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Litmus: Short Stories from Modern Science
Like the creation myths they supersede, the revelations of science are seared into our collective imagination through storytelling. From Archimedes' bath to Newton's apple, vivid accounts of scientific discovery help us understand the principles behind each theory, and add to the larger narrative of how the universe works, and how we came to be here.
This anthology draws out and distills science’s love of narrative from a wide range of scientific disciplines, weaving theory into very human stories, and delving into the humanity of theorists and experimenters as they stood on the brink of momentous discoveries: from Joseph Swan’s original light-bulb moment to the uncovering of ‘mirror neurons’ lighting up empathy zones in the human brain; from Einstein's revelation on a Bern tram, to Pavlov’s identification of personality types thanks to a freak flood in his St Petersburg lab.
Each story has been written in close consultation with scientists and historians and is accompanied by a specially written afterword, expanding on the science for the general reader.
Together, they bring vividly to life the stories behind the 'eureka!' moments that changed the way we live, forever.
‘Exquisite….delectable’ – New Scientist
'Works brilliantly... ingenious... unfailingly interesting' – The Independent
This anthology draws out and distills science’s love of narrative from a wide range of scientific disciplines, weaving theory into very human stories, and delving into the humanity of theorists and experimenters as they stood on the brink of momentous discoveries: from Joseph Swan’s original light-bulb moment to the uncovering of ‘mirror neurons’ lighting up empathy zones in the human brain; from Einstein's revelation on a Bern tram, to Pavlov’s identification of personality types thanks to a freak flood in his St Petersburg lab.
Each story has been written in close consultation with scientists and historians and is accompanied by a specially written afterword, expanding on the science for the general reader.
Together, they bring vividly to life the stories behind the 'eureka!' moments that changed the way we live, forever.
‘Exquisite….delectable’ – New Scientist
'Works brilliantly... ingenious... unfailingly interesting' – The Independent
- GenresShort StoriesFiction
280 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2011
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171 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews
December 29, 2019
I was given this book last Christmas but didn't have space in my suitcase to bring it home, so it remained unread in my parents' spare room. Until now! The central concept is original: a series of literary fiction authors were asked to write a short story about a scientific discovery, with an actual specialist in the area writing an accompanying afterword to each. I must say, I enjoyed the implications of this structure more than the stories themselves, which were almost all forgettable. It seemed like the authors had to walk quite a tricky line, as they were asked for historically accurate science fiction. They dramatised the moments of discovery, in the historical mode, or extrapolated the implications of the scientific advance, in sci-fi mode. However, the preference in lit fic for making everything about romantic love was very much present. I did not really appreciate rather clumsy attempts to parallel love (especially collapsing marriages) with some form of science. 'Bride Hill', a story about realising a relative has Alzheimer's disease was quite moving, without explaining the science that effectively. The stronger stories, in my view, took the more historical approach and simply dramatised the discovery, although this still worked better in some cases than others. 'Crystal Night' did so rather well, by nearly slipping into a biographer's mode.
My favourite story was 'The Woman Who Measured the Heavens with a Span' as this introduced me a female scientist of the early 20th century whose work I hadn't heard of before, Henrietta Leavitt. As with all the other stories, however, it was vastly strengthened by the non-fiction afterword. What the book really demonstrated was the difficulty of fictionalising science in a small number of words, given the importance of a) clearly explaining the scientific discovery itself, and b) contextualising it. I found the afterwords more rewarding than the stories themselves, as those writing them were much better at both. Literary fiction rarely engages in such activities, leaving them to sci-fi. So this is an intriguing experiment in genre-hopping that I don't think entirely worked, but was worth reading anyway.
My favourite story was 'The Woman Who Measured the Heavens with a Span' as this introduced me a female scientist of the early 20th century whose work I hadn't heard of before, Henrietta Leavitt. As with all the other stories, however, it was vastly strengthened by the non-fiction afterword. What the book really demonstrated was the difficulty of fictionalising science in a small number of words, given the importance of a) clearly explaining the scientific discovery itself, and b) contextualising it. I found the afterwords more rewarding than the stories themselves, as those writing them were much better at both. Literary fiction rarely engages in such activities, leaving them to sci-fi. So this is an intriguing experiment in genre-hopping that I don't think entirely worked, but was worth reading anyway.
October 15, 2011
A number of authors have attempted the difficult task of writing fiction that is used to explain science and it almost always fails. It's just incredibly difficult to do well. Either the fiction isn't good enough, or the science isn't good enough - or the fiction is so obscure that it simply puts the reader off.
