Welcome

Welcome to my book log. Rather than writing a conventional blog (which would be an extremely dull read), I thought it would be more interesting to post thoughts and comments on the books that I've read.

I've actually been keeping this log for the past six months so there'll be a large number of posts to begin with. Here goes...

True Science

Jan 2004
The Making of Memory - Steven Rose - Vintage 2003.
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First, I must declare a bias. When I was fifteen or so, I read a book by Steven Rose which quite literally changed my life. It was called "The Chemistry of Life" and it was a succinct and clear introduction to the major chemical processes occurring inside plant and animal cells. At the time I was trying to decide what A-levels to do - I knew I wanted to study science, but I didn't really have the maths to be a good physicist and the dull organic and inorganic chemistry that we had been taught at O-level didn't really interest me. It was hard to get enthused about the Kepler blast furnace or the industrial synthesis of nylon. Then I read the the Chemistry of Life and went "wow! That's going on inside me? That's really interesting!" More than that - I was stunned by the sheer elegant beauty of the way the enzymes in a cell pick apart a glucose molecule to extract the maximum energy from it, breaking carbon-to-carbon bonds in a way that organic chemists find next to impossible. And at room temperature. And at atmospheric pressure. And at neutral pH. I knew then that I wanted to do biochemistry at university.

And knowing what course I wanted to do changed my life. If I hadn't known, I would probably have tried and failed to get in to do natural sciences at Cambridge (the course for scientists who don't know what kind of scientists they want to be), or I wouldn't have tried for Oxbridge at all. Instead I applied to read biochemistry at Oxford, where I met most of the friends I still have today and where I have lived for the majority of the last twenty years. My enthusiasm for metabolic processes developed during the course and I became interested in biotechnology, the application of biochemistry to practical problems. That led to me doing a PhD and a postdoc. Because I had to do seventh term, I spent nine months at IBM, which is why I do the job I do today. And all because of that book.

So Steven Rose is an author I much admire, even now that he's descended to punditry on Radio Four's "The Moral Maze", and I have to admit that's almost certainly biased me. But I still think that this book is wonderful (and so did the judges of the Rhone-Poulenc prize, which it won in 1993). It's about his day job, which is the study of the chemical changes that occur in the brain during the formation of memories. But it's not a dry, scholarly description, nor is it the standard "story of ..." triumphalist narrative so common in popular science books. Instead, Rose has produced a book that is about how science is actually done. He describes a day in the lab (which will leave some people feeling very uncomfortable - he uses day-old chicks in his experiments which are, however humanely, killed in the process. Rose does not dodge the ethical questions this raises, though doubtless some will find his answers unconvincing). He talks about the less glorious periods in neuroscience, such as the infamous "memory molecules" theory which took hold in the 70s and 80s and which was subsequently discredited. He even bravely admits that modern practice in labs simply doesn't accord with the way that science should be done - it is rare for an experiment done by one lab to be replicated in another because there is no kudos in it, allowing honest mistakes and dishonesty to be perpetuated. Possibly he goes a bit too far. I can imagine people reading this book and coming to the conclusion that science and the stories it tells about the physical world are not to be trusted. In moderation, a bit of distrust is a good thing, but if it stops people from trying to understand scientific theories then it is dangerous. Scientists don't get everything right, but I think of science as a rising tide coming up a beach - rocks of ignorance, social or personal prejudice, incompetence and dishonesty may stick out of the water for a while, but given time everything gets covered.

Other weaknesses? Well yes, a few - there are a number of inelegant sentences that a good editor should have fixed, and even I had to read some of his explanations twice before I fully grasped them (not helped by the occasional outbreak of that common researcher's disease, acronym-itis). Rose also downplays a major part of many researchers' lives which is the scramble for research funds and the endless stream of grant applications which distract from the basic research. Nonetheless, his description of the experiments that unravelled the changes in the chick brain as it learns an aversion response, and in particular the neat explanation for some apparently anomalous results (a eureka moment if ever there was one) reminded me of why I loved doing experimental science and how much I regret that I had to give it up.

