Book 8 - Benjamin Labatut "When We Cease To Understand The World"

Benjamin Labatut "When We Cease To Understand The World" (Pusjkin Press)







While I was reading it, and even after I’d finished, this book had me wondering. Where was the line between fiction and non-fiction? And was my reading of the book consistent with the author’s intentions?

Before I pursue those questions, I should say a few words about the book. It’s a series of five vignettes, hybrids of fact and imagination, about actual scientists and mathematicians. Although it begins by reaching back a few centuries, for the most part, these men worked in the 20th century. In Labatut’s interpretation, their revolutionary work stemmed from, or triggered, deep personal crises. On another level, Labutat describes how much of this work also contributed to catastrophic consequences for mankind as it was adapted for military purposes.

I found a straightforward answer to the first question online. The initial piece, an essay about the scientific pathways to the development of cyanide, ending with Fritz Haber, is non-fictional except for one paragraph. From then on the balance changes. The factual framework remains in place, but there is a substantial amount of conjecture by Labutat about the inner lives of Schwarzschild, Schroedinger, Heisenberg, and Grothendieck. Einstein, Bohr, and others make appearances as their work and opinions intersect but they are not center stage.

And what is Labutat’s message? Not, I think, simply that scientific and mathematical advances don’t necessarily equate to progress, although he’s clear on that point. No, he seems more interested in that gray space between genius and insanity. And of the sometimes terrifying potential of those advances to disrupt our sense of the logic of the world, leaving us unmoored, staring into the abyss.

Beautifully written.

Book 9 - John Wyndhan "The Midwich Cuckoos"

John Wyndhan "The Midwich Cuckoos" (Penguin)




An intelligent and thought-provoking slice of 1950s Cold War-influenced British science fiction. I enjoyed the bourgeoise village life evoked by John Wyndham. That said the book does also show its age: not only are the female characters all underdeveloped, but they also are generally too distracted, and/or besotted by the Children (the Cuckoos of the book's title), to contribute anything meaningful to the more weighty discussions of the male characters.

It is actually the discussions, and there are plenty of them (perhaps too many?), that is what makes the book interesting. The village's resident philosopher, Zallaby, spends pages pontificating about the moral implications of the Children. These discourses embrace evolution, politics, anthropology, power and authority, and philosophy. Some of these discussions are a bit overcooked and I felt the story could probably have been told in about half the total word count.

The ending, which is signposted a good few pages before the last page, is too neat, and I would have preferred a more ambiguous conclusion. One where the reader is left to consider the implications of the Children reaching maturity and what that might mean for the human race. Instead, we end the book very much as we start it with Midwich being, quite possibly, the most boring and uneventful place in the UK. Still, there is much to enjoy, and plenty of food for thought in this sci-fi classic.