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The Shape of Wonder: How Scientists Think, Work, and Live
In this captivating, insightful book, acclaimed physicists Alan Lightman and Martin Rees illuminate the life and work of numerous scientists in order to demystify the scientific process and show that scientists are concerned citizens, just like the rest of us.
In an age of rapid scientific discovery and technological advancement, it’s understandable that many feel uneasy about the future. While we might have confidence in these new developments when we go to the hospital for a medical procedure, fly in an airplane, or take an elevator to the top floor of a building, the motivations and lives of scientists themselves feel shrouded from public view. There is a growing sense that scientists are not to be trusted—that they may be guided by political or financial interests, or beholden to governments, or state institutions.
This growing mistrust of scientists is an urgent problem. With the onset of climate change, the imminent threats of pandemic or nuclear war, and rapid acceleration in the fields of artificial intelligence and DNA sequencing, innovations in science have the potential to change the world. It’s crucial that we not only gain a better understanding of science as a field, but also reestablish trust with its practitioners.
The Shape of Wonder guides us through the fascinating lives and minds of scientists around the world and throughout time, from a young theoretical physicist who works as a research assistant professor at the University of Washington and rock climbs in their free time; to German physicist Werner Heisenberg in his early life, when he was a student of music and philosophy; to Govind Swarup, an Indian astronomer whose work on radio telescopes was profoundly important. We get an inside peek at what makes scientists tick—their daily lives, passions, and concerns about the societies they live in.
In this brilliant and elucidative work, Lightman and Rees pull back the curtain on the field of science, revealing that scientists are driven by the same sense of curiosity, wonder, and responsibility towards the future that shapes us all.
In an age of rapid scientific discovery and technological advancement, it’s understandable that many feel uneasy about the future. While we might have confidence in these new developments when we go to the hospital for a medical procedure, fly in an airplane, or take an elevator to the top floor of a building, the motivations and lives of scientists themselves feel shrouded from public view. There is a growing sense that scientists are not to be trusted—that they may be guided by political or financial interests, or beholden to governments, or state institutions.
This growing mistrust of scientists is an urgent problem. With the onset of climate change, the imminent threats of pandemic or nuclear war, and rapid acceleration in the fields of artificial intelligence and DNA sequencing, innovations in science have the potential to change the world. It’s crucial that we not only gain a better understanding of science as a field, but also reestablish trust with its practitioners.
The Shape of Wonder guides us through the fascinating lives and minds of scientists around the world and throughout time, from a young theoretical physicist who works as a research assistant professor at the University of Washington and rock climbs in their free time; to German physicist Werner Heisenberg in his early life, when he was a student of music and philosophy; to Govind Swarup, an Indian astronomer whose work on radio telescopes was profoundly important. We get an inside peek at what makes scientists tick—their daily lives, passions, and concerns about the societies they live in.
In this brilliant and elucidative work, Lightman and Rees pull back the curtain on the field of science, revealing that scientists are driven by the same sense of curiosity, wonder, and responsibility towards the future that shapes us all.
224 pages, Hardcover
First published September 2, 2025
23 people are currently reading
2943 people want to read
About the author
Alan Lightman
49 books1,299 followersAlan Lightman is an American writer, physicist, and social entrepreneur. Born in 1948, he was educated at Princeton and at the California Institute of Technology, where he received a PhD in theoretical physics. He has received five honorary doctoral degrees. Lightman has served on the faculties of Harvard and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) and was the first person at MIT to receive dual faculty appointments in science and in the humanities. He is currently professor of the practice of the humanities at MIT. His scientific research in astrophysics has concerned
black holes, relativity theory, radiative processes, and the dynamics of systems of stars. His essays and articles have appeared in the Atlantic, Granta, Harper’s, the New Yorker, the New York Review of Books, Salon, and many other publications. His essays are often chosen by the New York Times as among the best essays of the year. He is the author of 6 novels, several collections of essays, a memoir, and a book-length narrative poem, as well as several books on science. His novel Einstein’s Dreams was an international bestseller and has been the basis for dozens of independent theatrical and musical adaptations around the world. His novel The Diagnosis was a finalist for the National Book Award. His most recent books are The Accidental Universe, which was chosen by Brain Pickings as one of the 10 best books of 2014, his memoir Screening Room, which was chosen by the Washington Post as one of the best books of the year for 2016,
and Searching for Stars on an Island in Maine (2018), an extended meditation on science and religion – which was the basis for an essay
on PBS Newshour. Lightman is an elected fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. He is also the founder of the Harpswell Foundation, a nonprofit organization whose mission is “to advance a new generation of women leaders in Southeast Asia.” He has received the gold medal for humanitarian service from the government of Cambodia.
black holes, relativity theory, radiative processes, and the dynamics of systems of stars. His essays and articles have appeared in the Atlantic, Granta, Harper’s, the New Yorker, the New York Review of Books, Salon, and many other publications. His essays are often chosen by the New York Times as among the best essays of the year. He is the author of 6 novels, several collections of essays, a memoir, and a book-length narrative poem, as well as several books on science. His novel Einstein’s Dreams was an international bestseller and has been the basis for dozens of independent theatrical and musical adaptations around the world. His novel The Diagnosis was a finalist for the National Book Award. His most recent books are The Accidental Universe, which was chosen by Brain Pickings as one of the 10 best books of 2014, his memoir Screening Room, which was chosen by the Washington Post as one of the best books of the year for 2016,
and Searching for Stars on an Island in Maine (2018), an extended meditation on science and religion – which was the basis for an essay
on PBS Newshour. Lightman is an elected fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. He is also the founder of the Harpswell Foundation, a nonprofit organization whose mission is “to advance a new generation of women leaders in Southeast Asia.” He has received the gold medal for humanitarian service from the government of Cambodia.
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Displaying 1 - 15 of 15 reviews
October 2, 2025
found this book hard to rate as it's a really good idea, but one where I'm not sure who the natural audience is. The authors (an astrophysicist and an astronomer) are responding in part to an artist friend who said that she didn't know what scientists do, and also to the zeitgeist where a reasonable proportion of the population don't trust science and scientists, particularly on subjects such as global warming and vaccines.
Alan Lightman and Martin Rees, in an introduction that almost makes it sound as if they live together Morecambe and Wise style, rightly emphasise the dangers of the population having a negative view of science when we live in a society that both has been hugely enhanced by science and where our very existence is now so tied into technology that is based on science.
