Hollyweird Science: From quantum quirks to the multiverse – Kevin R Grazier and Stephen Cass,

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There was a time when being called a ‘nerd’ could have been considered an insult, but today what was once considered nerd culture – think thick glasses, spaceships and battlebots – has become not only accepted, but celebrated and embraced. We have this to thank, in part, for the rise of the sci-fi blockbuster, which, while perhaps never reserved for nerds alone, has never been more popular than it is today. But popularity, of course, brings the inevitable risk of critique.

While the general public might not bat an eyelid at most scientific inaccuracies in sci-fi flicks, the boffins and nerds among us often have a love-hate relationship with these big blockbusters – thrilled by the ride, but incensed when the science is obviously wrong.

In response Kevin Grazier and Stephen Cass, two self-proclaimed science fiction nerds, have set out to celebrate the wonderful world of science fiction by examining the scientific success and failures behind the scenes in a fun and quirky bookshelf edition, sure to delight dedicated sci-fi fans and quantum physicists alike.

“Our primary goal,” the pair explain, “is not to excoriate the creators of movies and shows for errors but to celebrate when they get it right.” That said, the book does not avoid criticising where Hollywood has got it wrong, and significant space is given to examining some of the most extreme sci-fi cock-ups. Hardcore fans of Jon Amiel’s ‘The Core’ – revered as one of Hollywood’s most spectacular scientific failures – might want to give this a miss.

Science fiction is a difficult genre to get right – too much fact and the film becomes a lecture, but focus too much on entertainment and you risk the viewer becoming disconnected. People do not look to sci-fi for information or facts – that’s left to news and documentaries. They want to be entertained, but it has to be believable.

In ‘Hollyweird Science’, Grazier and Cass attempt to analyse the delicate balancing act that is sci-fi, and isolate what makes a great sci-fi flick. How do directors and writers ensure that the viewers emit a delighted “Oh, wow!” at an incredible on-screen adaption of scientific mastery, rather than an exasperated “Oh, please!” at a storyline that is incorrect, far-fetched, and ultimately unbelievable?

It’s harder than it seems. For example, it’s widely known that sound doesn’t travel in space, but who would want to watch ‘Star Wars’ without the sound effects? Battle scenes would have been far less audience-pleasing if the TIE fighters were silent – and Ben Burtt would have had no use for his elephant-call-cum-car-driving-on-a-wet-pavement mashup. So sound travelling in space, while scientifically inaccurate is generally considered acceptable in the commercial world of Hollywood.

But other errors, such as the gravity-defying train journey through the Earth’s core featured in the 2012 remake of ‘Total Recall’, or the huge nuclear explosions that pushed the Moon out of orbit in the pilot episode of British television series ‘Space’, are less acceptable. Directors who commit such science crime should prepare for a veritable cataclysm of criticism from angry movie-goers.

Over the years there has been a lot of trial and error when it comes to science fiction, and of course, directors and writers alike call on the assistance of scientists to try and make their films believable. Despite years of practice, some films do miss the mark and get it oh-so-wrong, but on the whole, Grazier and Cass suggest, Hollywood isn’t doing such a bad job.

This review was first published in print for E&T magazine.

Sister Noon – Karen Joy Fowler

“Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky

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Let me start by saying that I have not yet read We are all Completely beside Ourselves. It is on my to-read list, but unfortunately someone ruined the twist for me. So I am currently holding onto a vain hope that I might forget and be able to actually enjoy the book one day, because I have heard good things about it.

This book, on the other hand, I had heard nothing about. I picked it up at the same time as We are all Completely beside Ourselves – having subsequently heard good things about the latter, but prior to having it spoiled for me. It was one of those books that I bought without having much intention of reading straight away, I’m sure you know exactly what I am talking about….

Tsundoku: n. The constant act of buying books, but never reading them. Specifically, letting books pile up in one’s room so much that the owner never gets a chance to read all of them.

 

Anyway, I finally turned to this book one day when I was struggling to choose what to read next, with so much choice before me, I opted for a book which was actually quite low down on the list of things I wanted to read.

Bookworms are strange people.

As it happens, I took this book to Hong Kong with me just before Christmas, and, truth be told, if it hadn’t been the only book I had with me I mightn’t have finished reading it, but by the time I got back to the UK, and my beloved book shelves, I was committed.

