicians and engineers, for NACA (the National Advisory Committee of Aeronautics) and its successor, NASA. Margot Lee Shetterly pulls back the curtain on an aspect of science history that has remained obscured and neglected. As she explains in the afterword, it’s not that these women and their roles in history were deliberately suppressed; instead, no one had really bothered to piece together their stories and tell the general public. Shetterly, in her first book, pulls together the threads of several women’s lives, creating a compelling book that doesn’t just tell us their story but actually tells the story of NACA/NASA, and the transformation of the American aeronautics industry from World War II to the moonshot. If you’re a woman, you don’t need me to mansplain to you why this book is important. In fact, you’re probably good just skipping the rest of this review and going out and buying a copy right now. If you’re a man, particularly a white man, and you’re having trouble comprehending why I’m gushing so unreservedly at this book, then let me point you to Kameron Hurley’s essay, “‘We Have Always Fought’: Challenging the ‘Women, Cattle and Slaves’ Narrative”: I had no idea what to say to this. I had been nurtured in the U.S. school system on a steady diet of the Great Men theory of history. History was full of Great Men. I had to take separate Women’s History courses just to learn about what women were doing while all the men were killing each other. It turned out many of them were governing countries and figuring out rather effective methods of birth control that had sweeping ramifications on the makeup of particular states, especially Greece and Rome. What Hurley says of women fighting is true for women in STEM. There have always been women in STEM. Unfortunately, it’s just so much easier to name prominent men in STEM than women, thanks to the way our historical narrative has been constructed. Sure, when pressed I can name a handful of women mathematicians off the top of my head—Ada Lovelace, obvs., Emmy Noether, Sofia Kovalevskaya, Sophie Germain. Even when I do this, however, all I’m doing is stretching the Great Man theory to accommodate another sex; in doing this, I erase the contributions of thousands of unnamed women who laboured and calculated and thought. Shetterly avoids succumbing to this temptation. True, she focuses more on some women than others, like Dorothy Vaughan and Katherine Goble Johnson—but she names and briefly explores the lives of many more. Although she relates biographical details, this is not a biography. It’s a history, a history of the early twentieth-century United States and how its technological prowess in air and space allowed it to become a global superpower. Oh, and by the way, that prowess was built on the computations of Black women. Or, as Shetterly observes at one memorable point, there is precious little in aeronautics and space history that women have not been involved in or somehow helped to build. Before we had electronic computers, we had human computers. People—by which I mean, women, because computing was seen as women’s work—sat at rows of desks and did the math required by engineers designing and prototyping aircraft for the war effort. We’re not talking about sums and differences on a calculator here; we’re talking about complicated algebraic operations the likes of which would dazzle you unless you happen to have an undergrad math degree—which most of these women did. Yes, women graduated from university math programs in the 1930s. And, like Dorothy Vaughan, they almost always went into teaching (especially if they were also Black), until the war came along and the demand for women in the workforce—and for computers. There were white women computers as well, and Shetterly names several of them and mentions their contributions at NACA. By focusing on West Computing and its Black computers, however, she can use this history to examine the paradox of racism in the American South during and after World War II. And this is where Hidden Figures transcends merely flipping the script on forgotten women to become a comprehensive and edifying history. I learned so much about discrimination, segregation, and the civil rights movement from this book! As a Canadian, of course, I didn’t learn an awful lot about the American civil rights movement (nor, sadly, do we learn much about our own country’s anti-Black policies). But I thought I knew the gist of it: Black and white people sent their children to separate schools, had separate bathrooms and water fountains and separate seating on buses and at movie theatres. I knew of the landmark Brown v. Board of Education case. I didn’t know about the numerous other legal challenges involving higher education, nor was I aware that following Brown, Virginia was basically like, “Welp, we’ll just defund public education instead.” I had no idea that for five years a county in Virginia closed all of its public schools in an effort to stop integration. Smh. So wild. (It seems wild to me, sitting here and writing this from my relatively enlightened position in 2017. Yet I’m aware that I benefit from hindsight, and I spun off a rant about blindspots in the present day into a separate blog post.) Even in the history of civil rights, I think it’s easy to get caught up in how Black men fought for, advocated for, agitated for freedom from discrimination. Aside from a few token women, like Rosa Parks, mythologized for a single act of defiance, the movement is defined by masculine resistance. Shetterly shatters this conception, showing us how Black women resisted every single day: Miriam Mann’s quiet war to remove the “Colored” sign from the lunchroom table; Mary Jackson working with her son to build the most aerodynamic soap box derby racer; Katherine Johnson literally demanding that she be allowed to sit in on editorial meetings—this is a story where women are not just wives and mothers and cheerleaders of others but actors and makers of history in their own right. Similarly, Hidden Figures is the story of the States’ transition from wartime boom to post-war bustle. Shetterly captures the tension and patriotism ignited by the Soviet launch of Sputnik in 1957, and how it galvanized the States to transform NACA into NASA and begin aiming for space. If her exposition into the administrative intricacies of how this transformation happened gets a bit much at times, I cannot fault her dedication to such details. Despite such digressions, the book remains fascinating through and through. I saw the movie, and I blogged about it! [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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Dec 30, 2016
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Jan 2017
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Aug 16, 2016
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Hardcover
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0374230897
| 9780374230890
| 0374230897
| 3.73
| 3,248
| Oct 08, 2013
| Oct 08, 2013
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liked it
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Are you a perv? Of course you are, you pervy perv, you. At least, that’s the explicit (pun intended) promise in Perv: The Sexual Deviant in All of Us.
