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The Last Stargazers Extended Excerpt: The Enduring Story of Astronomy's Vanishing Explorers
The story of the people who see beyond the stars
Humans from the earliest civilizations were spellbound by the night sky-craning their necks each night, they used the stars to orient themselves in the large, strange world around them. Stargazing is a pursuit that continues to fascinate us: from Copernicus to Carl Sagan, astronomers throughout history have spent their lives trying to answer the biggest questions in the universe. Now, award-winning astronomer Emily Levesque shares the stories of modern-day stargazers, the people willing to adventure across high mountaintops and to some of the most remote corners of the planet, all in the name of science.
From the lonely quiet of midnight stargazing to tall tales of wild bears loose in the observatory, The Last Stargazers is a love letter to astronomy and an affirmation of the crucial role that humans can and must play in the future of scientific discovery.
In this sweeping work of narrative science, Levesque shows how astronomers in this scrappy and evolving field are going beyond the machines to infuse creativity and passion into the stars and inspires us all to peer skyward in pursuit of the universe's secrets.
Humans from the earliest civilizations were spellbound by the night sky-craning their necks each night, they used the stars to orient themselves in the large, strange world around them. Stargazing is a pursuit that continues to fascinate us: from Copernicus to Carl Sagan, astronomers throughout history have spent their lives trying to answer the biggest questions in the universe. Now, award-winning astronomer Emily Levesque shares the stories of modern-day stargazers, the people willing to adventure across high mountaintops and to some of the most remote corners of the planet, all in the name of science.
From the lonely quiet of midnight stargazing to tall tales of wild bears loose in the observatory, The Last Stargazers is a love letter to astronomy and an affirmation of the crucial role that humans can and must play in the future of scientific discovery.
In this sweeping work of narrative science, Levesque shows how astronomers in this scrappy and evolving field are going beyond the machines to infuse creativity and passion into the stars and inspires us all to peer skyward in pursuit of the universe's secrets.
328 pages, Kindle Edition
First published August 4, 2020
About the author
Emily M. Levesque
4 books77 followersDr. Emily Levesque is an astronomy professor at the University of Washington and studies the evolution of dying stars. She has observed for upwards of 50 nights on many of the world’s largest optical telescopes, visited more than a dozen leading observatories, and used the Hubble Space Telescope for her research.
She received her S.B. in physics from MIT and her PhD in astronomy from the University of Hawaii. In 2014 she was awarded the Annie Jump Cannon Prize by the American Astronomical Society. She is a 2017 Alfred P. Sloan Research Fellow in Physics and a 2019 Cottrell Scholar.
She received her S.B. in physics from MIT and her PhD in astronomy from the University of Hawaii. In 2014 she was awarded the Annie Jump Cannon Prize by the American Astronomical Society. She is a 2017 Alfred P. Sloan Research Fellow in Physics and a 2019 Cottrell Scholar.
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August 31, 2021
The Year of Women--in which I'm devoting 2021 to reading female authors only--has taken a summer break while I start work on a new novel. As part of my research, I wanted to know from a woman what an astrophysicist does, why she wanted to go into this field and what experiences she's had there. A compelling story would have to come from that, a woman in a male-dominated scientific field. On this basis, The Last Stargazers: The Enduring Story of Astronomy's Vanishing Explorers by Emily Levesque surpassed all my expectations. Published in 2020, I finished this memoir with close to 10,000 words of notes, i.e. material. Here's a sample:
-- The love of astronomy stuck in a way that my love of braces didn't. I was an early and voracious reader, and a few years after Haley's Comet, I was learning about star clusters and black holes and the speed of light thanks to Geoffrey T. Williams' Planetron books, which chronicle the adventures of a little boy with a toy that transforms into a magical spaceship and sweeps him off to explore the heavens. I have a strong memory of being five, reading about how fast the speed of light was, and repeatedly flicking the light switch on and off in my room to convince myself that yep, once I flipped it on, the light arrived pretty much instantly. That seemed pretty fast to me.