They give science the label 'disciplined wonder', an approach echoing Richard Feynman's famous contradiction of Keats' suggestion that Newton's 'destroyed all the poetry of the rainbow', and reflecting the way most scientists come to their studies from that sense of wonder that is also often said to be behind the best science fiction.
On the whole, the authors do well in breaking down how scientists think, what gets them started, what keeps them going, the patterns of scientific discovery, and the ethics and responsibilities of scientists. These topics are interspersed with profiles of working scientists, starting with a long 'day in the life' profile of a scientist working on brain conditions, then shorter circa 10 page snapshots of individuals. These are the weakest part of the book, in part because of the inconsistent level of detail, down to never seeming sure whether to call someone by their first name, surname, title or a random mix of the above.
The other possible content weakness is that the book doesn't properly address assertions about time arguably wasted on speculative science, based purely on maths with little likelihood of ever getting any evidence. The authors suggest that 'individual scientists sometimes become so enamoured of their theories and experimental results that they lose objectivity and become blind to contradictory evidence. Rarely so in the community of scientists.' Yet there seem to be significant cases of this in some communities, particularly for instance in theoretical physics and cosmology, where these rare events appear quite commonplace. (Dare I mention string theory, multiverses or dark matter, for example?)
My bigger concern, though is about that audience. Who is this book supposed to appeal to? It feels very much to be preaching to the choir - I don't think any science sceptic is going to pick it up, and if you are already involved in the science community, this isn't adding much you don't know. Perhaps it is best seen as a philosophy of science book for those who want to think more about what science does and should do, but who aren't already immersed in the field. It also has the potential in, for example, emphasising the importance of presenting science in a way that is both accessible and not over-hyping findings, and the need not to label preliminary data as discoveries, of giving scientists and science communicators something of a guiding hand.
Don't get me wrong - this is a good book, and one I enjoyed reading. And I appreciate the near-impossibility of producing a book that has any chance of winning over those who don't trust science and scientists. Perhaps what I'm feeling most is frustration: I'm being told why those I don't agree with have the wrong view of something genuinely wonderful, but not given any real solutions to this problem.
Alan Lightman and Martin Rees, in an introduction that almost makes it sound as if they live together Morecambe and Wise style, rightly emphasise the dangers of the population having a negative view of science when we live in a society that both has been hugely enhanced by science and where our very existence is now so tied into technology that is based on science.
They give science the label 'disciplined wonder', an approach echoing Richard Feynman's famous contradiction of Keats' suggestion that Newton's 'destroyed all the poetry of the rainbow', and reflecting the way most scientists come to their studies from that sense of wonder that is also often said to be behind the best science fiction.
On the whole, the authors do well in breaking down how scientists think, what gets them started, what keeps them going, the patterns of scientific discovery, and the ethics and responsibilities of scientists. These topics are interspersed with profiles of working scientists, starting with a long 'day in the life' profile of a scientist working on brain conditions, then shorter circa 10 page snapshots of individuals. These are the weakest part of the book, in part because of the inconsistent level of detail, down to never seeming sure whether to call someone by their first name, surname, title or a random mix of the above.
The other possible content weakness is that the book doesn't properly address assertions about time arguably wasted on speculative science, based purely on maths with little likelihood of ever getting any evidence. The authors suggest that 'individual scientists sometimes become so enamoured of their theories and experimental results that they lose objectivity and become blind to contradictory evidence. Rarely so in the community of scientists.' Yet there seem to be significant cases of this in some communities, particularly for instance in theoretical physics and cosmology, where these rare events appear quite commonplace. (Dare I mention string theory, multiverses or dark matter, for example?)
My bigger concern, though is about that audience. Who is this book supposed to appeal to? It feels very much to be preaching to the choir - I don't think any science sceptic is going to pick it up, and if you are already involved in the science community, this isn't adding much you don't know. Perhaps it is best seen as a philosophy of science book for those who want to think more about what science does and should do, but who aren't already immersed in the field. It also has the potential in, for example, emphasising the importance of presenting science in a way that is both accessible and not over-hyping findings, and the need not to label preliminary data as discoveries, of giving scientists and science communicators something of a guiding hand.
Don't get me wrong - this is a good book, and one I enjoyed reading. And I appreciate the near-impossibility of producing a book that has any chance of winning over those who don't trust science and scientists. Perhaps what I'm feeling most is frustration: I'm being told why those I don't agree with have the wrong view of something genuinely wonderful, but not given any real solutions to this problem.
Read
November 13, 2025In "The Shape of Wonder: How Scientists Think, Work, and Live" by Alan Lightman and Martin Rees, the reader is invited to step behind the polished image of science to see the human stories, emotions, and philosophies that shape it. The book is not simply about discoveries or technologies but about the minds and motives that make them possible. Lightman and Rees argue that science, at its heart, begins with wonder - the deep, childlike impulse to ask why and how - and that this sense of curiosity, when disciplined by logic and evidence, becomes humanity’s most powerful tool for understanding the universe. In a world surrounded by technology, from the lights we switch on to the phones we can’t live without, it’s easy to forget that every convenience began as a question. This book restores that sense of awe, showing science as both an intellectual craft and a profoundly human endeavor.
Science begins wherever a question refuses to fade. The authors trace its roots not to laboratories or universities but to an impulse shared by every curious mind: the desire to make sense of the world. The path into science can start anywhere - in childhood tinkering, in a classroom moment of revelation, or even in the hardships that push someone to seek clarity and control through understanding. Some are born into homes where scientific thinking is the norm; others stumble upon it by chance. But what unites them is not their background, gender, or privilege, but their refusal to accept ignorance as permanent. Lightman and Rees emphasize that scientists are not born with extraordinary gifts; they are ordinary people who have learned to turn curiosity into discipline. The early sparks of wonder - a fascination with the stars, the elegance of a mathematical pattern, the desire to know how things work - are what eventually ignite a lifetime of inquiry.
That sense of wonder alone, however, is only the beginning. The authors explain that thinking like a scientist involves transforming curiosity into a structured form of questioning. Science, they write, rests on two simple but profound assumptions: that an external reality exists and that it operates according to discoverable rules. From these premises comes the scientific method - observing, hypothesizing, testing, revising, and repeating. But Lightman and Rees are quick to point out that this is not a rigid formula. Real scientific thinking is fluid and adaptive, often fueled by intuition as much as by calculation. Theories are not static monuments to truth but living frameworks that evolve with new evidence. What outsiders sometimes see as inconsistency - when scientific advice changes about nutrition, climate, or medicine - is in fact a sign of health. Science grows stronger by questioning itself.