Are you a perv? Of course you are, you pervy perv, you. At least, that’s the explicit (pun intended) promise in Perv: The Sexual Deviant in All of Us. Jesse Bering grapples with that truism that the only normal is that there is no normal. He catalogues, comments upon, and otherwise investigates the various types of sexual behaviours that are or have previously been labelled as deviant. The purpose of this exposé (pun intended), if you will, appears twofold: firstly, Bering wants to remind and reassure that there are more kinds of kink under the sun than just S&M and foot fetishes; secondly, he wants us to understand the mechanisms in our society that have traditionally been responsible for identifying, labelling, and even censuring kinks and sexual deviance. This is the sixth (!) book I’ve read for the Banging Book Club, run by Hannah Witton, Lucy Moon, and Leena Norms. Each month’s read provides new insights into the facets of sex and sexuality in human society, whether we’re talking rape culture, attitudes towards vaginas, or in this case, fetishes and other deviations from “the norm”. The inevitable comparison will be with Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex . While that’s probably fair, I don’t know if it really does either book justice. Bonk is a tour-de-force of the science of sex buoyed by Mary Roach’s intense commitment to the cause (including both interviews and, ahem, participating in some experiments herself if need be). Perv has a similarly journalistic tone to it but feels much more like a review of literature on the subject. That being said, I don’t want to give the impression this book is boring! Far from it, for Bering writes with a very accessible style. He’s also quite open, which is important in this type of book. He puts his identity, as a gay man, and his agendas up front so the reader knows the biases with which he approaches this subject matter. And ultimately, the tour that he takes us on is both fascinating and educational, albeit at times somewhat lacking in focus. Perv documents the shift in our views on the permissibility of sex from regulation by tradition/morality to regulation by science. For a long swath of human history, we allowed, controlled, restricted, and demonized sex and specific sex acts based on whether or not society viewed them as “right” or “wrong”. The specific acts that ended up in either of these categories have varied by time and place, but it was always fuelled by morality. People who sexed it up the right way were good, ordinary members of society; people who went off script were bad, immoral, and possibly possessed by demons. As science became more popular and people began to refine the scientific method, its application to the study of human sexuality offered a new opportunity to recodify sexual behaviour through science. Suddenly, perverts weren’t immoral and sexual deviancy wasn’t a matter of character; rather, they were ill, and deviancy had become a sickness to be treated, possibly cured. The medicalization of sexuality is ongoing. It has brought with it many great benefits, from the Pill, to that other pill, not to mention various ways to work around infertility. Bering points out that the earlier ways of regulating sexuality were prone to inconsistency and arbitrariness. For example, the age of consent varies widely across countries and is based more in our morals than in any scientific consensus on when someone can consent to sex. That there should be an age, or some other marker determining when one is capable of consent, seems not to be in doubt—but no one seems to know how to quantify it in a way that will satisfy all of us. If anything can offer up an answer, however, it might be neuroscience and our increasing understanding of how the brain works. Nevertheless, there are also many scary ramifications to the trend of medicalization (female “viagra” and the medicalization of lack of sexual desire always comes to mind). Bering, of course, talks about the various attempts to “cure” homosexuality in the twentieth century, as well as the medical community’s approach to nymphomania. The lesson here: what was once the established norm in medicine with regards to sex has changed quite a bit over the past half-century and continues to change still. Even various psychological manuals can’t quite agree on definitions and which “conditions” to include. So while we know ever more about the science behind sex and have better tools available to help us investigate it, we are still debating how to interpret the results. Perv spends a chapter or two discussing paraphilias and the various modes of attraction. It is entertaining to read about the woman who married the Eiffel tower or people who become aroused by bees. I had no idea how the DSM-5 classified fetishes and the like (and had not really given it much thought, but it’s a cool thing to know). The world of kink is so very diverse, and Bering does an excellent job of pulling back the curtain to help us understand that there are so many different obsessions, fixations, and attractions. It puts paid to the idea that there is an overwhelmingly “normal” or vanilla approach to sex that most people follow, with only a small minority of the community on the fringes. I appreciate the attempt to challenge the heteronormativity of our society. Probably the heaviest topic Bering addresses is pedophilia. Firstly, he delves into the way that the popular definition of pedophilia has expanded to cover things like hebephilia (attraction to pubescents) and the difficulty this causes in a medical context. Related is the conflation with pedophilia and child sexual abuse (not all pedophiles have abused children, and not all those who abuse children are actually aroused by children). Then he addresses various attempts to screen or measure attraction through penile plethysmography (he doesn’t really talk much about the controversy around this technique). Bering highlights the conflict between wanting to identify and study potential pedophiles and the consequences of a non-offending pedophile outing himself. This reminded me of an article in Matter about self-identified pedophiles who have come together to form a support group because they acknowledge their attraction but don’t want to hurt children. This is the dilemma we have: how can we help people who are aware of their problem, people who don’t want to offend, when we vilify them for existing? I only wish Perv had grappled a little harder with issues like this. It’s a fine, interesting book—but it’s also somewhat forgettable. I’ve learned from it, but I’m not sure how much detail I’m going to retain (or how much I really need to retain). Bering presents an adequate survey of various kinks and perversions, certainly proving his thesis that “normal” is an illusion. But it doesn’t seem to amount to much. It’s a book with a subject but no appreciable direction to its narrative. If you’re really into the way Bering explains things, this is probably enough. But I could see people having a lot more trouble getting through this, or considering it dry, if they were looking for something a little more engaging. Each non-fiction book we read for the Banging Book Club offers its own unique window into sex and sexuality. None of them have been a solid 5-star hit for me yet, but every one was interesting in its own way (even if Vagina was somewhat disappointing by playing fast and loose with science). I’m having a good time learning about all these different aspects of the field and picking up books I might not otherwise have found. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Jun 19, 2016
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Jun 21, 2016
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Jun 19, 2016
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Hardcover
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1594633681
| 9781594633683
| 1594633681
| 3.75
| 199
| May 2015
| Aug 25, 2015
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liked it
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I confess I was sceptical about this one, despite the PhD author. A student lent this to me, though, and in addition to generally trying to keep an op