Later, I inhaled every astronomy book I could get my hands on, watched Mr. Wizard and Bill Nye on TV, and went to every movie about scientists and space that came along. I remember particularly enjoying the movie Twister because it gave me an encouraging look at what scientists themselves might actually be like. The fictional tornado researchers on screen were doing cool and exciting research and having fun along the way, and the main character was a woman who rolled around in the mud and was obsessed with science but still managed to end the movie with a great kiss (a combination I'd already been warned might not be tenable in the long run thanks to plenty of other movies featuring women who Had to Choose between Careers and Men).
-- My dorm in particular was the stuff of anarchic counterculture geek dreams. When I turned up as a freshman, the residents were busy constructing a gigantic wooden tower that would ultimately stand more than four stories tall. As it turned out, this violated Cambridge building codes, so after a couple of days of climbing all over the thing and hurling water balloons from the top (it was impressively structurally sound; these were MIT engineers building it, after all), the tower was carefully lowered with much fanfare. In the next four years, I'd help my dormmates built giant catapults, human-sized hamster wheels, and even a roller coaster, all purely for entertainment and made primarily out of two-by-fours and optimism. MIT was my first real indication that the road to brilliance sometimes took a few turns that steered well clear of common sense.
Through all of this, I remained convinced that despite my battles with coursework, MIT was the place for me. I wanted to be a professional astronomer, despite having only the vaguest sense of what the job actually entailed. I'd worked out early on that it meant being in school for the long haul--most astronomers I'd heard of had PhDs--and that I'd probably be using some very large telescopes at some point, but the details were unclear. I'd seen astronomers on PBS or in movies and imagined people sitting behind some enormous telescope situated inside a dome so they could ... do something. It looked fun, and I'd liked our backyard telescope, so I filed this away as something I'd surely figure out when the time came.
-- It took just one night of observing for me to get hooked. I loved it. Loved gearing up and heading out into the cold clear autumn nights, loved juggling a log book and old computer and flashlight with frozen fingers, loved climbing a ladder and wrestling one of those fourteen-inch telescopes to point it perfectly toward a star of my choice. I loved the thrill that came when everything was working and I could leap back off the ladder to peer at some brand-new data and my own hastily scribbled notes, all under the dim red lights of the shed. (Many observatories used deep-red lighting at night to help preserve observers' dark-adapted vision).
I have an abiding memory of standing in the November midnight cold, reveling in every perk of my teenaged metabolism as I downed Reese’s peanut butter cups by the handful, and peering through the viewfinder of my telescope at the exact moment that a meteorite went streaking through its field of view from top to bottom. I was pointed at a miniscule area of the sky, and the odds of a meteor passing through that tiny spot at the very moment when I’d pressed my eye to the eyepiece were vanishingly small. I don’t remember crying out or saying anything or even moving. I just stood there, perched on a ladder, eye pointed through the telescope, knowing what I’d just seen.
Yes, I thought. This is a good job.
-- One colleague has lucky observing socks she dons for every run; another swears eating a banana at roughly the same time every afternoon staves off clouds. People have lucky cookies, lucky snacks, even lucky tables in the dining room they’ll sit at before runs. I’ve developed the strict habit of refusing to check the weather until the day of the run itself. I tell myself that this forces me to always plan for a clear and productive evening, but deep down, it’s just as about not jinxing the night as anything else. Some astronomers also seem to have famously bad luck on observing runs. In a few cases, it’s gotten to the point where colleagues on the mountain will groan if they see one of their supposedly cursed colleagues on the schedule, convinced their mere presence will summon clouds or rain or high winds and extend their bad luck to every telescope unlucky enough to be nearby.