Still, scientists are human, and that humanity introduces both strength and frailty into the enterprise. The book paints a nuanced picture of scientific communities, showing how ambition and ego can cloud objectivity, but also how peer review and collaboration act as safeguards. A scientist may cling to a cherished idea, but the community as a whole demands transparency, reproducibility, and evidence that can withstand scrutiny. This tension - between personal investment and communal accountability - is the crucible in which scientific truth is forged. The process may be slow, messy, and sometimes contentious, yet it is precisely that imperfection that keeps it honest. Science is not the story of lone geniuses but of networks of minds, building, testing, and refining ideas across generations.
When Lightman and Rees describe how scientists work, they strip away the glamour of discovery to reveal something more enduring: persistence. While popular culture imagines science as a series of dramatic 'Eureka!' moments, the reality is far quieter. Most scientists spend their days on small, specific problems - calibrating instruments, refining equations, or testing a single variable over and over again. Breakthroughs emerge not from flashes of inspiration but from years of patient refinement. The authors highlight the cumulative nature of scientific progress: each result, however minor, contributes to a growing body of knowledge that transcends individual achievement. Einstein’s theory of relativity, they note, was not a solitary miracle but an inevitable step in a chain of reasoning that others were also approaching. Science differs from art in this way - while only Beethoven could compose the Ninth Symphony, someone else would likely have discovered relativity if Einstein had not. Knowledge, once uncovered, belongs to everyone.
This cumulative structure also brings responsibility. Scientific discoveries, once released, have consequences beyond the lab. Lightman and Rees argue that scientists must step beyond their research and engage with society, helping to ensure their work is understood and used wisely. Technology itself is morally neutral - it is the application that determines whether it heals or harms. Communication, therefore, becomes as vital as experimentation. Scientists must translate complex findings into language the public and policymakers can grasp, and they must do so with humility, recognizing that science alone cannot answer moral or philosophical questions. Understanding the workings of genes or the origins of the universe does not tell us what is good or beautiful, but it can deepen our sense of wonder and our responsibility toward the world.
So what keeps scientists at their work through long years of uncertainty, failure, and slow progress? The authors explore the mix of forces that sustain them: curiosity, creativity, rivalry, and the satisfaction of solving a puzzle. Even the smallest victories - an experiment that finally works, a calculation that reveals a pattern - can deliver an intense joy that makes the struggle worthwhile. There is, they note, a craftsmanship to science, an aesthetic pleasure in the precision of an elegant equation or the design of a perfect instrument. For some, the thrill lies not in grand discoveries but in the beauty of the process itself.
Ambition and competition also play their parts. Scientists, like all humans, crave recognition and legacy. But in science, ambition often transcends personal fame - the deeper drive is to contribute something lasting to humanity’s shared understanding. Each discovery becomes a small but permanent addition to the collective record of truth. This pursuit ties individuals to something larger than themselves: the unfolding story of the cosmos. Astronomers, the authors remind us, see humanity as a fleeting but meaningful chapter in an infinite narrative. Every measurement, every discovery, is a thread woven into a tapestry that began long before us and will continue long after.
Lightman and Rees write with a tone that blends admiration with realism. They celebrate science not as a cold or mechanical enterprise, but as one of humanity’s purest expressions of creativity and courage. It is the practice of asking questions even when the answers seem unreachable. Science’s endurance comes not from certainty but from its willingness to live with doubt, to treat uncertainty as the raw material of understanding. The book captures that paradox beautifully: science seeks truth, knowing that truth will always be provisional.
In the end, "The Shape of Wonder" reveals that what makes science extraordinary is not just its discoveries but the spirit behind them. Wonder is the engine that drives inquiry, the compass that points toward new questions, and the glue that binds the scientific community across centuries. Lightman and Rees show that this wonder is not the privilege of scientists alone - it is a universal human inheritance. The same curiosity that once led early humans to study the stars or shape tools now fuels our exploration of galaxies and genomes.
In conclusion, "The Shape of Wonder: How Scientists Think, Work, and Live" reminds us that science is not a detached activity but an expression of the very qualities that make us human: curiosity, perseverance, imagination, and the longing to know. It is a living dialogue between the known and the unknown, a collaboration across time in which each generation adds to a shared mosaic of understanding. Even when discoveries fade into the background of daily life, their origins in wonder remain. To understand science, Lightman and Rees suggest, is to understand ourselves - our capacity for reason, our hunger for meaning, and our endless urge to reach beyond what we can see. The shape of wonder, they conclude, is the shape of humanity itself.
Science begins wherever a question refuses to fade. The authors trace its roots not to laboratories or universities but to an impulse shared by every curious mind: the desire to make sense of the world. The path into science can start anywhere - in childhood tinkering, in a classroom moment of revelation, or even in the hardships that push someone to seek clarity and control through understanding. Some are born into homes where scientific thinking is the norm; others stumble upon it by chance. But what unites them is not their background, gender, or privilege, but their refusal to accept ignorance as permanent. Lightman and Rees emphasize that scientists are not born with extraordinary gifts; they are ordinary people who have learned to turn curiosity into discipline. The early sparks of wonder - a fascination with the stars, the elegance of a mathematical pattern, the desire to know how things work - are what eventually ignite a lifetime of inquiry.
That sense of wonder alone, however, is only the beginning. The authors explain that thinking like a scientist involves transforming curiosity into a structured form of questioning. Science, they write, rests on two simple but profound assumptions: that an external reality exists and that it operates according to discoverable rules. From these premises comes the scientific method - observing, hypothesizing, testing, revising, and repeating. But Lightman and Rees are quick to point out that this is not a rigid formula. Real scientific thinking is fluid and adaptive, often fueled by intuition as much as by calculation. Theories are not static monuments to truth but living frameworks that evolve with new evidence. What outsiders sometimes see as inconsistency - when scientific advice changes about nutrition, climate, or medicine - is in fact a sign of health. Science grows stronger by questioning itself.
Still, scientists are human, and that humanity introduces both strength and frailty into the enterprise. The book paints a nuanced picture of scientific communities, showing how ambition and ego can cloud objectivity, but also how peer review and collaboration act as safeguards. A scientist may cling to a cherished idea, but the community as a whole demands transparency, reproducibility, and evidence that can withstand scrutiny. This tension - between personal investment and communal accountability - is the crucible in which scientific truth is forged. The process may be slow, messy, and sometimes contentious, yet it is precisely that imperfection that keeps it honest. Science is not the story of lone geniuses but of networks of minds, building, testing, and refining ideas across generations.