I confess I was sceptical about this one, despite the PhD author. A student lent this to me, though, and in addition to generally trying to keep an open mind, I like to take an interest in what students are reading. So while I probably wouldn’t have picked up The Superhuman Mind on my own, I gave it a try—and it was all right. The rhetoric was not as hyperbolic as I feared, and the scientific aspects were pretty fascinating. It doesn’t have the same kind of intense hook or narrative that some books have—the writing is easy to follow but not overly engaging—but the subject matter is pretty cool. Neuroscience fascinates me, as does philosophy of mind. What makes us who we are? Berit Brogaard and her coauthor, Kristian Marlow, discuss various examples of how the brain can exceed its seemingly “ordinary” capacities to engage in “superhuman” tasks. Brogaard draws on her research on savants, synesthetes, and other people who have abnormal or extraordinary abilities caused by brain function. Her central thesis is that these abilities are not just granted through accident (of birth or circumstance) but can be replicated or learned by almost anyone, provided we have a good enough understanding of how they come about. Frankly, we need more books like this. Once upon a time I watched a movie called Lucy. It was, quite simply, one of the worst movies I have ever watched. The plot was an utter trainwreck of uninspired scenes stitched together somewhat haphazardly, with garbage science tossed around with the impunity of someone who watched The Core and thought, “Hmm, this is too scientifically accurate.” They take the “we only use 10% of our brain” myth—a myth I loathe with the fire of three hundred suns—and crank it up to 11. It’s so ridiculous it should be silly and fun, but it takes itself so seriously and artsy that it falls incredibly flat. But I digress. The 10% myth isn’t the only brain myth that needs to die. Whenever people hear I teach both mathematics and English, they react with surprise, and many of them make a comment along the lines of, “Oh, you use both sides of your brain!” Yeah, because everyone else just goes through life using half a brain. Well, OK, maybe it seems that way! If they bring up the left brain/right brain thing, though, I have to say, “Well, actually, the left brain is also typically the dominant hemisphere for language as well.” So there. My point is that our understanding of brain function has advanced considerably in the past fifty years, but our education on the brain has not. The general public still has a very vague idea of how our brains work. This ignorance, combined with the proliferation of various myths, is not just inconvenient but can also be dangerous: it leads to stigma around mental health and traumatic brain injury; it reinforces stereotypes of gender (and even race!); and it leads to people basing important decisions on mistaken or pseudo-scientific information. The Superhuman Mind goes a long way towards informing its reader about the wonders of the human brain, laying out what we know and how we know it, along with what we don’t know or need to find out next. It sheds light on the savant abilities of people with autism, traumatic brain injury, and other brain function that differs from the “norm.” Brogaard explains how these abilities work—at least as far as we know right now—and how people might acquire them without sacrificing chunks of grey and white matter. Neuroplasticity is a fascinating idea, and a complex one, and I’m not going to try to explain it here. I like, however, that Brogaard explores how practice influences the brain. It’s not just the practice is building up memories—it’s rewiring our neural connections, training the brain to dedicate specific pathways to certain tasks. This is adjacent to the bigger discussion around nature and nurture: some people seem born with savant abilities, and others acquire them suddenly in similarly “natural” experiences; yet, Brogaard contends, it is entirely possible to learn these abilities like one might learn to play piano. As much as I enjoyed the book, I really hate the way it is being marketed by cover and copy decisions. My copy has the subtitle “Free the Genius in Your Brain” (only slightly different from “How to Unleash Your Inner Genius”), and the back quotes extensively from the book’s own foreword, talking about the “superbrain.” All in all it just comes across like this is supposed to be one of those gimmicky The Secret–like books that will give you powers over matter and the universe itself. It isn’t. It’s hard science at its best, albeit told through some scattered and disorganized narratives about individual patients and larger studies. The Superhuman Mind is informative and interesting. It talks about the brain, and neuroscience, in an unconventional but still utterly rational, thoughtful way. I liked those aspects. At times it doesn’t deliver what I generally want from a non-fiction read, in terms of style and feel, but those seem like minor and very personal quibbles. If, like me, you wonder how we tick beneath these skulls of ours, you might like giving this a shot. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Apr 11, 2016
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Apr 13, 2016
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Apr 11, 2016
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Hardcover
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0393064646
| 9780393064643
| 0393064646
| 3.85
| 58,970
| Mar 17, 2008
| Mar 17, 2008
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really liked it
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As I recently noted on Twitter, there is an uncomfortable amount of talk about inserting stuff into bodily orifices that shouldn’t be inserted there.
As I recently noted on Twitter, there is an uncomfortable amount of talk about inserting stuff into bodily orifices that shouldn’t be inserted there. This is not a book for the faint of heart. Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex is the third book in the #bangingbookclub, run by Hannah Witton, Leena Norms, and Lucy Moon. Check out the Twitter feed to see what everyone else is saying about Bonk and the other reads (last month’s was The Vagina Monologues ). This book club focuses on books about sex and sexuality, and Bonk definitely falls under that category. What the club doesn’t prescribe but Mary Roach does provide is a healthy helping of humour: in the book’s description, someone for The New Yorker describes her as “the funniest science writer in the country.” I was sceptical of such a superlative distinction, but it might be true—and if not, she’s up there on the podium. If you watched the first season of Showtime’s Masters and Sex you will know, somewhat, of what Roach discusses here. (I say the first season, specifically, because subsequent seasons have drifted further into soap opera territory and farther away from the science side of things—which is fine if you want soap opera, but not really my cup of tea.) Roach gives Masters and Johnson their due, of course, and she mentions other notorious scientists, like Alfred Kinsey. She also illuminates the field, though, mentioning names I hadn’t encountered: Robert Latou Dickinson, and women in the field, like Marie Bonaparte (she of the “I had my clitoris moved…”). And while Roach diligently details much of the history of sex research, she spends a great deal of the book talking about the state of the field right now. I found this very gratifying. I can’t speak for others (particularly those who live in less fortunate areas of the world, like the United States, where sex ed is paltry or non-existent) but I’ve always just kind of had the impression that our scientific knowledge of sex was pretty thorough and complete. We know, in other words, how babies are made. I knew we were still mucking about with genes and fertilization techniques, etc., but I didn’t pay much attention to other parts of the field. I guess I underestimated how much the pleasurable nature of sex for some people motivates us, as a species, to turn our curious and scientific minds to the process. The truth is, sex research is alive and well—but we just don’t talk about it as much as we should! Roach seems to have a few clear goals. Firstly, she sets out to demystify and dispel stigma around sex research (i.e., it’s not something scientists do because they have a perverted fascination with sex). Secondly, she tries to explore and explain the field without resorting to too much jargon (her explanations of complicated biological processes and surgical procedures are remarkably lucid and easy to follow). Thirdly, she points out areas of sex that have yet to be studied thoroughly enough. Although short, Bonk packs a punch when it comes to the sheer