It’s not that the book is bad as such, it’s ok, and that’s about it. It certainly did not blow me away.

The book is set in San Francisco in the 1890s – a town of contradictions, apparently. Lizzie Hayes is introduced as the main protagonist, she’s a slightly plain, inconspicuous, but well-off woman who volunteers as the treasurer for the Ladies’ Relief and Protection Society Home, or the Brown Ark as it is also known. It is very much implied that Lizzie is just sort of drifting through life, waiting for something to happen: she never married, she doesn’t socialise much and she has a decent allowance from the estate of her late father and doesn’t have to work. She is just Lizzie, plain, predictable, well-reputed Lizzie.

This all changes when the affluent, well-connect but highly ill-regarded Mary Ellen Pleasant shows up at the Brown Ark with a small orphan girl in tow – little Jenny Ijub. Lizzie finds herself drawn to Mary Ellen, and by extension, to little Jenny. She feels as though Mary Ellen gave the child to her for a reason, and seems desperate to find out more, this is only exacerbated further when other people being asking questions about the girl. Just who is Jenny Ijub? Why was she brought here? As she attempts to uncover the secrets of Jenny’s past, as well as those of Mary Ellen, Lizzie begins to discover things about herself. It is as though Mary Ellen, with her mysterious past, holds the key to Lizzie’s future, wherever that might lie.

The book isn’t badly written, as such – there are no grammatical errors, spelling mistakes, or clumsy paragraphs – but it feels somehow incomplete, as though the author skipped speaking to an editor and sent the text straight to the proofreaders.

The style is dreamy, and almost mystical, as though the writing itself has been clouded by Mary Ellen’s mysterious tea blend. In principle, I think writing in this way is a great idea – what better way to get the reader to connect with the main character than to have them go though the same experiences? That said, I don’t think the story itself is strong enough to support this type of writing style. The dreamy nature, far from making things feel magical and alluring, left me feeling more than a little confused, and unsatisfied. I was desperate for something to exciting to unfold out of Lizzie’s trips to the Pleasant house, and wanted to so badly know more about the life of Mary Ellen, but in reality, every time I was vicariously permitted access into the mysterious household, the tension was built up, as though something really shocking was about to happen, only for everything fall completely flat. I was left with so many unanswered questions and unfulfilled desires.

When I first read the blurb of the book – which was, admittedly, after I bought it – I was quite excited by the historical nature of the story, as apparently many of the figures are based on real historical figures from San Francisco around this time. I love a bit of historical fiction, and feel you can really feel when the author has done their homework, even if you have more or less no background knowledge of the gilded age of San Francisco (guilty!). I can’t really suggest how ‘truthful’ to events and people the author remained, but I will confess that I found it rather difficult to follow at times, as though a lot of information was included just for the sake of it, and this suggests to me that the historical nature of the book has not been pulled off effectively. There are a great many background characters thrown into the story who seemed on the whole to be quite unnecessary, and I am sure I not the only one who got to the end of the book and couldn’t quite grasp what, exactly, the point in all of it was.

Overall, I wasn’t overly taken in by this book. The storyline felt confused and posed far more questions than it answered and I found it really difficult to submerge myself or to connect with any of the characters on a personal level. I felt more like a distant observer of confused goings on, rather than having any real connection with the book, and was more than happy to finally close the last page and call it a day.

Spring treats from Prudence and the Crow

Another month, another treat!

This month brought with it the beginning of spring. I know storm Katie has given the countryside a battering this weekend, but between the wind and the rain there have been burst of blissful sunshine, during which I have felt full of the joys of the season.

N.B. Cambridge is currently experiencing a rather windy spell and I am actually curled up with my reading room with a pot of tea, wearing long johns and a thermal vest.

I was delighted, as always, with my haul from Prudence and the Crow, and, even though I am currently still reading, and loving, January’s book, I can’t wait to get started on this month’s book!

This month I have been treated to Green Smoke by Rosemary Manning – a delightful, or so I’m told, tale about a young girl called Susan who goes on holiday to Constantine Bay in Cornwall: the best place in the world for a holiday. One day, while climbing on the rocks, and exploring the bay, she stumbles upon something nestled in one of the many, mysterious coves – an extra-special secret, in the form of a big green dragon. As luck would have it, he’s a rather friendly creature.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to read some more of Swallows and Amazons, and maybe to take a little nap – it is Easter weekend afterall 🙂

#savetheculture – book exchange!