When Lightman and Rees describe how scientists work, they strip away the glamour of discovery to reveal something more enduring: persistence. While popular culture imagines science as a series of dramatic 'Eureka!' moments, the reality is far quieter. Most scientists spend their days on small, specific problems - calibrating instruments, refining equations, or testing a single variable over and over again. Breakthroughs emerge not from flashes of inspiration but from years of patient refinement. The authors highlight the cumulative nature of scientific progress: each result, however minor, contributes to a growing body of knowledge that transcends individual achievement. Einstein’s theory of relativity, they note, was not a solitary miracle but an inevitable step in a chain of reasoning that others were also approaching. Science differs from art in this way - while only Beethoven could compose the Ninth Symphony, someone else would likely have discovered relativity if Einstein had not. Knowledge, once uncovered, belongs to everyone.
This cumulative structure also brings responsibility. Scientific discoveries, once released, have consequences beyond the lab. Lightman and Rees argue that scientists must step beyond their research and engage with society, helping to ensure their work is understood and used wisely. Technology itself is morally neutral - it is the application that determines whether it heals or harms. Communication, therefore, becomes as vital as experimentation. Scientists must translate complex findings into language the public and policymakers can grasp, and they must do so with humility, recognizing that science alone cannot answer moral or philosophical questions. Understanding the workings of genes or the origins of the universe does not tell us what is good or beautiful, but it can deepen our sense of wonder and our responsibility toward the world.
So what keeps scientists at their work through long years of uncertainty, failure, and slow progress? The authors explore the mix of forces that sustain them: curiosity, creativity, rivalry, and the satisfaction of solving a puzzle. Even the smallest victories - an experiment that finally works, a calculation that reveals a pattern - can deliver an intense joy that makes the struggle worthwhile. There is, they note, a craftsmanship to science, an aesthetic pleasure in the precision of an elegant equation or the design of a perfect instrument. For some, the thrill lies not in grand discoveries but in the beauty of the process itself.
Ambition and competition also play their parts. Scientists, like all humans, crave recognition and legacy. But in science, ambition often transcends personal fame - the deeper drive is to contribute something lasting to humanity’s shared understanding. Each discovery becomes a small but permanent addition to the collective record of truth. This pursuit ties individuals to something larger than themselves: the unfolding story of the cosmos. Astronomers, the authors remind us, see humanity as a fleeting but meaningful chapter in an infinite narrative. Every measurement, every discovery, is a thread woven into a tapestry that began long before us and will continue long after.
Lightman and Rees write with a tone that blends admiration with realism. They celebrate science not as a cold or mechanical enterprise, but as one of humanity’s purest expressions of creativity and courage. It is the practice of asking questions even when the answers seem unreachable. Science’s endurance comes not from certainty but from its willingness to live with doubt, to treat uncertainty as the raw material of understanding. The book captures that paradox beautifully: science seeks truth, knowing that truth will always be provisional.
In the end, "The Shape of Wonder" reveals that what makes science extraordinary is not just its discoveries but the spirit behind them. Wonder is the engine that drives inquiry, the compass that points toward new questions, and the glue that binds the scientific community across centuries. Lightman and Rees show that this wonder is not the privilege of scientists alone - it is a universal human inheritance. The same curiosity that once led early humans to study the stars or shape tools now fuels our exploration of galaxies and genomes.
In conclusion, "The Shape of Wonder: How Scientists Think, Work, and Live" reminds us that science is not a detached activity but an expression of the very qualities that make us human: curiosity, perseverance, imagination, and the longing to know. It is a living dialogue between the known and the unknown, a collaboration across time in which each generation adds to a shared mosaic of understanding. Even when discoveries fade into the background of daily life, their origins in wonder remain. To understand science, Lightman and Rees suggest, is to understand ourselves - our capacity for reason, our hunger for meaning, and our endless urge to reach beyond what we can see. The shape of wonder, they conclude, is the shape of humanity itself.
November 12, 2025
BLUF (Bottom Line Up Front)
Science isn’t a solo act of genius—it’s a communal choreography of curiosity and correction. That truth reshaped how I think about expertise and collaboration in design.
Executive Summary
Structured as a blend of scientist profiles and reflective essays, The Shape of Wonder explores how discovery unfolds through shared curiosity and collective persistence. Lightman and Rees position science as a deeply human process—full of revision, debate, and community rather than solitary insight. They highlight the “prepared mind” that notices anomalies, the transparency that sustains trust, and the humility that allows progress through correction. Together, these themes reframe science as a living, participatory practice whose vitality depends on openness and interdependence more than brilliance or certainty.
Review
Lightman and Rees dismantle the myth of the isolated genius. They show science as a social ecosystem—messy, iterative, communal. There is danger when a scientist looses that sense of community and becomes to enamored with their own theories. As a learning designer, that warning hits close to home.
It reminded me that great course design mirrors good science: test, revise, share openly. Since finishing, I’ve begun building design sprints that mimic lab cycles—rapid prototyping, peer feedback, transparent iteration. I’m also reframing “expert” roles in my courses: not infallible sages but collaborators in collective sense-making.
If the book has a weakness, it’s breadth over depth. The scientist bios were slow. And it felt like “preaching to the choir.” But its central challenge—trust the process, expose the process—sticks. It’s a needed corrective to perfectionist culture in academia and design alike.
Similar Reads
The Accidental Universe by Alan Lightman — where physics meets philosophy.
The Demon-Haunted World by Carl Sagan — a guide to critical thinking and scientific humility.
On the Future by Martin Rees — exploring science’s moral and societal stakes.
Authorship Note: This review was co-authored using a time-saving GPT I built to help structure and refine my thoughts.
Science isn’t a solo act of genius—it’s a communal choreography of curiosity and correction. That truth reshaped how I think about expertise and collaboration in design.
Executive Summary
Structured as a blend of scientist profiles and reflective essays, The Shape of Wonder explores how discovery unfolds through shared curiosity and collective persistence. Lightman and Rees position science as a deeply human process—full of revision, debate, and community rather than solitary insight. They highlight the “prepared mind” that notices anomalies, the transparency that sustains trust, and the humility that allows progress through correction. Together, these themes reframe science as a living, participatory practice whose vitality depends on openness and interdependence more than brilliance or certainty.
Review
Lightman and Rees dismantle the myth of the isolated genius. They show science as a social ecosystem—messy, iterative, communal. There is danger when a scientist looses that sense of community and becomes to enamored with their own theories. As a learning designer, that warning hits close to home.