amount of information and number of topics Roach manages to cover. Also, the chapters themselves are short, making this a very easy book to read a little at a time. I appreciate the way Roach allays accusations that if you’re interested in talking about sex, or researching it in a lab, you must be a pervert. It seems like this should go without saying in 2016 (or 2008, when this book was written), what with the way we’re saturated in media by sex and sexuality. And hey, everyone wants to talk about sex—I’m not interested in having sex and I still want to talk about it. However, this is the peculiar double standard of our times: we are supposed to be interested in sex just enough, but if we are interested too little or too much, we are labelled as deviant. The amount of interest, and the way it should be expressed, varies with one’s gender, social status, age, etc. Slip up in any way and you get policed. Start talking or thinking about sex too young? Perverted. Someone must have “corrupted” your innocence. Start having sexual thoughts about the sex you’re not supposed to be attracted to in your community? Ugh, perverted! Did you start talking about sex, and are you a woman? The height of perversion!! I digress. And I jest—one theme that Roach unearths is how women’s sexuality has actually been acknowledged and studied in various ways throughout recorded history. Rather than a clear progression from “women do not enjoy sex” to “women enjoy sex but men don’t care” to “women enjoy sex and men should care,” we see a much more complicated, roller-coaster-ride journey as different societies grapple with the radical notion that women are people, and that they should enjoy their bodies as something other than childbearing vessels. And while we live in a very enlightened and privileged time (what with the Pill and all those fancy vibrators), we still have a ways to go. For all her openness (Roach is pretty candid about the times she had to volunteer herself as a participant to get access to the goings-on in a sex study), elements of Roach’s humour undermine her attempts to make us stop sniggering about sex. I conflicted about this. On one hand, I think Roach is just trying to dispel our discomfort using humour—by pointing it out and then dismissing it with a joke, we can focus on the science. On the other hand, I do feel like she is somewhat reinforcing the very ideas that she dismisses in her introduction; sometimes her jokes feel like they are implying that these researchers are unhealthily fascinated by what’s going on, or at least that there is something weird and freaky about studying the anatomy and biology of sex in humans. To be clear, I don’t think Roach is deliberately implying that—I just worry it’s a side effect of some of her humour. Bonk might be one of the most edifying books I’ve read in a while—and I read a lot, a fair amount of it non-fiction. The coy chapter titles conceal their contents well, but Roach covers a vast swathe of sex research. She looks at what we know about the role of the clitoris in orgasm before moving on to wondering what role the female orgasm’s biological manifestations plays in reproduction (answer: we’re still not sure). From there she talks a bit about how we can get a good look all up in there (vaginas; I’m talking about sticking cameras up people’s vaginas), before a few chapters on impotence (male and female) and the ways we can “fix” this (male and female). I say “fix” because Roach does point out that, for some people, it’s not actually a problem, and that there are communities and organizations somewhat concerned by the medicalization of sexuality—especially in women. Throughout this book I was constantly thinking about the controversy around “female Viagra”, a treatment Roach alludes to in the book but that has only recently come to fruition. This book also taught me many cool science tidbits I otherwise haven’t learned before. Vaginal lubricant isn’t glandular but actually the clear plasma component from the blood that fills the walls around the vagina. How cool is that? Roach seems to spend roughly equal time on vaginas and penises. For a book about sex, it’s not surprising that the subject falls into such a binary. To her credit, Roach does talk about trans people and gay people here and there—as far as Bonk is concerned, it’s mostly focused on the individual, who might have a penis or a vagina, rather than couples of any particular orientation. I found it most interesting that Roach does not even come near the debate over how biology, genetics, or environment might influence our sexual orientations—though I think she was probably right to stay away from that minefield. Overall, this is a book focused almost exclusively on biological parts of coupling rather than the cultural parts—though I don’t mean to suggest that biology presents us with straightforward binaries either. Unfortunately, we still have a long way to go on this front, when many researchers continue to talk about gender queerness in very medical terms and use “healthy” as a synonym for cisgender people. While Bonk doesn’t demonstrate these views, its findings are naturally restricted to what we have studied so far (and the framework around which we study them, as Roach herself points out when she describes the methodologies Masters and Johnson use with gay couples). That is, of course, the fantastic thing about science. The state of our knowledge is in continual flux: what we know changes every day, every moment, and can make us revise or revisit everything that came before. Bonk represents the state of our knowledge in 2008. It’s far from complete, and I’m sure parts of it are outdated or will be in coming years. But Roach does a great job pulling back the curtain on research into the bedroom, giving her readers a great primer on sex and science and leaving us with the right questions to ask going forward. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Mar 13, 2016
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Mar 14, 2016
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Mar 13, 2016
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Hardcover
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0062328514
| 9780062328519
| 0062328514
| 3.68
| 3,398
| Oct 27, 2015
| Oct 27, 2015
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really liked it
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I very much enjoyed Lisa Randall’s
Knocking on Heaven’s Door
, which provided a layperson like me with a cogent explanation of the Standard Model t
I very much enjoyed Lisa Randall’s
Knocking on Heaven’s Door
, which provided a layperson like me with a cogent explanation of the Standard Model that underpins modern particle physics. Randall is a physicist with a knack for explaining things both enthusiastically and clearly; she’s a good storyteller who doesn’t get too bogged down in trying to get all the details right for us. So I was intrigued enough to put Dark Matter and the Dinosaurs on my to-read list, even if that was years and years ago. Now that I’ve read it, all I can say is: wow. What an interesting take on a popular physics book. The title hints at how different this book is going to be. How could the dinosaurs be connected at all with dark matter? Randall has a plausible scientific theory—this book is not science fiction or fantasy—but I want to be up front with anyone considering reading this book: this is a thought experiment. Randall and her collaborator, Matthew Reece, decided to investigate the possibility that the solar system’s passage through a hypothetical disk of dark matter embedded in the galactic plane might disturb comets from the Oort cloud and periodically send them into the solar system in a way that could lead to a devastating, extinction-level impact on Earth. Their work is built on decades of investigations into extinctions, the theory of periodic impacts from space, and of course, the nature and distribution of dark matter in our universe. Everything they say here is (as far as I can tell) plausible from a scientific perspective but also highly theoretical. Just keep that in mind as you read. Also be aware that much of this book discusses neither dark matter nor dinosaurs! Never fear, they do come up, especially towards the end. But there is a lot of build-up first. In this respect, the book’s subtitle—The Astounding Interconnectedness of the Universe—is quite apt, and this is probably the make-or-break selling point of the book for people. Either you appreciate how