If you are on social media you may have already heard about the #savetheculture movement. If not, never fear, I am here to tell you all about it.

Basically, it’s a way to share books with other booklovers in a sort of ‘pay it forward’ kind of way. You send out one book, and, depending on how many people get involved, you could receive several in return, and it all takes place using the power of social media!

Last week on of my Facebook friends posted a status asking if anyone wanted to get involved – obviously I jumped at the chance.

So here’s how it works:

When you respond to a friend’s #savetheculture tag, you get given an address to send a random book to, you then share the hashtag yourself, and anyone that responds gets given the name and address of your friend, they then do the same and share your name and address.

It’s that simple!

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Head on over to google and give #savetheculture a little search and you’ll see there are loads of people doing it already. If somehow you don’t have any friends who are already taking part, then you can start it off yourself by giving out address of a random book-loving friend – but you should probably get their permission first!

I wasted no time in sending out one of my favourite books – a book I recommend to everyone, and have absolutely no qualms about sharing with a stranger – and I absolutely love the fact that no one knows who sent it 🙂

I know what you’re thinking, how can you be sure you will get any books in exchange for your kind deed? Well, you can’t. It all depends on other people getting involved, but to be honest, the prospect of sharing a book with a stranger was enough for me.

That said, I can’t deny I was pretty excited when today, a whole eight days after I added to the #savetheculture chain, I received a mysterious package in the post

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I’m so excited to have recieved any books at all – two in one is an absolute bonus – and they are both books I’ve never read. Best. Day. Ever.

So there you have it, if, like me, you like spreading the word about really good books, then this is a great way to get your recommendation just that little bit future, and, if nothing else, it is sure put a smile on a fellow booklover’s face.

Now, get out there and #savetheculture!

The Winter Children – Lulu Taylor

“Writing a NYT bestseller was a delightful experience. But there are many books which are read by few that should be read and reread by many, as well as books bought by many that are hardly worth the ink.” ― Ron Brackin

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I don’t enjoy posting bad reviews, I enjoy writing them – it’s incredibly cathartic – but I don’t enjoy posting them, so I’ll try and keep this short…

I was travelling to London one afternoon and regretfully forgot to pack something to read; terrified of the idea of a train journey without reading material I ducked into the station’s WHSmith and went to peruse the bestsellers and new releases. I found this one, and didn’t really give much thought to the blurb, silly I know, I guess I was in the mood for a winter’s tale.

I wish I had remembered to pack my book that day, or picked up something different when I went into WHSmith, or been late for the train and had to gaze out of the window for an hour and a half, and more than anything I wish I’d stopped reading this when I realised how much I disliked it, but once I started I felt compelled to keep going.

This book is about a childless couple, Dan and Olivia, who after years of trying to conceive decide to use an egg donor, in one final attempt to fall pregnant. The problem lies with Olivia, and using an egg donor is the only chance they have. Unfortunately, Olivia is married to a complete narcissistic arsehole, who openly admits he would not be able to love the child on someone he doesn’t know.  Luckily for Dan and Olivia, Dan has an old university friend, and borderline psychopath, by the name of Francesca, who is obsessively in love with Dan, and offers to allow them the use of her eggs. Sounds like a great idea doesn’t it? Of course Olivia cannot know, and this is where the story begins.

Fast forward a couple of years and Olivia and Dan, having been blessed with twins and after spending the first few years of the babies’ lives with Olivia’s family in Argentina, make plans to return to the UK – but they have nowhere to live. Meanwhile Francesca’s husband decides he wants to buy an enormous derelict manor house as a renovations project. Francesca, being the mentalist that she is, sees the perfect opportunity to have the twins nearby and invites Dan and Olivia to live onsite and look over things.

After they move in the house beings to ‘surrender its long held secrets’ – this occurs in the form of several chapters given over to a time in the 1950s when the hall was an all girls school. I held out hope that this part of the story would make the book more exciting, but it didn’t. There was nowhere near enough historical background to make up for the rest of the book.

I won’t bore you with more details, mainly because it is hugely predictable and I am sure you can see where this is going. So let’s just say Francesca makes a nuisance of herself and eventually all hell breaks loose.