It reminded me that great course design mirrors good science: test, revise, share openly. Since finishing, I’ve begun building design sprints that mimic lab cycles—rapid prototyping, peer feedback, transparent iteration. I’m also reframing “expert” roles in my courses: not infallible sages but collaborators in collective sense-making.
If the book has a weakness, it’s breadth over depth. The scientist bios were slow. And it felt like “preaching to the choir.” But its central challenge—trust the process, expose the process—sticks. It’s a needed corrective to perfectionist culture in academia and design alike.
Similar Reads
The Accidental Universe by Alan Lightman — where physics meets philosophy.
The Demon-Haunted World by Carl Sagan — a guide to critical thinking and scientific humility.
On the Future by Martin Rees — exploring science’s moral and societal stakes.
Authorship Note: This review was co-authored using a time-saving GPT I built to help structure and refine my thoughts.
June 16, 2025
I received a free copy of The Shape of Wonder through the Goodreads Giveaways program.
The Shape of Wonder is written by two eminent scientists, Alan Lightman and Martin Rees, who have written a number of books for laymen. This joint effort seeks to address the problem of what they perceive to be growing distrust in science and scientists by describing "how scientists think, work and live."
Unfortunately, the book adds little to what most people already know and fails in its objective of examining what scientists do and how they do it.
At a little over 200 pages, The Shape of Wonder feels like a number of short essays collected for a book and, yet, also feels as if it is padded with much extraneous material.
First, is there a problem of widespread lack of trust in science? The obvious examples Rees and Lightman posit are climate change and COVID. They state the obvious: that scientist must change their theories, advice and conclusions as evidence (test results, new experiments and studies) shows that earlier approaches were incorrect or incomplete. However, they fail to illustrate how this scientific approach operated with COVID. (In the discussion of the health authorities' initial recommendation that masking was not recommended, they point to, among other things, the concern that a recommendation to wear masks would result in shortages for healthcare workers and other key personnel. Giving priority in allocation of scarce medical protective gear to healthcare workers and those most at risk is justifiable policy--which was done with the allocation of the COVID vaccine, at first --however, the policy decision does not explain the deceptive advice that masks were not helpful. Why wouldn't the authors suggest that scientists could have explained that masks were scarce and that they should be given to those most at risk rather than supporting misleading advice that masks were not needed?) Although the book is not intended to be a defense of conduct in specific instances, when particular situations are alluded to, it would be helpful to see what changed to justify changed medical or scientific positions. Noting that classical physics was supplanted by relativity and quantum physics does not explain why current practices in science are similar. The best defense given is that peer review and the requirement that experimental results be reproducible.
Nevertheless, it is not clear that there is a widespread lack of trust in science today--perhaps, political factors influence views on climate change and vaccines more than opinions as to the work of scientists. In addition, one can easily take the position that there has been a decreasing level in trust in all institutions and public figures--media and journalist, politicians, lawyers, economists, and celebrities. Scientists and their work are not immune.
In attempting to demonstrate who scientists are and what they do, the authors tend to fall back on the unsurprising conclusion that scientists are a varied group of people, with virtues and shortcomings just like everybody else.
In a book about science, it is interesting that the approach taken to examine the lives of scientists is non-scientific. The methods of sociology and other social sciences are rarely used. Instead, an anecdotal approach is employed. Short interviews with living scientists and biographical sketcheds of notable deceased scientists are scattered throughout the book. Of the living, the reasons for the choice is not clear--do these people illustrate general themes or do they support other objectives, such as encouraging greater participation in science by women and minorities?
The books concludes with a chapter on the ethical obligations of scientists and rehashes the debate about the creation and use of the atomic bomb. When addressing current ethical issues relating to biotechnology, AI, energy and climate change, the discussions are short and conclusory with little practical advice.
Overall, I was left with the feeling that reading biographies of Marie Curie, Richard Feynman, and Paul Dirac and books such as The Double Helix would give people a better sense of the commitment, courage and brilliance of the best of the scientific communit,
The Shape of Wonder is written by two eminent scientists, Alan Lightman and Martin Rees, who have written a number of books for laymen. This joint effort seeks to address the problem of what they perceive to be growing distrust in science and scientists by describing "how scientists think, work and live."
Unfortunately, the book adds little to what most people already know and fails in its objective of examining what scientists do and how they do it.
At a little over 200 pages, The Shape of Wonder feels like a number of short essays collected for a book and, yet, also feels as if it is padded with much extraneous material.
First, is there a problem of widespread lack of trust in science? The obvious examples Rees and Lightman posit are climate change and COVID. They state the obvious: that scientist must change their theories, advice and conclusions as evidence (test results, new experiments and studies) shows that earlier approaches were incorrect or incomplete. However, they fail to illustrate how this scientific approach operated with COVID. (In the discussion of the health authorities' initial recommendation that masking was not recommended, they point to, among other things, the concern that a recommendation to wear masks would result in shortages for healthcare workers and other key personnel. Giving priority in allocation of scarce medical protective gear to healthcare workers and those most at risk is justifiable policy--which was done with the allocation of the COVID vaccine, at first --however, the policy decision does not explain the deceptive advice that masks were not helpful. Why wouldn't the authors suggest that scientists could have explained that masks were scarce and that they should be given to those most at risk rather than supporting misleading advice that masks were not needed?) Although the book is not intended to be a defense of conduct in specific instances, when particular situations are alluded to, it would be helpful to see what changed to justify changed medical or scientific positions. Noting that classical physics was supplanted by relativity and quantum physics does not explain why current practices in science are similar. The best defense given is that peer review and the requirement that experimental results be reproducible.
Nevertheless, it is not clear that there is a widespread lack of trust in science today--perhaps, political factors influence views on climate change and vaccines more than opinions as to the work of scientists. In addition, one can easily take the position that there has been a decreasing level in trust in all institutions and public figures--media and journalist, politicians, lawyers, economists, and celebrities. Scientists and their work are not immune.
In attempting to demonstrate who scientists are and what they do, the authors tend to fall back on the unsurprising conclusion that scientists are a varied group of people, with virtues and shortcomings just like everybody else.
In a book about science, it is interesting that the approach taken to examine the lives of scientists is non-scientific. The methods of sociology and other social sciences are rarely used. Instead, an anecdotal approach is employed. Short interviews with living scientists and biographical sketcheds of notable deceased scientists are scattered throughout the book. Of the living, the reasons for the choice is not clear--do these people illustrate general themes or do they support other objectives, such as encouraging greater participation in science by women and minorities?