Randall tells the story or you don’t. The first few parts of the book develop our basic understanding of the universe itself and our particular corner of it. In particular, Randall explains where impactors—asteroids, comets, meteoroids—come from. She does a good job helping us wrap our heads around the vastness of our solar system as well. Those school models of the planets all neatly lined up at distances not to scale warp our ideas about how big the solar system is—Randall makes it clear that our solar system is vast and mostly empty, but there is a lot about the composition of its fringes (like the Oort cloud) that we’re still unsure of because it’s so far away and hard to probe. The middle of the book is mostly about the effects of impacts on Earth. While the dinosaurs come up here and there, they aren’t the main story. Randall is more interested in explaining about craters, how we investigate their properties, and what they can tell us about the nature of the impact and impactor itself. This part was extremely interesting and valuable to me. Randall strives to help us understand that science is a fallible but hopefully self-correcting process. As with the story in Fossil Men , this is a story about people’s egos and different theories running up against each other, looking for evidence either way. Things I took for granted growing up, like the fact that the extinction of the dinosaurs was kicked off by an impact off the coast of the Yucatán Peninsula, were only accepted very recently! And the story of how these theories were formed and investigated in incredibly interesting and full of drama. (Hearing about all the messy drama is probably my favourite thing about reading popular science books, let’s be real!) So it’s a lot of setup before we finally arrive at the end of the book, where Randall unspools the theory she and Reece have cooked up. I explained it above, and that’s about all the detail I can give, because I am not an astrophysicist! I appreciate the care with which Randall explains competing models of dark matter and how she reminds us, over and over, that what she and Reece are proposing is just one idea among many. Sometimes scientists become too invested in promoting or hyping up their own theories when the evidence isn’t there yet. Randall doesn’t do this, and it makes me respect her all the more. Yes, it might seem silly to some people to write an entire book about a hypothetical scenario. Yes, it might seem odd that Randall has spent so much time investigating a connection between physics and extinction events that doesn’t seem to have any practical consequences for humans here and now. In my opinion, however, this book has a great deal of merit. It demonstrates how science is a creative process. I love the way Randall describes how she and Reece went about forming their theory, from reviewing existing literature to gathering datasets to forming their hypotheses. She makes it clear that this is a fun project for them, but she also explains its value: by searching for evidence that supports or rules out their theory, they might further refine our understanding of dark matter in general. Similarly, if their theory helps us to understand impact events and whether or not they are periodic, this might help paleontologists further refine our understanding of the history of life on Earth! None of this would happen if two physicists didn’t decide one day to get creative. I know any physicist (or scientist in general) who reads this review might not be surprised—I bet all of you are a fairly creative bunch! But that isn’t the picture we’re painted, especially in schools where we are not taught science in a creative, messy way like we were from The Magic School Bus. And that’s a shame. Dark Matter and the Dinosaurs might not hold a revolutionary new discovery within. But it shows us the value of looking at connections, of being interdisciplinary, and of creative thinking. These are qualities scientists need, and this book helps you think a little more like a scientist. Originally posted on Kara.Reviews, where you can easily browse all my reviews and subscribe to my newsletter. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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May 22, 2021
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May 24, 2021
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Dec 31, 2015
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ebook
| |||||||||||||||
1250007135
| 9781250007131
| 1250007135
| 4.14
| 13,465
| Nov 04, 2014
| Nov 04, 2014
|
it was amazing
|
So let’s say you’re unsure on this whole evolution thing. You’ve got questions. But, for one reason or another, science never stuck with you in school
So let’s say you’re unsure on this whole evolution thing. You’ve got questions. But, for one reason or another, science never stuck with you in school. Maybe your classes (or teachers, sigh) were a bit on the boring side—lots of memorization and dull textbooks, and no explosions, no episodes of Bill Nye the Science Guy on VHS on the bulky 27" CRT television wheeled out from the A/V cabinet (ahhh, those were the days). Or maybe you had the misfortune to attend an underfunded public school in the United States—worse still, one in a state where politicians have decided that little things like “facts” don’t belong in curricula. Evolution is “just a theory,” and so you aren’t taught about it, at least not properly. Let’s say you’re one of those people. Because they exist, and if some people have their way, these people will become more numerous. The scientifically semi-literate, they will have a working knowledge of technology and a basic grasp of science, but they will drift through life forever uncertain and apprehensive of the controversial strides we are making because of science. And this is not their fault. It’s not something inherently wrong with them, a closed-mindedness they were born with or inculcated early at birth. They weren’t raised by a backwater cult. They simply had the misfortune to be educated in a broad swath of the United States. I’m not one of these people, of course. I was lucky enough to grow up in Ontario, Canada; while our education system is far from perfect, its science curriculum is fact-based at least. Although I don’t have the patience, determination, or fiddly manual dexterity to become a scientist myself (I went the more abstract route of mathematics!), I grew up with a great fascination of and respect for science and scientists. Bill Nye’s educational children’s show was a huge part of that. It is not exaggerating to say that he inspired my generation towards STEM careers. Undeniable: Evolution and the Science of Creation is Nye’s attempt to reach out to those who weren’t so lucky to receive that education the first go round. At least, that’s what it seems to me. He wrote this book as a follow-up to his debate with Ken Ham. But here, as there, his goal is not to try to persuade hardcore creationists. And even more so than in the debate, this book is not about evolution versus creationism so much as it is about evolution full stop. I already knew a good deal about evolution, and much of what Nye talks about is not new to me—but I still learned, because his prose is straightforward and his explanations accessible. This is the book about evolution for those who are genuinely curious or confused but don’t know how to find out more information. Nye brings a huge amount of compassion to the table, something scientists and sceptics (ahem, Dawkins) fail to do. Although he is unfailingly critical of creationism, Nye is not here to harangue or lecture the reader. And his aims are, as they were when he was the star of that beloved TV show, to educate: Frankly, my concern is not so much for the deniers of evolution as it is for their kids. We cannot address the problems facing humankind today without science—both the body of scientific knowledge and, more important, the process. Science is the way in which we know nature and our place within it. As a teacher, this is hugely important to me. One of the current—and, sadly, most effective—tactics used by creationist lobbies is the “teach the controversy” model, where science teachers must present creationism (or its gussied-up cousin, intelligent design) as a viable alternative theory alongside evolution, as if there were some debate amongst scientists it. This attempt to legitimize creationism as “creation science” and the use of pseudoscientific lines of reasoning in creationist arguments