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How We Disappear: A Personal History of Information
A brilliant foray into the nature of information, of history, and of making meaning in the face of death and decay.
When world-renowned scholar Thomas S. Mullaney “lost” both his parents, he began thinking of how information—all the stuff that makes us, that we make, and that we leave behind—ultimately disappears. The information that makes up our lives, from mundane official documents, poignant family photos, and sentimental artifacts to the cues embodied in our genes, both defines us, and inevitably decays, no matter the medium. Everything that we put “in formation” eventually collapses into randomness. Never is this more evident than in the wake of a parent’s death. Yet from all these elusive, even evanescent, data points, history is written and a future is made.
How We Disappear is a wide-ranging examination of the micro and macro, toggling between storytelling from Mullaney’s own life and his reflection on the science of entropy and the nature and history of information. Lyrical and poignant, the book offers inspiring and eye-opening insight on the miracle of existence, and on what it means to forge meaning from a chaotic universe.
When world-renowned scholar Thomas S. Mullaney “lost” both his parents, he began thinking of how information—all the stuff that makes us, that we make, and that we leave behind—ultimately disappears. The information that makes up our lives, from mundane official documents, poignant family photos, and sentimental artifacts to the cues embodied in our genes, both defines us, and inevitably decays, no matter the medium. Everything that we put “in formation” eventually collapses into randomness. Never is this more evident than in the wake of a parent’s death. Yet from all these elusive, even evanescent, data points, history is written and a future is made.
How We Disappear is a wide-ranging examination of the micro and macro, toggling between storytelling from Mullaney’s own life and his reflection on the science of entropy and the nature and history of information. Lyrical and poignant, the book offers inspiring and eye-opening insight on the miracle of existence, and on what it means to forge meaning from a chaotic universe.
239 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 23, 2026
About the author
Thomas S. Mullaney
8 books67 followersThomas S. Mullaney is an award–winning Stanford historian, Guggenheim fellow, and former Kluge Chair in Technology and Society at the Library of Congress. He is the author of four books on Chinese history and technology and lives in Palo Alto, California.
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Displaying 1 - 17 of 17 reviews
June 7, 2026
There is a poetic and philosophical quality to Thomas S. Mullaney’s How We Disappear that elevates it above the usual works of nonfiction.
One of the book’s more depressing insights is that, from even before we are born, we seem almost magnetically drawn toward accumulation. We spend our lives gathering things, often without noticing it. Even our bodies participate in this endless cycle, constantly shedding skin, producing waste, and consuming disposable goods. To exist is, in part, to leave traces behind.
Mullaney’s subject is disappearance, but the book is equally interested in the fragile systems we build to resist it.
Like the drooping clocks in Salvador Dalí’s The Persistence of Memory, the structures we imagine to be permanent are gradually altered by time. Archives, records, and personal collections all bend beneath the passage of time. Everything we believe to be stable and enduring is eventually distorted, degraded, and pulled toward entropy.
Our material selves—and the vast accumulation of personal objects, documents, and data that Mullaney refers to as a corpus—follow the same trajectory. The things we have willingly or unwillingly gathered over a lifetime, hovering around us like satellites, will eventually be pulled from orbit. Their meanings fade, their connections fray, and they drift away from the lives that once gave them significance.
A book like this naturally invites reflection on death and memory. Reading it, I was reminded of George Eliot’s observation that “Our dead are never dead to us until we have forgotten them.” If disappearance is inevitable, memory remains our one imperfect way to preserve not only people but also the traces they leave behind.
One of the book’s more depressing insights is that, from even before we are born, we seem almost magnetically drawn toward accumulation. We spend our lives gathering things, often without noticing it. Even our bodies participate in this endless cycle, constantly shedding skin, producing waste, and consuming disposable goods. To exist is, in part, to leave traces behind.
Mullaney’s subject is disappearance, but the book is equally interested in the fragile systems we build to resist it.
Like the drooping clocks in Salvador Dalí’s The Persistence of Memory, the structures we imagine to be permanent are gradually altered by time. Archives, records, and personal collections all bend beneath the passage of time. Everything we believe to be stable and enduring is eventually distorted, degraded, and pulled toward entropy.
Our material selves—and the vast accumulation of personal objects, documents, and data that Mullaney refers to as a corpus—follow the same trajectory. The things we have willingly or unwillingly gathered over a lifetime, hovering around us like satellites, will eventually be pulled from orbit. Their meanings fade, their connections fray, and they drift away from the lives that once gave them significance.
