Parallel Worlds by Michio Kaku

We are going through a golden age of science writing (at least in physics/cosmology and in paleontology, the two areas I most read about). When I was growing up in the 1960s and early 1970s, there were of course some good books. George Gamow’s books on modern physics were always good, there were some nice dinosaur books (I remember reading some of the books of Roy Chapman Andrews – an overrated paleontologist but a pretty good writer), and so on. And of course, there were the science writings of SF writers like Isaac Asimov, whose non-fiction output, like his fiction output, was frankly overrated. There were some good books there (especially a few of his books on biology and organic chemistry), but most were rather pedestrian.

Today, however, there are a number of very good books coming out every year. I have an entire shelf of good books on paleontology and several shelves of books on physics, cosmology, mathematics, and astronomy. Moreover, the sciences themselves are going through and incredible phase right now – especially in physics and cosmology as we learn more and more about the universe and its early history. Late last year, I read Brian Greene’s superb Fabric of the Cosmos, perhaps the best book on this topic. This week, I read Michio Kaku’s Parallel Worlds, which is also very good (though if you only want to read one book on the topic, Greene’s is better).

Kaku is not only a very good physicist, he is an engaging writer who does a good job of explaining physics to a lay audience. Parallel Worlds, like his earlier Hyperspace, discusses cutting edge physics and cosmology (string theory and M-theory, general relativity, and so on) in a way that’s both easy to follow and usually insightful, such that the reader does come away knowing a good deal about his topic. (I do think there are a couple of places where he glosses over things just a bit, and I think the book would have been even better if it were perhaps 5 or 10 percent longer, but that’s a quibble about an otherwise fine book).

Twenty-five years ago, the standard theory of the universe was the rather simple model of the big bang that most of us knew. The universe started as a single, hyper-condensed mass and exploded outward to produce what we have today. Over time, gravity would slow down the expansion, and one problem in cosmology was whether the universe would expand forever or whether there was enough mass that gravity would eventually overcome the outward motion and pull everything back together gain into a big crunch.

At the same time, the rest of physics was explained by the two great theories of the twentieth century: general relativity, which explained gravity and the macro universe, and quantum theory, which explained the world of the very small to an incredible level of precision. But, despite many attempt, physicists had been unable to unite these two theories in a consistent way.

But out knowledge of the world changed. The model of the big bang become much more complex and strange, both as a result of theoretical physicists applying new theories to our understanding of the universe (string theory and M-theory, in particular; a bit more on these later), but also due to experimental evidence and some niggling problems in the old standard big bang theory. Most shocking, perhaps, was the discovery that the expansion of the universe wasn’t slowing down – it is speeding up! An “anti-gravity” force (dark energy) is making the universe expand more rapidly than it had just after the big bang.

And the big bang itself – well, perhaps it wasn’t an ultra-massive kernel that expanded outward. It may have been as little as an ounce of material in a multiverse that suddenly – by simple quantum chance – expanded into our universe.

Much of what we know understand is being driven by the evolving theory of everything called string theory or M-theory (a similar theory that involves not just strings but membranes of various dimensionality). The basis of string theory is that the “elementary” particles we are familiar with – electrons, quarks, and so on – are not really point particles. Instead, they are really manifestations of the vibrations of much tinier “strings.” The difference between the particles is simply that they are different “tones” or vibration modes of the strings. It’s a very beautiful and elegant theory, which manages to overcome many of the problems of unifying general relativity and quantum theory. It’s also immensely strange, involving a universe that’s not the three or four (if you count time) dimensions that we’re familiar with, but one that involves ten or eleven dimensions, some of which are rolled up much smaller than an atom, so that we don ‘t see them. It’s a theory that allows for other, parallel universes a millimeter away from our own.

Kaku does a good job explaining the history of these theories and their basic concepts. He conveys the true strangeness of the universe, and even engages in some speculation about not only the future of the universe but the future of intelligence in the universe (or, more accurately, the multiverse, since looks at whether intelligence can survive the death of our universe by moving to another).