As to the breakthrough that might lead to an Alzheimer's treatment mentioned in the book's blurb - well, it's certainly an interesting finding. Amyloid precursor protein (APP), the protein from which beta-amyloid, the protein that forms plaques in Alzheimer's, is derived, appears to be a cell adhesion molecule that promotes long-term memory formation by gluing neurones together. The disruption of its normal function could be the cause of the memory loss associated with Alzheimer's. Rose's lab has found a three amino acid polypeptide which appears to compensate for the malfunctioning APP. As Rose himself admits, the jury is still out on whether it will turn out to be a general finding that leads to a major treatment, and I personally would not have allowed my publisher to use it as a major selling point in the blurb. I fear that this will turn out to be the kiss of death, like having your innovative product shown on Tomorrow's World. Still, anything that might offer a cure for this most terrible of diseases should be investigated.

The Taming of the Heroine

Jan 2004
Cordelia's Honor - Lois McMaster Bujold - Baen 1996.
* * * * *
For some reason, Lois McMaster Bujold has never been as big a hit in SF circles in this country as she is in the United States (a sort of reverse Terry Pratchett). This is odd, as she has won several Hugos and Nebulas and her books are well-written, witty and extremely likeable. For those who haven't come across her, she's a cross between Anne McCaffrey (when she was good) and C.J. Cherryh. This makes her sound derivative and second-rate, which she most definitely is not - what I mean is that she combines the wit and good humour of the former with the solid craftsmanship and attention to detail of the latter.

Bujold's set-up is a fairly conventional SF trope -a nexus of worlds connected by wormholes which are navigated by jump ships (as usual, the drastic effects of FTL travel on causality are ignored). One world, Barryar, became disconnected from the wormhole nexus shortly after it was colonised and reverted to a quasi-medieval society (why it devolved is not clear, but there is an earlier book called Falling Free which might explain it). Newly discovered wormholes have subsequently opened Barryar up to galactic society once again, causing tensions between its rigid, conservative and militaristic caste structure and those who want to embrace galactic morals and technologies. This is a neat setting because it has an in-built dramatic tension and allows Bujold to use the sorts of politics, plotting and romance usually found in fantasies but in an SF setting. It does, however, lead to some inconsistencies in technology - the Barryarans have air cars and advanced weapons, for example, but no mobile phones.

The heroine of the two books that make up Cordelia's Honor is the eponymous Cordelia Naismith, a science expedition commander from Beta Colony and a typical representative of galactic civilisation. Her botanical study trip to a lonely planet is attacked and she ends up the prisoner of Aral Vorkosigan, a Barryan officer who for complicated political reasons has been abandoned by his regiment. Together they set off across a hostile planet to find a weapons cache which will allow Vorkosigan to regain control. The inevitable mutual attraction is well handled - unusually for SF, both protagonists are mature, intelligent and middle-aged.

Aral regains control of his regiment, but events conspire to split them up again and they end up on opposing sides of an interstellar war, the cause of which turns out to be implausible but quite impressively nasty. In fact, viewed objectively there are a lot of implausibilities - a particularly egregious example is when Cordelia, totally unaided, manages to take control of a spaceship held by eight heavily armed men in a sequence which is pure Rambo plotting. The problem is not so much with how she does it, as why - she knows it's a death-trap, so why does she do something so suicidal? It is a measure of Bujold's skillful writing that you are too busy rooting for Cordelia to notice at the time.

The remainder of book one deals with the war and its aftermath and with Cordelia's and Aral's growing romance, which follows, satisfyingly, the expected trajectory. Book two takes place on Barryar, where Aral and Cordelia are now married and expecting a child. Aral is regent to the four year old Emperor of Barryar, and the book is about a coup d'etat staged by conservative forces.

It is in this second book that some of the weaknesses of Bujold's setting become apparent. In book one, Cordelia is a strong, capable leader and therefore very much a mover and shaker of the plot. In book two, she is trapped in a society with essentially Victorian values - Barryaran women are not supposed to get involved in politics or the military, and she can't break out or rebel because that would bring dishonour on her beloved husband. The social restrictions and her pregnancy combine to make Cordelia a relatively passive observer during the first half. Bujold contrives to bring her centre stage again towards the end, when she engages in another heroic but foolhardy rescue mission, but anyone with a feminist bent will be disappointed at Cordelia's trajectory from independence to passivity. This process is complete by the time of "the Warrior's Apprentice", the next book chronologically in the sequence and the first to star Miles Vorkosigan, Cordelia's brilliant but disabled son. There Cordelia shows little of the independence and heroic qualities found in this book and instead is relegated to the role of loving but dutiful mother. This may perhaps be necessary to prevent too many heroes from spoiling the literary broth, but is a shame nonetheless, as it leaves the remaining books with a more conventional young male protagonist (albeit a highly engaging one).