A book like this naturally invites reflection on death and memory. Reading it, I was reminded of George Eliot’s observation that “Our dead are never dead to us until we have forgotten them.” If disappearance is inevitable, memory remains our one imperfect way to preserve not only people but also the traces they leave behind.
July 2, 2026
How We Disappear: A Personal History of Information is a beautifully written and profoundly original meditation on memory, mortality, and the fragile traces that define human existence. Thomas S. Mullaney masterfully intertwines personal memoir, history, philosophy, and information science to create a work that is both intellectually stimulating and deeply moving.
At its heart, the book asks a timeless question: What remains of a life after we are gone? Mullaney explores this through the loss of his parents, transforming deeply personal grief into a universal reflection on how every human life is recorded, remembered, and inevitably altered by time. The result is a narrative that feels both intimate and expansive, inviting readers to consider the countless fragments of information that quietly preserve our identities.
One of the book's greatest strengths is its ability to connect seemingly ordinary objects family photographs, official documents, genetic inheritance, recordings, letters, and digital files to sweeping questions about history and human meaning. Mullaney reminds us that every archive, whether personal or global, is incomplete, fragile, and constantly vulnerable to decay. This perspective lends even familiar artifacts extraordinary emotional significance.
Equally compelling is the book's exploration of information itself. Rather than treating information as an abstract technological concept, Mullaney presents it as something profoundly human. From ancient clay tablets to modern digital networks, he traces humanity's enduring desire to preserve memory against the relentless forces of entropy and forgetting. His reflections illuminate both the remarkable achievements and the unavoidable limitations of every system we have ever created to remember ourselves.
The prose is elegant throughout lyrical without becoming sentimental, intellectually rigorous without losing emotional warmth. Mullaney possesses a rare ability to move effortlessly between personal recollection, historical scholarship, scientific insight, and philosophical contemplation, creating a reading experience that feels both deeply reflective and remarkably accessible.
How We Disappear is much more than a book about information. It is a meditation on love, loss, memory, and the enduring human search for meaning in the face of impermanence. Readers interested in history, philosophy, technology, memoir, archival studies, and the nature of human existence will find this an unforgettable and deeply rewarding work.
At its heart, the book asks a timeless question: What remains of a life after we are gone? Mullaney explores this through the loss of his parents, transforming deeply personal grief into a universal reflection on how every human life is recorded, remembered, and inevitably altered by time. The result is a narrative that feels both intimate and expansive, inviting readers to consider the countless fragments of information that quietly preserve our identities.
One of the book's greatest strengths is its ability to connect seemingly ordinary objects family photographs, official documents, genetic inheritance, recordings, letters, and digital files to sweeping questions about history and human meaning. Mullaney reminds us that every archive, whether personal or global, is incomplete, fragile, and constantly vulnerable to decay. This perspective lends even familiar artifacts extraordinary emotional significance.
Equally compelling is the book's exploration of information itself. Rather than treating information as an abstract technological concept, Mullaney presents it as something profoundly human. From ancient clay tablets to modern digital networks, he traces humanity's enduring desire to preserve memory against the relentless forces of entropy and forgetting. His reflections illuminate both the remarkable achievements and the unavoidable limitations of every system we have ever created to remember ourselves.
The prose is elegant throughout lyrical without becoming sentimental, intellectually rigorous without losing emotional warmth. Mullaney possesses a rare ability to move effortlessly between personal recollection, historical scholarship, scientific insight, and philosophical contemplation, creating a reading experience that feels both deeply reflective and remarkably accessible.
How We Disappear is much more than a book about information. It is a meditation on love, loss, memory, and the enduring human search for meaning in the face of impermanence. Readers interested in history, philosophy, technology, memoir, archival studies, and the nature of human existence will find this an unforgettable and deeply rewarding work.
August 8, 2026
Not what I was expecting, but still quite good. I still don't fully understand the author's reasoning behind cataloging all his father's things in the way that he did. Every single person in the world lives a life this way; why would we want to document everything (every. thing.) in such a way? It's minutiae.