He also doesn’t shy away from some philosophical and even theological speculation. For example, he looks at the idea of our living in a “Goldilocks zone” and what that implies. Most people know we live in a planetary orbit that is “just right” – farther away, and it would be too cold and water would freeze, close in and it would be too hot. But, from an astronomical perspective, it’s even more complex than that. If our solar system didn’t have a planet like Jupiter to help, over time, clear out asteroids and comets, constant asteroid strikes on the earth may have prevented life from every developing. If we didn’t have a moon as large as the one we have (which helps stabilize the earth’s orbit), again, life may note have developed. And so on. And from a physics perspective, the whole universe falls into this. If the strong nuclear force were a bit stronger or a bit weaker, stars might not form at all or might form but burn through their fuel so fast that life wouldn’t form. If other fundamental constants were a bit different, higher elements (beyond lithium) might not form, or the universe might collapse soon after it formed, or expand too fast, and so on. So amongst all the possible universes that could have formed after the big bang, we are in one that allowed galaxies, stars, and us to come into existence. Is this a proof that God exists? Is it just chance? Do all these possible universes actually exist? Kaku discusses all these views. (He doesn’t – and can’t in such a general books – go into great detail, since this topic alone could take up a much longer book. But he has enough to stimulate a lot of thinking about the topic.)

Kaku is also a science fiction reader, who likes to refer to works of writers like Bear, Asimov, and so on in his discussions. For an SF fan like me, this adds to enjoyment of the book and it does, I think, help solidify some of his examples.

In the end, if you only plan to read one book on the topic (there’s so much to know and it’s all so interesting that I’d recommend reading many more than one), I’d recommend Brian Greene’s Fabric of the Cosmos. But if you read two, this is the one to read next.

His Majesty’s Dragon by Naomi Novik

During the Napoleonic Wars, a British ship engages a French frigate. The British board, the French fight valiantly, but the British crew overcomes them. They then discover what the French had been fighting to protect: an unhatched dragon’s egg. Since Britain has fewer dragons than the French, this is indeed a great find. At worst, it’ll add more variety to their breeding stock; at best they may have a new fighting dragon to add to the British aerial corp. They quickly head back toward a friendly port, but it soon becomes apparent that the egg will hatch before they arrive. Since dragons, if they are to bond with a human at all, bond just after hatching, the officers all wait around, to see who the dragon will chose. (Nobody is anxious, because it means a major change in life and the need to give up thoughts of family and so on.) The dragon hatches, and chooses the Captian, Will Laurence, who gives it the name Temeraire.

Thus starts the new fantasy – His Majesty’s Dragon (called Temeraire in the UK) – by Naomi Novik. It’s her first novel, and I hope that it’s an indicator of things to come, because it is indeed very good.

When I first heard of this fantasy, I began looking for it in the bookstores. I’m very interested in the early 1800s – it’s history and literature, as well as fiction set in that period. I’ve read a lot of histories of the Napoleonic wars, and am a fan of historicals ranging from those of Patrick O’Brian (whose works go beyond others of the genre and rank among the best fiction of the 20^th century) and C. S. Forster to those of Bernard Cornwell. Likewise, I love Jane Austen (and much of the literature of the rest of the century, both British and American: Dickens, Melville, the Brontes, George Eliot, and so on. So I was anxious to read a fantasy set in the period.

I wasn’t disappointed. It’s well written, with well drawn and engaging characters, an interesting story line, and a marvelously thought out setting and background. While a dragon-based air force is clearly fantasy, the details of how it would work – from the various breeds of dragons to the history of human interaction with them – is so intricately detailed and convincingly portrayed that it seems very real.

The dragons are intelligent creatures, and Temeraire himself (who turns out to be a rare Chinese breed) is the best character in the book. Picture a very bright, very personable adolescent. He becomes fast friends with Captain Laurence, who, among other things, reads to him. Temeraire loves listening to history and then, eventually, mathematics and science. (Laurence can’t understand all that he reads to Temeraire, who, as I noted, is a very bright adolescent, and absorbs the math read to him.) He starts out bright but naïve, but grows in character and true understanding as the novel progresses.