I confess, when I saw this book and got excited about reviewing it, I misunderstood what it was. The subtitle is 'short stories from modern science' so I thought it would be like Tania Hershman's excellent collection of short stories The White Road, which takes science news as first seed of an idea for a story, but then provides a straightforward piece of fiction or science fiction. That works wonderfully well. But the approach that this book takes is much more directed to getting a scientific message across, and it suffers because of it.
What Litmus provides (and this is why it has made it into this site) is a series of short stories that are, in essence, historical fiction based on history of science. Each typically describes a key scientific moment, or someone being influenced by a key moment in scientific discovery. Each story is then followed by an essay that explains the significance of that moment and/or person in science.
In theory this could have worked very well, but I found most of the stories stiff and not particularly interesting reads. Where they put information across, it seemed forced - and when they didn't, there didn't seem a lot of point in the story. Then you would get the rather worthy essay, often unnecessarily deferential to the fiction it supported, which turned the whole thing into something that seemed like a school exercise rather than either a collection of good short stories or useful popular science.
There were some good stories - I'd pick out Tania Hershman's, inspired by the glowing jellyfish gene. There were some mediocre stories, and some that seemed trivially pretentious (Stella Duffy's piece, for example). Just to take one specific example in a bit more detail, there is a story set by Michael Jecks called Special Theory. Set in Bern, where Einstein worked in the Swiss patent office, it is an interaction between an unhappy British physicist, who is an Einstein fanboy, and a waitress. It sort of works as a story, though it's a bit plonking in its conclusion. But I wasn't comfortable with the historical context (several of the 'facts' about Einstein are dubious) nor, for that matter, that a physics professor would regard Einstein like a teenager looks to a pop star. The professor would know very well that Einstein's contribution in special relativity was not the unique, light bulb moment he seems to suggest, and for that matter that Einstein was only one contributor to the development of the theory, not the sole, solitary genius behind it. Without doubt the most important contributor - but not working in isolation.
Overall, then, yet another attempt to marry fiction and popular science that has ended up on the rocks of incompatibility. A brave attempt - and I do still believe this ought to be possible. But it is clearly very difficult to do well.
Review originally published on www.popularscience.co.uk - reproduced with permission
I confess, when I saw this book and got excited about reviewing it, I misunderstood what it was. The subtitle is 'short stories from modern science' so I thought it would be like Tania Hershman's excellent collection of short stories The White Road, which takes science news as first seed of an idea for a story, but then provides a straightforward piece of fiction or science fiction. That works wonderfully well. But the approach that this book takes is much more directed to getting a scientific message across, and it suffers because of it.
What Litmus provides (and this is why it has made it into this site) is a series of short stories that are, in essence, historical fiction based on history of science. Each typically describes a key scientific moment, or someone being influenced by a key moment in scientific discovery. Each story is then followed by an essay that explains the significance of that moment and/or person in science.
In theory this could have worked very well, but I found most of the stories stiff and not particularly interesting reads. Where they put information across, it seemed forced - and when they didn't, there didn't seem a lot of point in the story. Then you would get the rather worthy essay, often unnecessarily deferential to the fiction it supported, which turned the whole thing into something that seemed like a school exercise rather than either a collection of good short stories or useful popular science.
There were some good stories - I'd pick out Tania Hershman's, inspired by the glowing jellyfish gene. There were some mediocre stories, and some that seemed trivially pretentious (Stella Duffy's piece, for example). Just to take one specific example in a bit more detail, there is a story set by Michael Jecks called Special Theory. Set in Bern, where Einstein worked in the Swiss patent office, it is an interaction between an unhappy British physicist, who is an Einstein fanboy, and a waitress. It sort of works as a story, though it's a bit plonking in its conclusion. But I wasn't comfortable with the historical context (several of the 'facts' about Einstein are dubious) nor, for that matter, that a physics professor would regard Einstein like a teenager looks to a pop star. The professor would know very well that Einstein's contribution in special relativity was not the unique, light bulb moment he seems to suggest, and for that matter that Einstein was only one contributor to the development of the theory, not the sole, solitary genius behind it. Without doubt the most important contributor - but not working in isolation.
Overall, then, yet another attempt to marry fiction and popular science that has ended up on the rocks of incompatibility. A brave attempt - and I do still believe this ought to be possible. But it is clearly very difficult to do well.
Review originally published on www.popularscience.co.uk - reproduced with permission
March 7, 2014
The scientific process is based on the sharing of ideas and information. Behind all discoveries lie a multitude of stories. The human need for a narrative, for a hero, encourages us to ignore the reality of science in favour of the 'Eureka' moment. We want a name, a date, on which we can hang the story.