Did Not Finish
September 23, 2026Seemed like an interesting concept from a blurb I read, but turned out not to my taste. I thought the intro, which was all about Mullaney going through his parents' stuff right after they died, was going to be a springboard into bigger picture stuff. And it sort of was. Interesting how someone who teaches history regards a bedroom suddenly no longer used, not tidied up, as layers of complex, connected information that almost immediately becomes disordered and impossible to recover later. But then everything kept getting tied back to this very personal stuff. Not just quick reminders, either, but multiple page detours, over and over again. About very mundane things. Chapter after chapter.
I am basing this impression on having read the first three or four chapters, and then several spot checks further on. Nothing seemed to change. I felt a little like I was intruding, and mostly, bored. The parents seemed like nice, normal people. No reason to think I wouldn't have liked them if I knew them, but since I didn't, there was nothing there for me. If Contact was structured like this book, 95% of it would have been Arroway that one night in the backyard looking at the sky with her father.
I am basing this impression on having read the first three or four chapters, and then several spot checks further on. Nothing seemed to change. I felt a little like I was intruding, and mostly, bored. The parents seemed like nice, normal people. No reason to think I wouldn't have liked them if I knew them, but since I didn't, there was nothing there for me. If Contact was structured like this book, 95% of it would have been Arroway that one night in the backyard looking at the sky with her father.
Review of advance copy received from Publisher
This book is a keeper!
“A U.S. dollar bill, turned 90 degrees and tattooed top-to-bottom, edge-to-edge, with Psalm 23. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death. Right next to it, a small slip of paper, creased and soft, covered with six digit numbers. What did they mean?”
Thomas Mullaney found these items in his deceased grandfather’s wallet, which his late father had kept in his desk. They were but two of the myriad mysteries the acclaimed Stanford historian encountered as he separated the things worth keeping and those he would let go.
Mullaney’s profession is to make sense of the past—Chinese history is his specialty; so too is information science. Yet here he was struggling to make sense of his own father’s life. What did he really know about him?
Read more at https://thedispatch.com/newsletter/di...
“A U.S. dollar bill, turned 90 degrees and tattooed top-to-bottom, edge-to-edge, with Psalm 23. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death. Right next to it, a small slip of paper, creased and soft, covered with six digit numbers. What did they mean?”
Thomas Mullaney found these items in his deceased grandfather’s wallet, which his late father had kept in his desk. They were but two of the myriad mysteries the acclaimed Stanford historian encountered as he separated the things worth keeping and those he would let go.
Mullaney’s profession is to make sense of the past—Chinese history is his specialty; so too is information science. Yet here he was struggling to make sense of his own father’s life. What did he really know about him?
Read more at https://thedispatch.com/newsletter/di...
October 14, 2026
I really enjoyed How We Disappear because it made me think about something I don't often stop to consider: how much of our lives, our memories, and our family histories will eventually be forgotten.
Thomas Mullaney does a wonderful job of combining his own deeply personal family story with fascinating insights into history, science, and technology. I especially liked how he takes ordinary things, such as old photographs, letters, and family keepsakes, and shows how much they tell us about who we are and the people who came before us.
What stayed with me most was the idea that even with all the technology we have today, we can't preserve everything. As someone who loves history and believes in the importance of sharing stories, I found that particularly moving. This is one of those books that makes you look at your own life and family a little differently. Thoughtful, original, and well worth reading.
Thomas Mullaney does a wonderful job of combining his own deeply personal family story with fascinating insights into history, science, and technology. I especially liked how he takes ordinary things, such as old photographs, letters, and family keepsakes, and shows how much they tell us about who we are and the people who came before us.
What stayed with me most was the idea that even with all the technology we have today, we can't preserve everything. As someone who loves history and believes in the importance of sharing stories, I found that particularly moving. This is one of those books that makes you look at your own life and family a little differently. Thoughtful, original, and well worth reading.
Review of advance copy received from Publisher
I kept hearing one line from Dylan's "It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)" as I read this: "That he not busy being born is busy dying."
Like the author, I look around at the remnants of my parent's lives, and my own piles of temporary circumstances, and have come to accept how little of it will even survive another generation. Instead of mourning a loss, it provides the freedom to let go.
When one considers the lifespan of human possessions is somewhat longer than our data bits, almost all of our lives are on the precipice of disappearance, and the few that endure will be imagined by historians from what random clues survive.
A potent river of thoughts is within.
Like the author, I look around at the remnants of my parent's lives, and my own piles of temporary circumstances, and have come to accept how little of it will even survive another generation. Instead of mourning a loss, it provides the freedom to let go.