The dragons that form the air corps can best be viewed as ships. They have a captain as well as a small crew that rides on them and a ground crew that services them. The various breeds engage in combat or fly scouting or escort missions. Dragons, in fact, play an integral part in major naval battles. The Battle of Trafalgar comes about because British dragons are able to force the French fleet out of port, allowing Nelson to engage them. The relationship between the men and women and their dragons is also compelling and believable.

Throughout, Novik does a great job in portraying the details of the world – not just her added fantasy elements, but the world of the early 1800s. The characters and much of their dialog remind me of Patrick O’Brian. Some of the phrases see uses when characters address one another or express their feelings are those that O’Brian was fond of, though her prose style apart from the dialog doesn’t have the early-19^th century feel of O’Brian’s prose. The world of the Navy, of the air corps, and of England in general, is well drawn, as are the bits of back history that she fills in. The way the dragons fit in and the changes that they’ve caused over the actual early 1800s are well thought out. It all feels utterly convincing.

The next book in the series is due out next week, and I plan to immediately buy and read it. This looks to be a well written and imaginative series, and I look forward to more.

One side note. Don’t be put off by the blurbs on the book. If you are like me, blurbs from Anne McCaffrey and Terry Brooks are more likely to drive you away from the book than toward it. McCaffrey, in particular, has taken to praising so much schlock fantasy that I tend to ignore anything she blurbs. But this is an exception

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

I may have tried to read the Narnia books for the first time too late in life. I was about 20, had already read Tolkien, Eddison, and other fantasy writers, and was looking for more. So, having heard that Narnia was another great fantasy series, I picked it up. I was disappointed. It was simultaneously too simplistic in its prose and characters, too much of a children’s book with not enough for the twenty-year old, and at the same time too heavy handed in spots. I mildly enjoyed it, but only enough to make get me through the first couple of books. There were plenty of other things out there that I liked better (and there was even Lewis that I liked and still like much better, such as his Out of the Silent Planet trilogy). Thus, when the recent film version of Narnia was released, I was in no big hurry to see it. I instead went to see both Harry Potter and King Kong twice, and missed Narnia in the theatre. I had to wait for the DVD release.

I was delightfully surprised. The Chronicles of Narnia, like Jaws, The Godfather, and a few other films, is one of those cases where the film is better than the book. The film captures the magic of the books, without falling into the at times what seems like childishness of the books. In the books, for example, I found Narnia’s talking beavers to be the typical talking animals of children’s books; in the film, I took them seriously as characters – both, I think, because they were shown as real beavers, and because the voice acting was quite good.

For those who don’t know the story, the first Narnia book involves four English children who are sent away to the country during World War II to remain safe. During a game of hide and seek, the youngest, Lucy, finds a room with an old wardrobe, in which she tries to hide. The wardrobe takes her to another world, Narnia, populated by talking animals and creatures from mythology and ruled by the white witch. She eventually brings her brothers and sister back with her. The younger of the brothers, Edmund, falls in with the white witch, while the other three take up with the forces of good, led by Aslan, the lion (the Christ figure of Narnia). The children take part – and in fact take a lead – in the battle against the white witch.

All of this is portrayed remarkably well on film. The script is literate, the acting uniformly good, and the sets and effects spectacular. It captures all the best of Lewis, but does so in a way that surpasses what Lewis accomplished on the page. It could perhaps have been editing down just a bit (it’s 2 hours and 10 minutes long, and probably could have been trimmed to just about 2 hours), and the music varies between very good and adequate. But overall, it was far better than I’d anticipated.

It’s on this year’s Hugo ballot. I certainly won’t vote for it first -- both Serenity and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire are ahead of it on my list, and Batman Begins and Wallace and Gromit are about even with it in my mind. But it’s still a film that’s worth seeing.

As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner

Many people are put off of William Faulkner by starting in the wrong place. Arguably his greatest novel – The Sound and the Fury – is also his most difficult. The stream of consciousness (especially in the section told from the mind of someone who is mentally retarded) is extremely difficult. It’s all further complicated by the way Faulkner’s fictional histories intertwine; full understanding of all that’s going on requires the reader to follow complexities of the family histories in his fictional county in Mississippi. The Sound in the Fury is indeed a great novel, but it really is best read after one has read more of Faulkner, who has encountered Faulkner’s style in simpler, more straightforward (for Faulkner) pieces. Thus, the ideal place to start reading Faulkner is either The Portable Faulkner (an astounding collection of short fiction) or As I Lay Dying, the most straightforward and accessible of his most important novels.