So, aside from the fact that the storyline did absolutely nothing for me – I could have forgiven that and just put it down to not being quite my thing – it was the absolutely detestable characters which made the book unbearable.

I’ve already established that Francesca is mental and Dan is a narcissist. Sure, I didn’t like these characters, but I didn’t feel anywhere near as much outright hatred as I did for Olivia.

Olivia has absolutely nothing going for her, she is weak, one-dimensional, and just so horribly dull, add to this her over-emphasised obsession with food and you have the perfect recipe for the worst character of all time. When she isn’t thinking about, looking after or admiring her children, Olivia is thinking about food – it could be something as simple as thinking about giving her children a cracker or preparing them lunch, or a passing thought about the ‘indulgent creaminess’ of a cheesecake she has made, but it is relentless. Olivia is cooks a meal and it smells delicious, she serves the meal, she admires her work, she savours every bite of the food, or sometimes, just to jazz things up a bit, she neglects to taste the food, while somehow still managing comment on it, because she is so preoccupied with something else. I found this incredible annoying. I wouldn’t have minded as much if she was portrayed as an out and out foodie, but she isn’t. She’s just an incredibly boring woman who happens to think about food a lot.

I thought nothing could make me dislike Olivia more, but then I got to the climax of the story, the chapter when all hell breaks loose, and ordinarily you can’t bear to put a book down. In this scene, having found out Dan and Francesca’s deep, dark secret, Olivia is transformed into a ‘mighty goddess’ ready to rip the ever-living hell out of Francesca. This is the one time she does anything other than lie down and take a good shoeing from everyone around her, but, far from making her into a more believable character, the scene is so horribly clichéd and badly written that she just sounds ridiculous.

‘Let them go!’ cries Olivia in a terrible voice, full of strength and fury. She feels able to lift Francesca up and toss her against the wall. She feels she could crush her with her fingertips, she is so strong and fierce.

That’s right, Olivia is ‘strong and fierce’ with a ‘terrible voice’. You do not want to mess with her, and if you haven’t quite got that impression yet, then this next part will really drive home just how badass she is:

Olivia nestles both children to her chest, their bodies awkward against hers. They press into her, crying loudly. ‘Never, never touch these children again. They are mine do you understand?’ Her eyes are flashing and she is mighty, a mighty goddess who will destroy anyone who threatens her children. ‘They are mine and you can’t have them!’

So there you have it, I thought that this book was a waste of the paper it was written on. It was ill-conceived, predictable, sloppy, and above all badly written.

Let this be a warning to all of you who are so determined to have something to read on a train journey that you pick up something from WHSmith. You could find something fantastic – the last time I did this I discovered The Shock of the Fall and it made me reckless – but you could end up with a massive wet fish. Now I’m off to donate this thing to charity, or leave it on a park bench, or, more than likely, to cut out the middle man and send it straight to the pastry cooks on Duck Lane.

Cambridge Book Club – Norwegian Wood

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This has been a very long time coming.

Norwegian Wood was recommended as a book club read about ten months ago, but our group fell into absolutely chaos not long after and we haven’t met since. Such is life in a university city, you can never pin people down. Today (what better day than World Book Day?) I officially give up hope that our book club will ever meet again, or discuss the novel, which, by the way, would have made for an incredible topic of conversation. So I throw the rope to you, fellow book clubbers, go out, buy Norwegian Wood, and get reading.

I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me
She showed me her room, isn’t it good, Norwegian wood?

Music can carry memories, of a time, a place or a feeling. ‘Norwegian Wood’, the melancholy Beatles song, has this effect on Toru Watanabe, who, as he hears the first sad notes, is swept back almost twenty years, to his time spent studying in Tokyo.  A time filled with confusion and rebellion, student life in the late 1960s was rife with protests, social unrest, and nationwide movements against the establishment. For Wanatabe life is just as tumultuous – filled with strange encounters, casual sex, meaningless friendships, and an undying commitment towards a gentle but troubled girl from his childhood. Life is confusing, but monotonous, until an impulsive young woman, with wide-open eyes and an attitude to match, streams into Wanatabe’s life, and he finds himself forced to make a choice, the future, or the past.