The creators of Litmus acknowledge this by giving us the stories, by telling us about individual scientists, illuminating in a fictionalised form the discovery or invention they are known for. This book is no paean to the greats, however. We find in this anthology tales of scientists hitherto relegated to the shadows of history, and find ourselves engrossed in stories that shed new light on familiar figures.
Each tale is accompanied by an individual afterword, explaining the science and giving historical context. These afterwords are fascinating in their own right; articulate, and knowledgeable of the literary form. Twinned with their sister stories, they make a satisfying whole.
Litmus is all about the broad sweep, taking in almost five hundred years of science, and covering the start of everything to the end of consciousness. It is an anthology that is best dipped into, rather than gulped straight down. Every tale deserves to be savoured before the next one is tasted.
Manchester's Comma Press has given lead story status to Frank Cottrell Bryce's 'The Pitch', which is set in Lancashire. I loved this story, not just because it is set close to home, or because it reminds me that greatness can happen anywhere, but because Bryce illustrates so well the desperate passion of scientific endeavour, the need to gather information and knowledge, the need to test the hypothesis.
Prudence, by Emma Unsworth, is a story about how some of the greatest breakthroughs are achieved when thinking outside the box. The story of the periodic table, one of the most beautiful documents created, is a long and fascinating one, at the heart of it is a man named Mendeleev and a moment of revelation.
We return to the elements, guided by Zoe Lambert's Crystal Night. In the decades since Mendeleev set the challenge of absence, the game had moved on, and the new goal was the transuranic elements. Lise Meitner's work led to a discovery that changed the war and changed the world.
Science is a whole. Mathematics, biology, astronomy, physics and chemistry are increasingly artificial divisions and the stories in Litmus range across the entire field, celebrating the multidisciplinary approach. Some stories fade from memory. Edison is famed for inventing the electric light bulb, but at the same period in time, a Yorkshire industrialist came up with the same idea. 'Swan' is a tale told eloquently by Sean O'Brien.
Einstein's Special Theory of Relativity shapes our understanding of the universe, and in 'The Special Theory' Michael Jecks obliquely tells the tale of how Einstein's great revelation came about. It's sister story, Stella Duffy's 'Everything is Moving, Everything is Joined' is an almost poetic look at the development of the idea of space time.
Some scientists fall into obscurity, others are forced into it because of gender, class or race. Henrietta Leavitt's contribution to the study of astronomical distances is a fundamental one, but her story is new to me. Sarah Maitland's moving and memorable study is of a God centred scientist who was as devoted to her faith as to her scientific duty.
From astronomy we move to psychology. It's word association time. Say 'Pavlov' and you'll hear 'Dogs'. Annie Clarkson's tells of how tragedy led to the development of new theories from the pioneer of behavioural conditioning.
We are honoured to be living in a period in which Alan Turing's place as a national hero is being confirmed. He is known for his work in computing, but Jane Rogers focuses on his work on morphogenesis, the idea that order can arise from disorder by the imposition of a few simple rules.
Government response to where Turing's heart led him caused the tragedy that cost Britain one of its most brilliant minds. How does the heart work? In 'The Heart of Denis Noble', Alison McLeod explores the romantic question in her story of a young scientist's investigation of the chemical question.
Genetic engineering is the subject of two very different stories. Tanya Hershman's 'We are all Made of Protein But Some of us Glow More than Others.', and Christine Poulson's 'What If' both tell the story of great discoveries that underlie modern genetics. Osamu Shimomura's work with bioluminescent jellyfish led to the isolation of marker genes that are still vitally useful in genetics today. Kary Mullis's 'What if?' musings two decades later, led to the invention of the polymerase chain reaction; and lit the blue touchpaper on the explosive growth in genetics that continues today.
Towards the end of the book, we get a story about the very beginning of everything. With a work of fiction reminiscent of Ray Bradbury's childhood idylls, Adam Marek plays with history and science, and gives us a marvellous tale of how evidence for the Big Bang was found whilst looking for something else.
Maggie Gee's 'Living With Insects' takes us once again back to genetic and sociobiologcal themes. A young girl struggling with a family breakup learns about kin selection in school, and struggles to put it into the context of her own life. Kate Clanchy's 'Bride Hill' is a life affirming story about living with Alzheimer's. It follows naturally on the heels of 'Living With Insects', both are stories of love and loss, about how understanding 'why' can be a balm for the soul in times of need.