Like much of Faulkner, As I Lay Dying tells the story of people trapped by their past and by their social obligations. Addie Bundren, at the novel’s start, is on her death bed. But her husband, the lazy, often infuriating Anse, has promised her that he will bury her with her kin, a goodly trip away by mule cart. Anse and his family (his four sons and one daughter) try to meet this obligation, and it destroys the family (well, accept for Anse, who, oblivious to the damage he is causing, while feeling himself unlucky and put upon, does well for himself).

As I Lay Dying alternates moments of great drama and adventure – the family’s attempt to haul the coffin across the swollen river is thrilling (and, incidentally, was re-told by Greg Benford as SF in his ”Space-Time and the River”), while other scenes are some of the best black comedy I’ve encountered. Anse and his bumbling family take well over a week to haul Addie’s coffin across country, as buzzards circle overhead and everyone they pass by comments on the smell. The novel even has its moments of pathos as Darl, the most intelligent and likeable of the sons, descends into a kind of madness (though while madness in society’s view, it’s more sane than what his family is doing).

The novel is told as stream of consciousness (in the Faulkner sense, which is a different type of steam of consciousness than that of Joyce or Wolfe) from the points of view of the main characters and even a few of the minor characters they encounter. Faulkner does a marvelous job of distinguishing the thought stream of each character, ranging from Darl’s intelligent insight to Vardaman’s child’s eye view of the universe. He labels each chapter with the name of the character whose thoughts we are to follow, but in most cases this really isn’t necessary, as the thought patterns are so distinct.

As I Lay Dying remains, with The Sound and the Fury, Absalom, Absalom, and Light in August, as one of Faulkner’s great novels. It’s also the Faulkner novel I’ve reread most over the years (in part, I admit, since it is so easy to plunge back into its world). Highly Recommended.

Don Quixote

Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes

It’s been a while since I’ve written in my blog. The reason for this is that I’ve been re-reading Don Quixote, a 950 page book. And for me, when I re-read a book, it generally takes me longer than my initial reading. The first time through just about any book, I find myself reading somewhat fast in parts, anxious to find out what happens next. In subsequent times through, I’ve gotten that out of the way. I know what happens next (well, if it’s many years between re-reading, I have a general idea of what happens next anyway), so I can slow down and appreciate the detail, appreciate the style, enjoy more of the dialog, and so on. Thus, re-reading Don Quixote took me about two weeks or so.

The turn of the 17^th century was a remarkable time in the literary world. In England, Shakespeare was producing his greatest plays – the greatest plays in the English language (and perhaps in any language). At the same time, in Spain, Cervantes was writing what still stands as one of the greatest novels ever written – Don Quixote.

Don Quixote was actually published in two parts. The first part was published in 1605. Part two (written in part in response to the so-called false Quixote, an unauthorized sequel by another writer) ten years later. Since then, the two parts have typically been published as one long novel.

Most everyone knows the story of Don Quixote: Quixote is an older gentleman, fond of reading novels of chivalry. These were quite popular at the time. Most were poorly written, and filled with fantasy elements so extreme as to sound absurd. But Quixote is convinced they are real and convinced that he is the modern heir to the older knights, that it is he who will restore knight errantry to the world. So, along with a poor neighboring farmer, Sancho Panza, he rides off in search of adventure. And he finds adventure, because his madness causes him to see and interpret things in fantastical ways: inns become castles, prostitutes princesses, windmills giants, and flocks of sheep armies. And when he is forced to see anything for what it is – when Sancho sees that the windmills are in fact windmills – Quixote explains it as a result of the malicious enchanters who bedevil knights errant, who take away victory by turning giants into windmills.

As you can see, this is all the basis for an amusing slapstick comedy. But Don Quixote goes far beyond that in a number of ways. I’ll talk about a few of them.