I fell completely in love with this book and, I can safely say having explored some more of his work, with Murikami himself. I know one or two members of the club didn’t feel quite the same as I did, but as we foolishly kept our discussions to a minimum, choosing to save our thoughts for the meeting which never occurred, I was unable to discuss it at length with anyone. So, if any of you have read the book and want to discuss it, in the comment sections or via email, I would be more than happy.

In the meantime, here are a few questions to think about, or to discuss with your own book clubs:

What were your feelings towards the main characters, Wanatabe, Naoko and Midori – how do they differ?
What is the relevance of the song ‘Norwegian Wood’? Does this relate to more than just a song?
Wanatabe often draws on his love of the book The Great Gatsby , why do you think this is?
How do you interpret Wantabe’s friendship with Nagasawa?
How, if at all, do you think the sexual encounter between Wanatabe and Naoko influence Naoko’s mental state?
Why do you think Wanatabe makes his final choice? Does he, in fact, make a choice at all?
How do you interpet the novel’s ending? What is happening to Wanatabe during this final exchange?
The book begins looking back, and never returns to the original tense, why do you think this is?
What do you think Wantabes ‘current’ situation is? Where did he end up?
Norwegian Wood is considered to be the most autobiographical of all Murikami’s books – what elements do you think speak of autobiographical moments?

 

 

February cheer from Prudence and the Crow

I know, I know, February ended yesterday. In my defence I have been incredibly busy – there was this trip to Germany, multiple training courses and then I got obsessed with a computer game, it’s just been crazy!

This month’s – or rather last month’s – box of treats, as usual, did not disappoint. Prudence and the Crow have clearly picked up on my love of children’s literature, and are doing their best to introduce me to all sorts of wonderful names and stories.

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And, as luck would have it, this one came with another inscription!

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I wonder how old Trevor is now…

Perhaps I’ll ponder that over a cup of nighttime tea 🙂

How Games Move Us: Emotion by Design – Katherine Isbister

“If I was feeling depressed or frustrated about my lot in life, all I had to do was tap the Player One button, and my worries would instantly slip away as my mind focused itself on the relentless pixelated onslaught on the screen in front of me.” ― Ernest Cline

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What do you see when you hear the word ‘gamer’? If your immediate vision is that of someone pasty white, sat hunched over a keyboard, face lit only by the pale blue light of a computer monitor, insistently clicking away for hours on end with no real aim in mind, then get ready to re-evaluate your stereotype.

For years now filmographers and music researchers have analysed the emotional effect of film and music, while the computer game industry has been largely ignored as un-emotive. Katharine Ibister poses the question – why should games be any different?

In ‘How Games Move Us’, Ibister attempts break down the negative stereotype surrounding computer games and open up public conversation up to a more sophisticated approach to computer games as a cultural medium. The book serves as an exploration of the emotional experience of gamers, as well as how different games are used, explored and experienced by different people

“People talk about how games don’t have the emotional impact of movie. I think they do – they just have a different palette. I never felt pride, or guilt, watching a movie.” – Will Wright, designer of The Sims.

Far from being devoid of emotion, video games, Ibister argues, can actually elicit strong emotional responses in players in a multitude of ways, ranging from a simple feeling of anxiety in horror-based survival games (think Amnesia, or Silent Hill); to the inexplicable feeling of guilt which arises from spanking a pet Tamagotchi, or worse, letting it die. Delving further into the simulated world of gaming, Ibister also analyses how certain games create strong emotional bonds between players and non-player characters, and social connections among players in networked games.

Ibister analyses the techniques used by game designers to create these emotional responses, drawing examples from across the gaming industry. Ibister analyses games ranging from much-loved classics such as The Sims and Little Big Planet, to more obscure, one-off projects, including Anna Anthropy’s cooperative maze-navigation game Keep Me Occupied, and the once great massively multiplayer online role-playing game City of Heroes.

Many of you may take issue with a researcher attempting to define games as a whole – Ibister does not try to do this. The huge variety of games are not merely thrown into the melting pot labelled ‘computer games’ –  she differentiates but does not attempt to define, focusing on certain games within sub genres while acknowledging the partiality of her analysis.

How Games Move Us is an incredibly interesting, enlightening, and poignant read, and will no doubt evoke similar feelings in a reader as it strives to explain in a gamer. Ibister presents a new way of thinking about and understanding games, a medium which, though misunderstood, offers players

This review was first posted on WordPress for E&T magazine.