is pernicious and troubling, because creationism is not science. Nye makes this distinction clear from the beginning: science is open-ended and always changing; creationism is a fixed, closed worldview not amenable to new evidence or theories. Creationism’s textbook, the Bible, hasn’t changed (aside from translations) in over a millennium. And for a religious text, that is absolutely fine—like Nye (and unlike Dawkins) I have no problem with the idea that religion and science can coexist, and that you can be a scientifically-minded religious person, or a religious scientist. But as a scientific text, that is bonkers. Though The Origin of Species might be the seminal work on evolution, that doesn’t mean it’s a holy text for scientists. Darwin is widely lauded as the “father of evolution,” but his was the spark. Generations of scientists since then have carried the idea farther. Along the way we learned about genes and DNA, and we understand so much more than we did in the 1860s. And that’s wonderful. I agree wholeheartedly with Nye when he argues that creationism is an inherently useless perspective, because it will never lead to anything new. Creationism attempts to couch its beliefs in scientific language these days, but scratch the surface and you soon arrive at “God did it.” Again, as a religious argument this is fine. But as a scientific argument it is worthless, because we can’t extrapolate from “God did it.” Creationism insists that our world cannot be investigated in a systematic way—that, in fact, for some reason this all-loving creator has gone out of its way to fool us with all these fake fossils and sediments and whatnot. If that is the case, then how could we hope to learn more about how the world works, and in so doing, invent new things and improve our ways of life for everyone? The mutability of science with evidence is huge, and Nye has demonstrated this. In this very book, chapter 30 is all about GMOs (genetically modified organisms) and how he thinks we should “slow down” because there’s something very “unnatural” about putting fish genes in a tomato. I really don’t like this chapter; even though he is apprehension about GMOs is legitimate, it feels like he is falling back on a lot of unscientific and emotional appeals here. He is right that we should be concerned about GMOs and we need to think carefully about how we are creating/using them. Nevertheless, Nye has fulfilled the statement he made at the Ken Ham debate and reiterates in this book: in the face of evidence, he changed his mind about GMOs. Because that’s how science works. I also share Nye’s bemusement over the fact that evolution is, by and large, singled out among scientific theories as controversial. Few enough people argue about the principles that underline, say, aircraft or computers or phones. Physics is somehow less controversial—maybe because all that math makes it harder for laypeople to debate? (I mean, there are areas of the internet were people seriously talk about relativity as if it is a “liberal conspiracy,” but nowhere near to the extent as the popular debate over evolution). I suppose it’s easy enough to ignore the parts of the Bible that feel dated these days. But we can’t do that with science. As Nye explains in this book, evolution is inextricably linked to the chemical and physical properties of the universe—and is a consequence of those properties. It is illogical and irrational to take the parts and fruits of scientific discovery you feel comfortable with but discard the ones that disagree with your pet worldview. Nye responds to this exasperation with the same exuberance for science that inspired so many watching his TV show. For Nye, and for myself and so many others, science is just awesome. It’s so amazing to think about the processes that led to me and you. Like A Short History of Nearly Everything , this book’s enthusiasm and love for science and learning rings loudly. Undeniable is also one of the most accessible popular science books on evolution you’re likely to find. The chapters are short, averaging about 8 pages each, and there are no equations—but hey, Nye does include some sketches he drew himself! Drawing on his decades as a science communicator, Nye is able to use analogies and plain English to explain these complicated processes. And while there are areas I notice he elides, for the most part his accounts are both accurate and accessible, which is not easy to do. So if you like science but want to know how to talk about evolution in mixed company, this is the book for you. Or if you’re open-minded but genuinely not sure about evolution, this is the book for you. There is no test at the end. But really, I think the most controversial thing Bill Nye mentions in this book is that he read Fifty Shades of Grey. My entire world is shaken, Bill! [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Dec 26, 2015
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Dec 27, 2015
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Nov 08, 2015
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Hardcover
| |||||||||||||||
0306819643
| 9780306819643
| 0306819643
| 3.75
| 4,413
| Oct 01, 2011
| Jan 31, 2012
|
it was ok
|
The universe is big. Mindbogglingly big. Our minds have trouble conceiving of the vastness of the universe, on either scales of time and space, or the
The universe is big. Mindbogglingly big. Our minds have trouble conceiving of the vastness of the universe, on either scales of time and space, or their unified presentation as spacetime. And the moment we think we might possibly be able to get used to this idea, it becomes apparent that the very foundations of our universe are small. So small, so tiny, that the energy required to probe these depths is nearly as impressively vast as the scale of the universe they conspire to create. This is The Quantum Universe that Brian Cox and Jeff Forshaw want to explore with us. Quantum mechanics is notorious among physicists and laypeople alike for appearing to be nonsensical and unintuitive (or at least counter-intuitive). The chapter titles of this book illustrate this line of thought: “Being in Two Places at Once,” “Everything That Can Happen Does Happen,” “Movement as an Illusion,” etc. But such ideas are fundamentally biased by our perspective as macro-sized beings. If we experienced the world at the quantum level, then quantum mechanics would seem quite normal. Since our larger world is based on the confluence of so many quantum-level events, the picture this builds up is so far removed from those quantum effects that we get a false sense of reality. So Cox and Forshaw follow Heisenberg in establishing that the job of quantum theory should be to predict directly observable things…. It should not be expected to provide some kind of satisfying mental picture for the internal workings of the atom, because this is not necessary and it may not even be possible. This is really difficult to accept. I know because I read a lot about physics and science, and I still picture a really tiny, featureless sphere when I picture an electron. But, of course, the whole idea of “picturing” an electron is the part that doesn’t make sense. Particles are not solid lumps of matter that happen to be really small. Particles are waves and waves are particles because both are descriptions of specific phenomena, often at a particular space and time in the universe. Cox and Forshaw do a pretty good job, then, of deconstructing this false notion of particles. I also appreciate how they ground this deconstruction in the historical development of quantum mechanics. I knew the names, and had a vague idea of what the heavyweights behind quantum mechanics were known for—Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, Rutherford and the structure of the atom, Dirac and antimatter, Schrödinger and the wave equation, etc. But Cox and Forshaw provide a more detailed context and chronology. They would describe, for instance, how Rutherford quickly realized the solar system model of the atom was wrong, or how Born or Dirac or Feynman would feed off each other’s discoveries very quickly. The 1920s was a really interesting time in the rapid development of quantum theory! Starting around chapter 3, the book tries to explain these basic ideas in quantum theory to a reader who is assumed to have little scientific or mathematical background. Cox and Forshaw try to be reassuring, claiming that if someone is intimidated by the math, they can safely skip it. To their credit, although they