As we draw to the end of the anthology, we are treated to Trevor Hoyle's brief 'Monkey See, Monkey Do', dealing with the fortuitous discovery of mirror neurons and the science of empathy. Appropriately enough, the topic of empathy leads to the final story in the book. 'That is the Day' is suffused with a sense of hopelessness mixed with dogged determination. It's about disease and disaster. The Eureka moment for the disease is now decades in the past, and led to its discovery and identification. The story makes it clear that the world hopes now for another Eureka moment, the science that will give us the cure.
And there we have it, from seventeenth century astronomy in Much Hoole to twenty first century medicine in South Africa, Litmus is a grand mixture of a book. It's short fiction, it's history, it's science. I'm sure you'll know lots of people who will love it.
The creators of Litmus acknowledge this by giving us the stories, by telling us about individual scientists, illuminating in a fictionalised form the discovery or invention they are known for. This book is no paean to the greats, however. We find in this anthology tales of scientists hitherto relegated to the shadows of history, and find ourselves engrossed in stories that shed new light on familiar figures.
Each tale is accompanied by an individual afterword, explaining the science and giving historical context. These afterwords are fascinating in their own right; articulate, and knowledgeable of the literary form. Twinned with their sister stories, they make a satisfying whole.
Litmus is all about the broad sweep, taking in almost five hundred years of science, and covering the start of everything to the end of consciousness. It is an anthology that is best dipped into, rather than gulped straight down. Every tale deserves to be savoured before the next one is tasted.
Manchester's Comma Press has given lead story status to Frank Cottrell Bryce's 'The Pitch', which is set in Lancashire. I loved this story, not just because it is set close to home, or because it reminds me that greatness can happen anywhere, but because Bryce illustrates so well the desperate passion of scientific endeavour, the need to gather information and knowledge, the need to test the hypothesis.
Prudence, by Emma Unsworth, is a story about how some of the greatest breakthroughs are achieved when thinking outside the box. The story of the periodic table, one of the most beautiful documents created, is a long and fascinating one, at the heart of it is a man named Mendeleev and a moment of revelation.
We return to the elements, guided by Zoe Lambert's Crystal Night. In the decades since Mendeleev set the challenge of absence, the game had moved on, and the new goal was the transuranic elements. Lise Meitner's work led to a discovery that changed the war and changed the world.
Science is a whole. Mathematics, biology, astronomy, physics and chemistry are increasingly artificial divisions and the stories in Litmus range across the entire field, celebrating the multidisciplinary approach. Some stories fade from memory. Edison is famed for inventing the electric light bulb, but at the same period in time, a Yorkshire industrialist came up with the same idea. 'Swan' is a tale told eloquently by Sean O'Brien.
Einstein's Special Theory of Relativity shapes our understanding of the universe, and in 'The Special Theory' Michael Jecks obliquely tells the tale of how Einstein's great revelation came about. It's sister story, Stella Duffy's 'Everything is Moving, Everything is Joined' is an almost poetic look at the development of the idea of space time.
Some scientists fall into obscurity, others are forced into it because of gender, class or race. Henrietta Leavitt's contribution to the study of astronomical distances is a fundamental one, but her story is new to me. Sarah Maitland's moving and memorable study is of a God centred scientist who was as devoted to her faith as to her scientific duty.
From astronomy we move to psychology. It's word association time. Say 'Pavlov' and you'll hear 'Dogs'. Annie Clarkson's tells of how tragedy led to the development of new theories from the pioneer of behavioural conditioning.
We are honoured to be living in a period in which Alan Turing's place as a national hero is being confirmed. He is known for his work in computing, but Jane Rogers focuses on his work on morphogenesis, the idea that order can arise from disorder by the imposition of a few simple rules.
Government response to where Turing's heart led him caused the tragedy that cost Britain one of its most brilliant minds. How does the heart work? In 'The Heart of Denis Noble', Alison McLeod explores the romantic question in her story of a young scientist's investigation of the chemical question.
Genetic engineering is the subject of two very different stories. Tanya Hershman's 'We are all Made of Protein But Some of us Glow More than Others.', and Christine Poulson's 'What If' both tell the story of great discoveries that underlie modern genetics. Osamu Shimomura's work with bioluminescent jellyfish led to the isolation of marker genes that are still vitally useful in genetics today. Kary Mullis's 'What if?' musings two decades later, led to the invention of the polymerase chain reaction; and lit the blue touchpaper on the explosive growth in genetics that continues today.
Towards the end of the book, we get a story about the very beginning of everything. With a work of fiction reminiscent of Ray Bradbury's childhood idylls, Adam Marek plays with history and science, and gives us a marvellous tale of how evidence for the Big Bang was found whilst looking for something else.