The books concludes with a chapter on the ethical obligations of scientists and rehashes the debate about the creation and use of the atomic bomb. When addressing current ethical issues relating to biotechnology, AI, energy and climate change, the discussions are short and conclusory with little practical advice.
Overall, I was left with the feeling that reading biographies of Marie Curie, Richard Feynman, and Paul Dirac and books such as The Double Helix would give people a better sense of the commitment, courage and brilliance of the best of the scientific communit,
September 23, 2025
There is a particular wonder in observing the world as if for the first time, in noticing its textures, its rhythms, and its hidden harmonies. In The Shape of Wonder, Alan Lightman and Martin Rees invite the reader into precisely this mode of attention, guiding us through the lives, thoughts, and practices of scientists whose work illuminates the contours of both the natural world and the human experience. From the very first pages, the book establishes that science is not merely a catalog of discoveries or an abstract accumulation of data. It is, as the authors propose, an enterprise of disciplined wonder: a structured curiosity that transforms fleeting impressions into enduring insight, and in doing so, enriches not only knowledge but the human imagination.
The book opens with a vivid anecdote, a child standing before the vastness of the ocean, her gaze wide, her curiosity untrammeled. That image resonates as a metaphor for the entire work: science begins with an unprompted marvel, a desire to understand, and it continues as this impulse is tempered, focused, and refined by careful observation, experimentation, and reflection. This framing immediately humanizes the subject, situating the reader in the moment where personal and intellectual curiosity converge. The authors’ prose captures this balance exquisitely, blending narrative intimacy with analytical clarity, and establishing a voice that is contemplative without being ponderous, reflective without losing forward momentum.
From the outset, Lightman and Rees underscore that science is an intrinsically human endeavor. It is shaped not only by the rigorous methodologies of laboratories and field stations, but by the lives of those who inhabit them. The chapters that follow—each a careful study of particular dimensions of scientific life—bring into focus individuals whose curiosity and discipline have transformed their chosen domains. There is Lace Riggs, a neuroscientist at MIT, whose days are consumed by the delicate choreography of experiments, the meticulous notation of results, and the patient cultivation of young scientists under her mentorship. Her narrative illustrates the interplay of personal history, intellectual rigor, and ethical concern, showing that scientific practice is inseparable from the human contexts in which it occurs. The laboratory, with its pipette pullers, centrifuges, and electrophysiology rigs, becomes not merely a site of experimentation, but a stage for human dedication, ingenuity, and perseverance.
The book’s chapter on how scientists think is particularly illuminating. Lightman and Rees explore the cognitive mechanisms of discovery, demonstrating that scientific reasoning is not solely a matter of logic or calculation, but a dynamic interplay of observation, intuition, creativity, and disciplined testing. The work of Barbara McClintock, the Nobel-winning geneticist whose observations of transposons reshaped the understanding of heredity, exemplifies this blend. McClintock’s insights emerged from patient attention to anomalies, from trusting the intuition that patterns—sometimes subtle and unexpected—carried significance. This chapter captures the intellectual vitality of science: the ability to imagine possibilities beyond what is immediately evident, to construct hypotheses, and to iterate endlessly in the pursuit of understanding.
Equally compelling is the book’s exploration of motivation and resilience. Through profiles of scientists such as Marta Zlatić, whose fascination with neural circuits began in adolescence, and John Mather, whose early engagement with astronomy matured into Nobel-recognized research, the authors show that scientific careers are often the product of lifelong curiosity, shaped by formative experiences, mentorship, and personal dedication. What sustains scientists over decades, Lightman and Rees suggest, is a combination of intellectual excitement, personal engagement with the subject, and a sense of responsibility—to colleagues, to society, and to the pursuit of knowledge itself. These narratives convey not only the rigor of scientific practice, but its deeply human dimensions: the joys, the frustrations, the unexpected turns, and the quiet satisfaction of insight.
The chapter on patterns of scientific discovery is a masterclass in demonstrating how observation, method, and insight coalesce. From Archimedes’ principles of buoyancy to the systematic mapping of the cosmos by Govind Swarup, Lightman and Rees show that the recognition of patterns is both an aesthetic and an intellectual achievement. Science, in their framing, is as much about seeing the hidden symmetry of nature as it is about measuring it. The authors’ prose mirrors this duality: attentive to detail, precise in description, yet alive to the beauty inherent in observation. There is a rhythm here that echoes the very processes of pattern recognition, a cadence that allows the reader to inhabit the moment of discovery.
Throughout the book, the ethical dimensions of science are treated with care and nuance. Knowledge is neutral, the authors assert, but its applications carry weighty consequences. Scientists are depicted as individuals who must navigate not only the intellectual challenges of their work, but the moral implications of its effects on society. Whether addressing the promise and perils of genetic modification, the ethical responsibilities surrounding artificial intelligence, or the stewardship of environmental knowledge, the authors highlight that curiosity and discipline must be guided by conscience. Ethical reflection, they argue, is not an adjunct to scientific practice—it is integral, woven into the very fabric of responsible inquiry.
One of the book’s greatest strengths lies in its ability to traverse multiple scales of science—from the cellular to the cosmic—without ever losing the human dimension. Observations of mouse neurons coexist with reflections on the expansion of the universe; the meticulous documentation of experiments sits alongside philosophical contemplation of human curiosity. This approach reinforces a central theme: that science is not a monolithic endeavor, but a tapestry of human inquiry, interweaving intellect, imagination, and social responsibility. In doing so, the book renders the scientific process accessible without trivializing it, inviting readers into a dialogue that is at once rigorous and empathetic.
The prose throughout is contemplative yet unhurried, a reflection of the very temperance it celebrates. Sentences are measured, observations finely tuned, and transitions deliberate, echoing the patience and precision required of scientific work. Anecdotes and historical vignettes are seamlessly integrated with conceptual exposition, creating a texture that is both intellectually satisfying and emotionally resonant. The book reads as an extended meditation on science, its practice, and its place within human culture, allowing the reader not only to learn but to reflect on the nature of understanding itself.
Ultimately, The Shape of Wonder is a luminous reflection on the enterprise of science, revealing it as simultaneously intellectual, aesthetic, and profoundly human. It captures the exhilaration of discovery, the patience of inquiry, and the ethical awareness required to wield knowledge responsibly. The book is a testament to the enduring value of curiosity disciplined by rigor, imagination tempered by evidence, and passion sustained by perseverance. Lightman and Rees offer a narrative that is both educational and deeply affecting, allowing the reader to witness the processes by which humans, guided by wonder, come to understand themselves and the cosmos they inhabit. It is a celebration of science not as an abstract pursuit but as a living, breathing human endeavor.