First and foremost, what makes Don Quixote stand so far above other novels of this type is the characters. Both Quixote and Sancho are a marvelous mixture of wisdom and, in the Don’s case, madness, and in Sancho’s case foolishness. But both are very real and in their ways, very likeable (especially Sancho). And together, they are a marvel. Their dialogs are entertaining and insightful – the Don often talking wisely (at least when not on the subject of chivalry) and Sancho spouting proverbs and good common sense, mixed with remarkable naivety (he is convinced, for example, despite all he sees, that Quixote will one day make him the governor of an insula).

The novel is also very witty and full of wordplay. It mixes comedy on all levels (ranging from bathroom humor to biting satire), but at the same time there is an underpinning of seriousness. Quixote is both funny and sad; we laugh at him and his antics, but at the same time our hearts ache over the fact that he is not achieving what he wants. In the midst of it all, he means well, he wants to see courtesy, dignity, and freedom in the world, so when he fails, we feel his pain.

Don Quixote part one tells of the Don’s first two sallies. The first is a short, solo sally, from which he quickly returns. The second is the one that most who haven’t read the novel still know of in which the Don and Sancho encounter the windmills. In the first part, the Don and Sancho go through pain and hardship. The also encounter an amusing and interesting cast of characters. Cervantes uses parts of the novel to not only satirize novels of chivalry but also pastoral novels and other types of romances, and the Don and Sancho find themselves in the midst of situations straight out of these types of novels (and where the characters, like Quixote, have been warped by being too influenced by them).

The first part also includes several novelettes, where Cervantes inserts another story into the main novel. Usually this is done by having the characters listen to this story. Cervantes was criticized for this, and it does break the flow of the novel. While these inserted stories are good in their own right, the reader really wants to get back to the Don and Sancho. They are the ones we want to know more about, not “The Man Who Was Recklessly Curious.” But in the end, these stories do tie back into the main novel, as characters and events from them become part of the story.

This in fact brings us to what is perhaps the main thrust of Don Quixote: the interrelationships between fiction and reality. The novel explores the ways that fiction and life intersect, and in fact on how fiction influences and becomes part of life. The Don is convinced that the fictional accounts of chivalry are real. A country squire is similarly influenced by pastoral novels. Stories throughout intersect the events of the world. And this interrelationship becomes even more pronounced in part two.

Don Quixote part two start with the Don and Sancho, home from their adventures and the Don, perhaps, somewhat on the mend, being told an amazing fact: their adventures have been written down. Don Quixote part one has been published, and they are now known throughout Spain. Moreover, a false sequel has been written, and they are astounded to hear that someone is making up false adventures about them. So, they sally forth into the world again, this time often encountering people who know who they are since they’ve read about them. A large section of the novel, in fact, involves the two of them as guests of a Duke and Duchess who were fond of part one and who pretend that all is real and play several amusing tricks on the two.

Part 2 is my favorite of the two parts, though both are good. Perhaps it’s because I know the characters even more by the time I get to that point. Perhaps because it contains more about the Don and Sancho, and Sancho in particular gets to say and do more. It contains some of my very favorite incidents -- Quixote attacking a puppet show, thinking he is rescuing several of the characters, Sancho’s reaction to being told he must give himself 3,300 lashes to disenchant Dulcenia (one of the tricks of the Duke and Duchess), the Cave of Montesinos (where the Don sees – or dreams he sees (it’s sometimes unclear what he himself believes) – an amazing group of older knights when his lowered into a cave), and so on. And of course in part two for at least a short while Sancho does become governor of an “insula” (a small town controlled by the Duke, but Sancho doesn’t know the difference). And, to the surprise of all, he actually is a good and wise governor for the week he is there, until the Duke tricks him into leaving again.

Don Quixote is a novel that rewards rereading. I’ve now read it three times (twice in the Putnam translation, this time in the Grossman translation) and have been delighted and found more each time I’ve read it. And the Don and Sancho are such wonderful characters that it is pleasant to return to them in again.

There is much more I could say here. Don Quixote is the subject of books, so this brief essay barely scratches the surface. But it remains one of the great classics and a very readable and delightful book, one that works on many different levels. Highly recommended.