refer to calculus and other higher math, the actual math they show is comprehensible to someone who took high school physics. Nevertheless, if you do skip the math … well, you’ll end up reading very little of what’s already a short book. I fear The Quantum Universe suffers from trying to have its cake and eat it as well. Cox and Forshaw are so invested in not having to explain complex-based trigonometry to a lay audience that they manage to invent an analogy even more complicated than this math! I pulled down my copy of The Illustrated A Brief History of Time and The Universe in a Nutshell , really the best, to see how Stephen Hawking deals with this. He dodges it by just not discussing the math behind it (famously, of course, declaiming in his original introduction that each equation would apparently halve book sales). Yet somehow he manages to discuss the double-slit experiment, quantized electron orbits, and sum-over-histories just fine. Buried deep in later chapters, Cox and Forshaw explain the difference between the Copenhagen and many-worlds interpretations (though they don’t identify the former as such). And then they take a half-hearted stab and describing the Standard Model but acknowledge it’s going beyond the remit of the book. ( Knocking on Heaven’s Door , although laden with a lot of other information and tangents, provides one of the most cogent explanations of the Standard Model I’ve read.) It’s a shame, because in between the confusing analogies and inexorable unravelling, The Quantum Universe treats the subject of quantum mechanics with wit and a graceful touch. Cox and Forshaw write well together. There is a sense of humour to the descriptions, particularly when they take a stab at the intelligence of drum players (since Cox used to be in a rock band). Despite making assurances about being able to skip the math, they never patronize the reader. This could have been a brilliant introduction to quantum mechanics for the layperson. As it is, while it’s not a total trainwreck, I wouldn’t recommend starting here either. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Jul 14, 2015
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Jul 16, 2015
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Jul 14, 2015
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Hardcover
| |||||||||||||||
0691157057
| 9780691157054
| 0691157057
| 3.93
| 960
| Apr 04, 2015
| Apr 06, 2015
|
I can’t say that I have ever personally wanted to clone a mammoth, but you reach a point in your life where you should probably be prepared for certai
I can’t say that I have ever personally wanted to clone a mammoth, but you reach a point in your life where you should probably be prepared for certain things, right? Thankfully, Beth Shapiro has my back. How to Clone a Mammoth is a tour through what it would take to resurrect extinct species. It’s a perfect length, and while Shapiro occasionally gets into more complicated biochemistry concepts that you’ll need to skim over, the book as a whole is accessible and interesting. Shapiro begins by identifying potential definitions and goals of de-extinction. To give you a sample: when do we say that a species has successfully been brought back? When we clone a single member? Or when we’ve established a captive breeding population? Or when we release a population back into the wild? Immediately, Shapiro asks us to confront and unpack our assumptions about the nature of de-extinction, clarifying that it is, like so much in science, a process rather than an event. Indeed, most of this book seems to be Shapiro’s heartfelt attempt to demystify and de-sensationalize de-extinction. She laments (understandably) how media has (also understandably) seized only upon the most sensationalized, most exaggerated examples of de-extinction, which might lead laypeople like myself to think that we are mere years away from mammoths roaming the Siberian tundra or flocks of billions of passenger pigeons darkening our skies. Shapiro’s whole thesis is basically, “De-extinction is fucking hard, really fucking complicated, and woefully underfunded. But I also think it might be worth it.” Beyond definitions, Shapiro asks us to consider the goals for de-extinction. Are we doing it for kicks? That feels irresponsible. Perhaps it’s because bringing back an extinct species might have a positive effect on the environment? Possibly, although there are probably less expensive and more practical solutions in many cases. In any event, I love that Shapiro asks us to consider de-extinction holistically, to consider its consequences for ecosystems and our world rather than simply viewing it as a cool but somehow isolated occurrence. This is truly the strength of the book: at every turn, Shapiro reminds us of our ethical obligations, both of scientists like herself and of every human. These questions of ethics span the entire process of de-extinction, from the selection of species to the harvesting of DNA, sequencing of genomes, preparation of eggs (if that’s the route we go down), and use of surrogate parent species. Even when Shapiro gets into the nitty gritty of the science, she never loses sight of the humanistic need to consider the wider picture and implications of what we are doing. The science in this science book is really fascinating too. I knew some very basic basics about somatic cell nuclear transfer. Shapiro hooks you up with everything you need to clone a mammoth, along with some different techniques that would work better for birds like passenger pigeons. Of course, one of the most difficult parts of the process is getting a mammoth genome—ancient DNA is very fragile and fragmented. As I mentioned earlier, there are a few points where Shapiro goes into enough detail that I had to carefully dust off my Grade 12 Chemistry knowledge to follow along. The good news is that you don’t really need to follow along to understand the gist. I also appreciate that this book isn’t too long. There are points where it feels a little repetitive, but I think that’s because Shapiro is deliberately using a cyclic way of storytelling so that she can bring everything back to the beginning at the end. In any event, the book never overstays its welcome, coming to a close just as I’ve had my fill of understanding the immense challenges and potential rewards of de-extinction from this scientist’s point of view. Definitely a great read if you are interested in ecosystems, communities, and how science can influence our environment (for better or for worse). Originally posted on Kara.Reviews, where you can easily browse all my reviews and subscribe to my newsletter. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Dec 05, 2021
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Dec 07, 2021
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May 29, 2015
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Hardcover
| ||||||||||||||||
0544272994
| 9780544272996
| 0544272994
| 4.14
| 183,253
| Sep 02, 2014
| Sep 02, 2014
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it was amazing
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I don’t really need to review this, do I? Randall Munroe is the much-beloved writer and illustrator of the much-beloved webcomic xkcd . He puts his I don’t really need to review this, do I? Randall Munroe is the much-beloved writer and illustrator of the much-beloved webcomic xkcd . He puts his physics and robotics background to good use creating humorous situations based on science, mathematics, and nerd culture. He has since branched out with What If? , a weekly blog in which Munroe answers over-the-top questions by following the facts to whatever consequences they might lead. This is the book of the blog. (That’s like the book of the movie, only it’s a blog, not a movie. Savvy?) So if you’re curious about what this book is like, just go read the blog. You can do that for free. Many of the chapters in the book are reprints from the blog—though some posts have been revised, expanded, or mutated through exposure to gamma radiation. Some of the chapters are new, and just as hilarious. That’s the defining characteristic of What If? for me: it’s a wonderful demonstration of how asking—and answering—questions is fun, and that really should be the backbone of any science education effort. Now, much like Republican politicians, I am not a scientist. I don’t even play one on TV. But I am a mathematician (which is kind of like a scientist, only cooler), and I’m an educator. Math and science share a lot of