That said, these are really good books. Bujold's tactic of asking "what's the worst thing that could happen to my protagonist now?" creates plenty of drama and more or less forces sympathy from the reader, and her dialogue is excellent. Baen is bringing out the early Vorkosigan books as compendia of which Cordelia's Honor is the first - I've read Young Miles, the next in the sequence, and shall certainly be collecting the rest.

Oh yes, and a word of warning. If, like me, you hate having the plot of a book revealed before you've read it, do not look at the timeline at the back as it gives away the details of the entire sequence.

Neither Fish nor Fowl

Feb 2004
True at First Light - Earnest Hemingway, ed. Patrick Hemingway - Arrow 1999.
* *
This book claims to be Earnest Hemingway's last novel, but as the son admits in his introduction, the actual MS was twice as long and was edited down by him. So this book is "by" Earnest Hemingway in the same way as the Lost Tales are "by" J.R.R. Tolkien. I would like to think that poor editing is the chief reason I disliked this book, but I fear that the problem is really Hemingway himself.

The book is a semi-autobiographical account of a white hunter and his safari in Kenya in the 1950s. Hemingway is left in charge of the operation by a friend, "Pop", and proceeds to wander about the bush alternately admiring and shooting the fauna (it is characteristic that he never describes an instance in which he misses a shot, though his wife Mary and his experienced hunting friend G.C. do). Perhaps because of its factual basis, there is no plot as such - a threat from renegade mau-maus evaporates by chapter six without ever really generating a sense of danger, and Mary's quest to shoot a large and wily lion is similarly wrapped up in a few pages of flat description about three-quarters of the way through, after which the book meanders on for fifty pages or so before abruptly coming to an end. This would be fine as a memoir of a way of life now dead and gone, but Hemingway attempts to mythologise the whole thing by, for example, giving a number of the characters titles rather than names. Similarly, the characters come over as strong and memorable, but not realistic. Charo, for instance, is characterised chiefly by the fact that he is a Moslem and has to slit the throat of shot animals to make the meat Halal. If he has a wife and family we are not told about them, nor about what he gets up to when he is not gun-bearing for Mary. So it's not a good portrait of life in 1950s Kenya, and it's not a good novel because it has no plot.

Hemingway's supposedly magnificent writing style does not come across as such to me. Yes, it flows, but mainly because of the liberal use of the word "and" to join phrases expressing separate thoughts. An example, taken more or less at random:

Then I had remembered that I had given this afternoon for the lion's death and that it was all over now and that Mary had won and I talked with Ngui and Mthuka and Pop's gun bearer and the others of our religion and we shook our heads and laughed and Ngui wanted me to drink from the Jinny Flask. (p. 170)

After a while (in my case, about six pages), this stylistic quirk becomes annoying. Some of the dialogue is painful as well, particularly with Mary. It comes over as childish, and his repeated use of "kitten" as a term of endearment had me wanting to throw up every time I read it.

This is symptomatic of the paternalism which infects the whole book. Mary, I am sure, was a clever, complex, passionate woman, but in this book she is portrayed as an affectionate airhead who only succeeds in shooting the lion she is after because of Hemingway's guidance. The African tribesfolk are treated with similar condescension, especially Debba, Hemingway's native "girlfriend" who, like Mary, comes across as a charmingly naive character in need of Hemingway's "protection".

Now this is to a certain extent unfair - read any adventure stories from the 1950s and you will find similar attitudes (Heinlein, Asimov and Clark, for example, are not known for their female characterisation) - but Hemingway is supposedly a Great Writer and frankly I expected either a novel with subtle, complex and sophisticated characters, or at least a thrilling plot. As it is, you get neither. Disappointing.