Journey to the Center of Existence
By Breanne Boland August 14, 2003 Issue

“Mastodon” means “nipple teeth.”

Remember good bits like that from science classes? Sure, you can hear about this and that genus, velocity and carbon dating for years, but what do you really remember? What did you tell mom about at the end of the day? I’m willing to bet it wasn’t atomic weights.

Bill Bryson’s A Short History of Nearly Everything acknowledges the advantage of the “good parts version” approach to science. Less a textbook or a survey than a who’s who of the historical scientific community, Bryson uses the often colorful personalities that dot the last few centuries of scientific discovery and exploration to create something not only interesting, but worth a 543 page book.

In the introduction, Bryson explains that a few years ago, he was jarred to realize that he knew next to nothing about earth. Finding answers in a typical general science textbook proved to be about as stimulating as repeatedly bludgeoning himself in the head with a tack hammer, so he spent the next few years researching things independently. His previous ignorance not only makes this book comprehensive, but also endears Bryson to the reader. He was as clueless as the rest of us.

Like Bryson’s other books, this one is lively and engaging, and his obvious enthusiasm for the subject makes drier sections—like the chapters about physics—endurable until the next oddball scientist anecdote. His constant curiosity makes even subjects you may never have wondered about before interesting. Geology? Why, sure. Quarks? Supernovae? Yes, please.

The book bounces between being science for the person who hates science and the eccentric lives of brilliant minds. Take Henry Cavendish. Bryson notes of the wealthy hermit that not only was he the first person to combine hydrogen and oxygen to make water, but he was also so shy that he communicated with his housekeeper by letter. It’s like that with many scientists. Along with their discoveries—be they major, like those of Albert Einstein, or minor, like the dozens of scientists contributing small but important pieces to our understanding of the world—they usually get a biographical sketch as well. This background is always entertaining, but can be distracting, especially when you’re a scientifically average person trying to understand exactly how neutrinos work.

The other fault of the who’s who method of making science interesting is that the more eccentric scientists are more easily remembered than the blander ones who were just as important scientifically. Would you more easily remember that the Reverend William Buckland was an expert on geology, or that he had a table made of fossilized feces?

However, Bryson doesn’t skimp on specifics. Just because the paragraphs are devoid of italicized words and boldface doesn’t mean that he entirely glosses over things. Ideas like scientific notation or the difference between mass and weight are addressed—it’s just usually in the footnotes—so that a paragraph or two of explanation doesn’t disrupt the flow of the prose.

In the end, it’s handy to remember that, like in many of his other books, Bryson is a tour guide, not a researcher. He breezes through specifics, often noting his shortcomings and the shortcomings of the average mind. Of the different periods of earth’s history, the Triassic, Jurassic, and the like, he caps off a list with an etc., remarking, “Fortunately, unless you take up geology as a career, you’re unlikely to hear any of them again.” This book is likely to be required reading in general science classes at liberal arts colleges across the country within a semester or two. The difference in attitude between Bryson’s book and the average general science book is summed up in one footnote: “There is no testing here.”

Would you like this book? Do you read the ingredients on the side of your can of soda and wonder what all the syllables mean? Have you ever taken a pen apart just to examine its parts? This book can cure that aimless curiosity that our geek-phobic culture doesn’t always fix. Or do you just enjoy spouting weird facts, such as how most people probably have billions of atoms from Gandhi, but not from Elvis? Whether you use it to annoy friends and alienate people or just to understand why exactly radioactive materials were once used in toothpaste, it’s a fascinating look at a world most people take for granted. (Top)

543 pp, Broadway Books. Found at local book retailers and libraries.

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