the bum rap when it comes to which subjects kids enjoy in school, and most of it is bad PR on the part of parents, policy-makers, and teachers. And this makes me angry, because science is wonderful and fascinating and awesome, and I want kids to love it just like I want kids to love math. Even if they don’t particularly want to grow up working in a field that requires a working knowledge of particle physics or a penchant for solving partial differential equations, I want them to dip their toes with joy and abandon into the oceans of inquiry and problem-solving—and not feel pressured or shamed by the fallout from standardized tests that label them with numbers and letters and predictors of success. Munroe is one of a cadre of Internet peoples who is leading the charge in a glorious vanguard of new science education. He gets it. He has that golden spark of talent that puts him in the sweet spot of both knowing the science behind these issues as well as being able to write about them in a humorous, entertaining way. What If? is like an armchair version of MythBusters and no less amazing for it. I’m not exaggerating when I’m saying that I enjoyed every single chapter in this book. I laughed out loud frequently. Even the less interesting ones, or the ones I read before on the blog, are nice to revisit. This is a great coffeetable book for geeks: you can dip in and out of it at will. My favourite chapter has to be “Periodic Wall of Elements,” in which Munroe explains the consequences of trying to construct a periodic table wherein each entry is a sample of the element in question. (Spoiler alert: it doesn’t end well, for you, or your lab, or the city around it.) He just has such a dry style of writing: Sometimes this kind of panic over scary chemicals is disproportionate; there are trace amounts of natural arsenic in all our food and water, and we handle those fine. This is not one of those times. And then slightly later, describing the effects of building the sixth row of the periodic table: The radiation levels would be incredibly high. Given that it takes a few hundred milliseconds to blink, you would literally get a lethal dose of radiation in the blink of an eye. This tendency for understatement combines with a keen sense of meta-fictional absurdity that Munroe regularly demonstrates in his webcomic. Indeed, as if his delightful prose is not enough on its own, every answer comes complete with several xkcd-style illustrations that have the same cheeky humour of the comic. What If? is awesome. Full stop. If you are not convinced of this and want to be convinced, go read the blog and the comic. Then buy the book. Then enjoy the hours of entertainment and education you will receive. Share it with kids, and make them love science. Even if it kills them.* [image] *Please science responsibly, especially if kids are involved. Do not blow things up unless you are a trained professional and have taken appropriate safety measures. Don’t try anything in this book at home. At worst it is very dangerous and would likely destroy the planet; at best, it is extremely impractical and would cost a fortune in electricity. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Dec 15, 2014
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Dec 19, 2014
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Dec 15, 2014
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Hardcover
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my rating |
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3.79
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liked it
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Jan 19, 2018
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Jan 17, 2018
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4.24
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liked it
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Sep 08, 2017
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Sep 06, 2017
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4.05
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liked it
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Dec 02, 2018
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Aug 30, 2017
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4.50
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really liked it
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Aug 21, 2017
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Aug 20, 2017
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4.17
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it was amazing
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Jul 05, 2017
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Jul 04, 2017
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3.97
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liked it
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Jun 02, 2017
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May 31, 2017
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3.33
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it was ok
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May 15, 2017
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May 14, 2017
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4.15
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it was amazing
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Apr 25, 2017
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Apr 23, 2017
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3.96
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it was amazing
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Mar 13, 2017
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Mar 04, 2017
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3.59
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really liked it
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Jun 20, 2019
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Jan 28, 2017
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4.19
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liked it
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Jan 27, 2017
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Jan 20, 2017
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3.97
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it was amazing
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Jan 2017
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Aug 16, 2016
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3.73
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liked it
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Jun 21, 2016
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Jun 19, 2016
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3.75
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liked it
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Apr 13, 2016
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Apr 11, 2016
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3.85
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really liked it
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Mar 14, 2016
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Mar 13, 2016
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3.68
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really liked it
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May 24, 2021
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Dec 31, 2015
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4.14
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it was amazing
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Dec 27, 2015
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Nov 08, 2015
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3.75
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it was ok
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Jul 16, 2015
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Jul 14, 2015
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3.93
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Dec 07, 2021
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May 29, 2015
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4.14
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it was amazing
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Dec 19, 2014
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Dec 15, 2014
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