Rating: 91/100
The book opens with a vivid anecdote, a child standing before the vastness of the ocean, her gaze wide, her curiosity untrammeled. That image resonates as a metaphor for the entire work: science begins with an unprompted marvel, a desire to understand, and it continues as this impulse is tempered, focused, and refined by careful observation, experimentation, and reflection. This framing immediately humanizes the subject, situating the reader in the moment where personal and intellectual curiosity converge. The authors’ prose captures this balance exquisitely, blending narrative intimacy with analytical clarity, and establishing a voice that is contemplative without being ponderous, reflective without losing forward momentum.
From the outset, Lightman and Rees underscore that science is an intrinsically human endeavor. It is shaped not only by the rigorous methodologies of laboratories and field stations, but by the lives of those who inhabit them. The chapters that follow—each a careful study of particular dimensions of scientific life—bring into focus individuals whose curiosity and discipline have transformed their chosen domains. There is Lace Riggs, a neuroscientist at MIT, whose days are consumed by the delicate choreography of experiments, the meticulous notation of results, and the patient cultivation of young scientists under her mentorship. Her narrative illustrates the interplay of personal history, intellectual rigor, and ethical concern, showing that scientific practice is inseparable from the human contexts in which it occurs. The laboratory, with its pipette pullers, centrifuges, and electrophysiology rigs, becomes not merely a site of experimentation, but a stage for human dedication, ingenuity, and perseverance.
The book’s chapter on how scientists think is particularly illuminating. Lightman and Rees explore the cognitive mechanisms of discovery, demonstrating that scientific reasoning is not solely a matter of logic or calculation, but a dynamic interplay of observation, intuition, creativity, and disciplined testing. The work of Barbara McClintock, the Nobel-winning geneticist whose observations of transposons reshaped the understanding of heredity, exemplifies this blend. McClintock’s insights emerged from patient attention to anomalies, from trusting the intuition that patterns—sometimes subtle and unexpected—carried significance. This chapter captures the intellectual vitality of science: the ability to imagine possibilities beyond what is immediately evident, to construct hypotheses, and to iterate endlessly in the pursuit of understanding.
Equally compelling is the book’s exploration of motivation and resilience. Through profiles of scientists such as Marta Zlatić, whose fascination with neural circuits began in adolescence, and John Mather, whose early engagement with astronomy matured into Nobel-recognized research, the authors show that scientific careers are often the product of lifelong curiosity, shaped by formative experiences, mentorship, and personal dedication. What sustains scientists over decades, Lightman and Rees suggest, is a combination of intellectual excitement, personal engagement with the subject, and a sense of responsibility—to colleagues, to society, and to the pursuit of knowledge itself. These narratives convey not only the rigor of scientific practice, but its deeply human dimensions: the joys, the frustrations, the unexpected turns, and the quiet satisfaction of insight.
The chapter on patterns of scientific discovery is a masterclass in demonstrating how observation, method, and insight coalesce. From Archimedes’ principles of buoyancy to the systematic mapping of the cosmos by Govind Swarup, Lightman and Rees show that the recognition of patterns is both an aesthetic and an intellectual achievement. Science, in their framing, is as much about seeing the hidden symmetry of nature as it is about measuring it. The authors’ prose mirrors this duality: attentive to detail, precise in description, yet alive to the beauty inherent in observation. There is a rhythm here that echoes the very processes of pattern recognition, a cadence that allows the reader to inhabit the moment of discovery.
Throughout the book, the ethical dimensions of science are treated with care and nuance. Knowledge is neutral, the authors assert, but its applications carry weighty consequences. Scientists are depicted as individuals who must navigate not only the intellectual challenges of their work, but the moral implications of its effects on society. Whether addressing the promise and perils of genetic modification, the ethical responsibilities surrounding artificial intelligence, or the stewardship of environmental knowledge, the authors highlight that curiosity and discipline must be guided by conscience. Ethical reflection, they argue, is not an adjunct to scientific practice—it is integral, woven into the very fabric of responsible inquiry.
One of the book’s greatest strengths lies in its ability to traverse multiple scales of science—from the cellular to the cosmic—without ever losing the human dimension. Observations of mouse neurons coexist with reflections on the expansion of the universe; the meticulous documentation of experiments sits alongside philosophical contemplation of human curiosity. This approach reinforces a central theme: that science is not a monolithic endeavor, but a tapestry of human inquiry, interweaving intellect, imagination, and social responsibility. In doing so, the book renders the scientific process accessible without trivializing it, inviting readers into a dialogue that is at once rigorous and empathetic.
The prose throughout is contemplative yet unhurried, a reflection of the very temperance it celebrates. Sentences are measured, observations finely tuned, and transitions deliberate, echoing the patience and precision required of scientific work. Anecdotes and historical vignettes are seamlessly integrated with conceptual exposition, creating a texture that is both intellectually satisfying and emotionally resonant. The book reads as an extended meditation on science, its practice, and its place within human culture, allowing the reader not only to learn but to reflect on the nature of understanding itself.
Ultimately, The Shape of Wonder is a luminous reflection on the enterprise of science, revealing it as simultaneously intellectual, aesthetic, and profoundly human. It captures the exhilaration of discovery, the patience of inquiry, and the ethical awareness required to wield knowledge responsibly. The book is a testament to the enduring value of curiosity disciplined by rigor, imagination tempered by evidence, and passion sustained by perseverance. Lightman and Rees offer a narrative that is both educational and deeply affecting, allowing the reader to witness the processes by which humans, guided by wonder, come to understand themselves and the cosmos they inhabit. It is a celebration of science not as an abstract pursuit but as a living, breathing human endeavor.