Bridges – Christian Menn

 

“In ancient Rome, the highest priests held the title of pontifex, which means builder of bridges. By providing a link between gods and men, these pontifices were indeed builders of spiritual bridges between heaven and earth.”– Christian Menn

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Scheidegger and Speiss, 1st edition 2015, 352 pp, ISBN 978-3-85881-455-5, £70 Hardcover

The humble bridge, while it may not strike you as one of the most exciting topics of conversation to introduce at a dinner party, is without a doubt one of the most significant early feats of structural engineering, which revolutionised travel dating back as far ancient Rome.

Of those involved in modern bridge design and construction, few are more noteworthy than renowned Swiss structural engineer Christian Menn, whose work spanned the latter decades of the 20th century, went on to inspire a generation of future bridge designers, and continued a long-standing tradition of Swiss excellence.

This stunning publication from Scheidegger and Speiss features more than 30 of Menn’s revolutionary designs, both built and unrealised, across 276 full colour and black and white images, with in-depth captions analysing the specifics of each project.

Menn’s text highlights his thinking and philosophy, approaching the circumstances and design process surrounding each individual project, demonstrating the passion and enthusiasm one expects more from an artist than an engineer. The book offers a fascinating insight into not just Menn’s experience as a bridge designer but also the art and history of structural engineering.

While many of Menn’s designs have become landmarks admired for their stunning design work and elegance, some of those displayed within the book will not take the layman’s breath away, instead appearing as those to be driven across and forgotten. Nonetheless each is a spectacular feat of design and engineering, a lifetime of work and passion, and years of combined construction, creating what is truly a work of art in its own right.

This review was first published on online for E&T magazine.

30-Second Meteorology – Adam Scaife and Julia Slingo

“The storm starts, when the drops start dropping. When the drops stop dropping then the storm starts stopping.” ― Dr. Seuss

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Ivy Press, 160 pages, ISBN: 978-1-78240-310-4, Hardback £14.99

Did you know that Horace-Bénédict Der Saussure invented the cyanometer? No? Do you even know what a cyanometer is? Well, having read 30-Second Meteorology I can tell you it is a quantitative scale by which to measure the blueness of the sky.

Want to know more? Read on.

The latest edition from the makers of the 30-second book series – 30-Second Meteorology: The 50 most significant events and phenomena, each explained in half a minute – will introduce you to the science behind, and the history of, the Earth’s most significant atmospherical phenomena in easy to digest, 30-second sections.

The book analyses weather from the basic, to the complex – from chapter one, The Elements, which focuses on the basic features of weather, in the form of air, clouds and rain, right through to the final, Extreme Weather, section which gives time to the wilder side of meteorology, exploring tornadoes, hurricanes, and the terrifyingly named ‘sudden stratospheric warming’, and everything between. Discover the nature of Earth’s atmosphere, the science behind weather forecasts and predictions, and the history of the aptly named trade winds.

If you are put off by the idea of a science book for dummies then rest assured that this book doesn’t just take the science behind meteorological events and cut down into bite-sized chunks

Complete with concise biographical profiles of the top names in meteorological history – including Svante Arrhenius, the man who first noted the link between atmospheric CO2 and the greenhouse effect, and Lewis Fry Richardson, the brain behind modern weather forecasting – and an historical look at the origins of weather systems and the technology used in measuring and predictive metrological events, 30-Second Meteorology is the perfect quick guide to the history of meteorology, which anyone can enjoy.

I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but crack this book open and you can expect to find out, amongst other general knowledge gems, which 17th century Italian physicist invented the barometer.

This book is also beautiful, and a snapshot of the cover image alone doesn’t do that justice. An ugly edition can spoil a good book, but this one does not disappoint – hardbound and fully illustrated with stunning vintage photomontage prints by Nicky Ackland-Snow the book is an actual pleasure to read. I could have spent hours studying the typography and design alone.

Overall, this is a really fun, interesting book to read – a sure-fire success with fans of weather systems and general knowledge alike. With a concise forward by Met Office Chief Scientist Professor Dame Julia Slingo, and contributions from top names in the field of meteorology, 30-Second Meteorology is the perfect book for anyone, outside of the field of academic meteorology, who wants a better understanding of weather systems and the history meteorology as a science.

This review was first posted on WordPress for E&T magazine.