When one considers the lifespan of human possessions is somewhat longer than our data bits, almost all of our lives are on the precipice of disappearance, and the few that endure will be imagined by historians from what random clues survive.
A potent river of thoughts is within.
Review of advance copy received from Publisher
I really enjoyed this as a librarian and researcher on public memory and as someone who has lost a parent in the last few years. Thinking about the ephemeral nature of everything we create and do is a shocking thing to think about in someways but also something we have probably always know. The ability to retain information for all potential futures while allowing scholars many generations in the future to understand the context, the individual involve and any other minute details that might add weight to objects and create information for the reader or receiver is basically impossible.
July 29, 2026
Great read that goes into depth about the things we leave behind and how one day they will disappear. He discusses things like photos, records, books and CDs and how they’re constantly battling against the elements. You will learn a lot about the concept of entropy and how it applies to the things that we leave behind.
The author is a Historian, so it was interesting to learn about these things from a historical lens. In particular, the effort that archivists go to preserve artifacts and documents. You will gain an appreciation for how ephemeral material things are, but ultimately every item will disintegrate in some way because of the environment.
There was a line in the book that stuck with me that goes “ an environment where things don’t eventually break down is both cold and dark.”
Definitely recommend.
The author is a Historian, so it was interesting to learn about these things from a historical lens. In particular, the effort that archivists go to preserve artifacts and documents. You will gain an appreciation for how ephemeral material things are, but ultimately every item will disintegrate in some way because of the environment.
There was a line in the book that stuck with me that goes “ an environment where things don’t eventually break down is both cold and dark.”
Definitely recommend.
September 12, 2026
4.5 I really took my time with this one. I lost my Mom (and sometimes it feels like my path in life) five years ago and so I continue my quest to find the words I myself lack. This has a delightful amount of academia and personal vulnerability that required my pacing to allow about a chapter a day before I needed to sit and think. One thing I appreciate the most was how this turned entropy from a frightening idea to more like a companion that I can't stop competing against. It somehow softened oblivion and made the present all the sweeter.
July 11, 2026
Facinating
I am not a physicist or historian but this book took some difficult material and made it understandable and very readable. The author’s story of his parents’ lives interwoven into the book was heartbreaking but poignant. I highly enjoyed the book and recommend it to anyone who looks around their home and “stuff” and wonders, “What will happen when I’m gone?” Although the answer to that question may depend on what your son does for a living.
I am not a physicist or historian but this book took some difficult material and made it understandable and very readable. The author’s story of his parents’ lives interwoven into the book was heartbreaking but poignant. I highly enjoyed the book and recommend it to anyone who looks around their home and “stuff” and wonders, “What will happen when I’m gone?” Although the answer to that question may depend on what your son does for a living.
July 6, 2026
An interesting, well-researched book that manages to tell both a personal story of loss and disappearance as well as the more universal story of entropy. Mullaney lets the reader into his life and takes the reader along with him during his meditations on that Second Law of Thermodynamics. A great read by someone whose intelligence and dedication to his craft is evident through his work.
June 23, 2026
Felt like he was mansplaining the whole time and going on these wiiiild tangential discussions that just weren't necessary to get his point across... wish it had more moments of personal insight into dealing with loss and the personal archives of loved ones after their deaths.
August 16, 2026
I did not learn how not to disappear, but I more importantly thought about why that may or may not be important. Answer unknown there too, but I felt this book frames the question. I greatly enjoyed reading and thinking about the contents of the book. Thank you!
September 24, 2026
Too detached, particularly when he mentioned his wife and children. Facts that were did not come alive for me. At least he did not try to persuade and convert me to some viewpoint.
October 13, 2026
Enjoyable quick read which deftly connects the science of entropy into the human experience.
September 5, 2026
This is how you make a nonfiction book into art, by using theories, history of information technology, and a memoir to create a nonlinear story of how we are remembered after we die. As a historian, the author painstakingly archives his Dad for the future and in doing so, aims to create a notion that who we are stems from the information we create. One of the many cool things about the book is this idea that you could read every waking hour and it would still be an impossibility to read everything that's ever been written. The thing that I found most interesting is that our lives are really information technology and it is the information we leave behind that makes the case for our lives. He even writes that famous people write memoirs and ordinary people do not, but now we're in the age of democratizing art and anyone with a computer can write a memoir creating the story of everyone instead of just the elite few history deems important.
Displaying 1 - 17 of 17 reviews