Rating: 91/100
April 9, 2025
The scientific method is one of the real accomplishments rising out of the western Renaissance. It is a general set of principles addressing the acquisition, testing, and confirmation or denial of new ideas. But, where do these new ideas come from? This new book tries out one possible answer: the authors early note that “[t]he capacity for wonder is part of our DNA.” They write that it is wonder and curiosity that underlies the entire scientific enterprise. The authors are both accomplished scientists: Lightman is a professor at MIT holding faculty positions in both physics and the humanities; Rees is a cosmologist at Cambridge and is the current Astronomer Royal of the United Kingdom. Lightman has long written as both an accomplished physical scientist and a humanist who explores the impact of science on mankind. In this book he combines his humanistic thinking with that of one of the world’s foremost cosmologists. Rees’ profound science has led to a greater understanding of high energy astrophysics and the nature of the universe. This new book devotes chapters to issues of scientific discovery, research, and the fundamental ethical concerns facing scientific practice. The lives of several well-known and other younger and lesser-known scientists illustrate just how they identify the matters they choose to investigate. The Shape of Wonder guides us through the fascinating lives and minds of scientists around the world and throughout time from German physicist Werner Heisenberg in his early life, when he was a student of music and philosophy to Govind Swarup, an Indian astronomer with significant work on radio telescopes. Other scientists written about include the Americans like Barbara McClintock and John Mather. These brief stories help us understand more of their daily lives, passions, and concerns about the societies around them. This book is highly recommended for the reader who wants to understand both the scientific method and how those who practice it decide what they wish to investigate.
December 14, 2025
This book isn’t about equations or breakthroughs. It’s about the people behind the discoveries, their motivations, doubts, obsessions, joys, and contradictions. Lightman and Rees profile scientists across disciplines and generations, showing that there is no single personality type behind great science. Some are bold, others shy. Some work in isolation for decades, others thrive in teams. Many dance, cook, climb, play music, and still think deeply about their work.
I liked the idea that discovery rarely comes from sudden "Eureka!" moments. Instead, it grows out of patience, failure, curiosity, and long stretches of uncertainty. The book also doesn’t shy away from uncomfortable questions like scientific obsession, responsibility, ethics, and the uneasy relationship between knowledge and power.
Above all, The Shape of Wonder makes a powerful argument that science isn’t reserved for "geniuses". It’s simply curiosity disciplined by method, something far more accessible than we often believe.
This book changed how I see scientists, and, in a quiet way, how I see myself.
I’ve written a detailed long-form review exploring these ideas, with examples from the book and reflections on science, responsibility, and the future. You can read the full article here: The Shape of Wonder
Highly recommended for anyone curious about science or wondering how discoveries actually happen.
I liked the idea that discovery rarely comes from sudden "Eureka!" moments. Instead, it grows out of patience, failure, curiosity, and long stretches of uncertainty. The book also doesn’t shy away from uncomfortable questions like scientific obsession, responsibility, ethics, and the uneasy relationship between knowledge and power.
Above all, The Shape of Wonder makes a powerful argument that science isn’t reserved for "geniuses". It’s simply curiosity disciplined by method, something far more accessible than we often believe.
This book changed how I see scientists, and, in a quiet way, how I see myself.
I’ve written a detailed long-form review exploring these ideas, with examples from the book and reflections on science, responsibility, and the future. You can read the full article here: The Shape of Wonder
Highly recommended for anyone curious about science or wondering how discoveries actually happen.
October 6, 2025
There’s been a recent, precipitous decline in public trust in scientists, academic institutions, and anything resembling an out-of-touch establishment, which became very impactful and significant during the height of the COVID-19 (and even long before that, admonishment from scientist regarding the long-term and devastating impact of climate change). I would commend any efforts made to help build back confidence in science.
Alan Lightman and Martin Rees are both trailblazers in their respective scientific field. In writing this book, they bring back the wonder of scientific discoveries and progress to the forefront but also demonstrate how scientists are grounded as individuals in their everyday life. This book is written with an easy-to-understand manner without any blame cast as to why public trust has shifted away from science over time, and I found this book to be positive, helpful and relatable.
Special thanks to Knopf, Pantheon, Vintage, and Anchor and NetGalley for providing an eARC in exchange for an honest, independent review.
Alan Lightman and Martin Rees are both trailblazers in their respective scientific field. In writing this book, they bring back the wonder of scientific discoveries and progress to the forefront but also demonstrate how scientists are grounded as individuals in their everyday life. This book is written with an easy-to-understand manner without any blame cast as to why public trust has shifted away from science over time, and I found this book to be positive, helpful and relatable.
Special thanks to Knopf, Pantheon, Vintage, and Anchor and NetGalley for providing an eARC in exchange for an honest, independent review.
July 9, 2025
I received a digital review copy of this book from NetGalley.
This book was written, in part, to try to combat public mistrust in science by making scientists relatable and give the public a better idea of what they actually do. I'm not sure the authors were completely successful. While the profiles of individual scientists were interesting, they were very brief and I found myself wanting deeper dives into their research. Most of the book was long-winded exposition that made a relatively short book seem a lot longer than it really was.
This book was written, in part, to try to combat public mistrust in science by making scientists relatable and give the public a better idea of what they actually do. I'm not sure the authors were completely successful. While the profiles of individual scientists were interesting, they were very brief and I found myself wanting deeper dives into their research. Most of the book was long-winded exposition that made a relatively short book seem a lot longer than it really was.
October 16, 2025
Ehhhh. Who was this written for? My best guess is kids and teens? But it's not written in a manner that would most appeal to kids and teens. So science skeptics? But it's too general and loose for skeptics, plus there is very little relevance or incentive for skeptics.
The book largely comes across as a love letter and a plea for scientists. It was interesting and well written, but lacked focus and sharpness.
The book largely comes across as a love letter and a plea for scientists. It was interesting and well written, but lacked focus and sharpness.
October 31, 2025
This is a wonderful book, informative as well as suspenseful and a page turner. An immersive experience as if you have met these scientists personally. The author featured many award-winning scientists and combined their personality, personal life and their work into well focused pictures. One interesting chapter describes whether the scientist made their discovery during experiments or by accident when doing something else.
November 5, 2025
I think they achieved their objective, to answer a question from a student about what it’s like to be a scientist. But it was mostly surface level and seemed very much a side project. The Heisenberg piece was interesting and I like the last section where they ponder scientists future role in AI and climate change. But kind of obvious points: scientists are people. Therefore there are different personality types drawn to the discipline. But be good at math and probably a loner.
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October 15, 2025An especially artificial book fit for a single purpose. But it’s a good purpose, in any case, and even a bit of triteness can be revealing.
Read my full review on the Washington Independent:
https://www.washingtonindependentrevi...
Read my full review on the Washington Independent:
https://www.washingtonindependentrevi...
December 3, 2025
YA pop sci, providing the same superficial descriptions you've heard a million times about folks like James Watson, Charles Darwin, Marie Curie, Antonie van Leeuwenhoek, etc. If you really want to see what wonder looks like, read anything by Richard Feynman. This? Boring and run-of-the-mill. No thank you.
November 12, 2025
für mich nichts relevantes dabei
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