Maggie Gee's 'Living With Insects' takes us once again back to genetic and sociobiologcal themes. A young girl struggling with a family breakup learns about kin selection in school, and struggles to put it into the context of her own life. Kate Clanchy's 'Bride Hill' is a life affirming story about living with Alzheimer's. It follows naturally on the heels of 'Living With Insects', both are stories of love and loss, about how understanding 'why' can be a balm for the soul in times of need.
As we draw to the end of the anthology, we are treated to Trevor Hoyle's brief 'Monkey See, Monkey Do', dealing with the fortuitous discovery of mirror neurons and the science of empathy. Appropriately enough, the topic of empathy leads to the final story in the book. 'That is the Day' is suffused with a sense of hopelessness mixed with dogged determination. It's about disease and disaster. The Eureka moment for the disease is now decades in the past, and led to its discovery and identification. The story makes it clear that the world hopes now for another Eureka moment, the science that will give us the cure.
And there we have it, from seventeenth century astronomy in Much Hoole to twenty first century medicine in South Africa, Litmus is a grand mixture of a book. It's short fiction, it's history, it's science. I'm sure you'll know lots of people who will love it.
February 1, 2024
Pretty good, and I appreciate the distinction between the short fictional story and the non-fiction afterward. The one aspect I didn't appreciate was that religion seemed to crop up more often than one would expect for a text based on scientific principles.
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October 29, 202128/04/21
I began with the story of Henrietta Leavitt and it was so good that I went and got the book from the catalyst. From a young age she was interested in the stars however, she lived in such a mysoginistic society that her father said to her 'maybe if you work hard enough, one day you could become an assistant to an astronomer'. Despite the challenges she pursued her passions, eventually becoming a 'computer' in the field of astronomy. Essentially she was the person who discovered the relationship between luminosity and periods of stars which consequntly assisted in the goal of measuring distances in space. Using the luminosity-period graph she was able to determine the intrinsic luminosity of stars, thereby comparing it to the apparent brightness so that the inverese squre law can be applied and a distance estimated. Really clever stuff. I enjoyed this, the first of the many short stories.
11/05/21
Just finished reading about Einstein and his amazing discoveries about the properties of nature. Especially once again trying to grasp the theory of relativity made me realise how such counter-intuitive thinking is still proven true and widely accepted by mathamaticians and scientists. If this can be said about the nature of space-time. Why do we humans with our puny minds even consider being able to fully comprehend the majesty and soverigty of God - who by definition is beyond all creation.
I began with the story of Henrietta Leavitt and it was so good that I went and got the book from the catalyst. From a young age she was interested in the stars however, she lived in such a mysoginistic society that her father said to her 'maybe if you work hard enough, one day you could become an assistant to an astronomer'. Despite the challenges she pursued her passions, eventually becoming a 'computer' in the field of astronomy. Essentially she was the person who discovered the relationship between luminosity and periods of stars which consequntly assisted in the goal of measuring distances in space. Using the luminosity-period graph she was able to determine the intrinsic luminosity of stars, thereby comparing it to the apparent brightness so that the inverese squre law can be applied and a distance estimated. Really clever stuff. I enjoyed this, the first of the many short stories.
11/05/21
Just finished reading about Einstein and his amazing discoveries about the properties of nature. Especially once again trying to grasp the theory of relativity made me realise how such counter-intuitive thinking is still proven true and widely accepted by mathamaticians and scientists. If this can be said about the nature of space-time. Why do we humans with our puny minds even consider being able to fully comprehend the majesty and soverigty of God - who by definition is beyond all creation.
January 27, 2012
I was delighted to be asked by Ra Page to write a short story for Litmus. It's always fun to write stories like this, but for this I was given the chance to collaborate with Professor Jim al-Khalili, and that was enormous fun.
The theme was for scientists and authors to select certain laws or periods in scientific history, and for the authors to then go and write a story that encapsulated the concepts and the themes. With Jim, I took on the Theory of General Relativity - which was a big enough topic for a mathematically-challenged author like me!
Huge thanks to Jim and to Ra for their help and for asking me to get involved in the first place!
The theme was for scientists and authors to select certain laws or periods in scientific history, and for the authors to then go and write a story that encapsulated the concepts and the themes. With Jim, I took on the Theory of General Relativity - which was a big enough topic for a mathematically-challenged author like me!
Huge thanks to Jim and to Ra for their help and for asking me to get involved in the first place!
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July 31, 2011Described here: http://feeds.newscientist.com/c/749/f...
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