-- I’ve disappointed plenty of people who have asked for the name of a random star only to be met with an “um …” or friends who have asked “Hey, what planet is that?” and gotten back “Er … I dunno … Jupiter, probably?” In astronomers’ defense, telescope computers are literally light-years better than we are, combining orbital dynamics and lengthy equations to pinpoint exact sky positions with a precision far exceeding anything we can distinguish with the naked eye. Still, it comes as a surprise to most people that many astronomers can’t really find that much in the naked-eye sky.
-- The 3:00 a.m. haze in particular is what makes music choice utterly critical to observing runs. Almost any astronomer you ask will tell you that playing the right music is a vitally important ingredient for any observing run, to the point that it acquires an almost talismanic quality. Many observers have music that they only play at the telescope or set up playlists matched to the steps of the night. Generally, most observers tend toward more energetic music as the night gets later. Someone who might have queued up Bob Dylan at the start of the night will have moved on to AC/DC by the time the early morning hours roll around.
-- If astronomers as a community were asked to pick a favorite observatory animal, it would likely be the viscacha. Viscachas are relatives of chinchillas but resemble wise rabbit grandfathers with tall ears, long curled tails, sleepy eyes, and long, drooping whiskers. They frequent many Chilean observatories, and their steady presence over the years has alerted astronomers to a funny quirk of these little creatures: they seem to love watching sunsets. They’re always there, always sitting stock-still, and always gazing directly at the sinking sun on the horizon.
Levesque discloses enough about her childhood and her academic and professional career for The Last Stargazers to be considered a memoir, but she also reaches out to a large number of her peers with questions like, Have you ever seen a UFO, or, for women, have you ever been harassed or made uncomfortable by men at work. She looks ahead to where her field is headed and how studying the physical nature of stars is changing. This would be a wonderful book to share with students interested in astrophysics (hint: take as many math classes as you can) or those like me curious about what an astrophysicist does and the adventures they have.
Emily Levesque was born in 1984 and grew up in Taunton, Massachusetts. She received her S.B. in physics from MIT in 2006 and her PhD in astronomy from the University of Hawaii in 2010. She is professor in the University of Washington's astronomy department. Her research focuses on improving our overall understanding of how massive stars evolve and die. She's written two academic books: a professional text on red supergiants and a graduate textbook on stellar interiors and evolution. The Last Stargazers is her first book for everyone. She lives in Seattle, Washington.
Previous reviews in the Year of Women:
-- Come Closer, Sara Gran
-- Veronica, Mary Gaitskill
-- Clothes, Clothes, Clothes, Music, Music, Music, Boys, Boys, Boys, Viv Albertine
-- Pizza Girl, Jean Kyoung Frazier
-- My Year of Rest and Relaxation, Ottessa Moshfegh
-- Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe, Fannie Flagg
-- The Memoirs of Cleopatra, Margaret George
-- Miss Pinkerton, Mary Roberts Rinehart
-- Beast in View, Margaret Millar
-- Lying In Wait, Liz Nugent
-- And Then There Were None, Agatha Christie
-- Desperate Characters, Paula Fox
-- You, Caroline Kepnes
-- Deep Water, Patricia Highsmith
-- Don't Look Now and Other Stories, Daphne du Maurier
-- You May See a Stranger: Stories, Paula Whyman
-- The Secret Lives of Church Ladies, Deesha Philyaw
-- White Teeth, Zadie Smith
-- Eva Luna, Isabel Allende
-- Slouching Toward Bethlehem: Essays, Joan Didion
-- Eve's Hollywood, Eve Babitz
-- You're on an Airplane: A Self-Mythologizing Memoir, Parker Posey
-- The Beauty of Living Twice, Sharon Stone
-- Fade Into You, Nikki Darling
-- The love of astronomy stuck in a way that my love of braces didn't. I was an early and voracious reader, and a few years after Haley's Comet, I was learning about star clusters and black holes and the speed of light thanks to Geoffrey T. Williams' Planetron books, which chronicle the adventures of a little boy with a toy that transforms into a magical spaceship and sweeps him off to explore the heavens. I have a strong memory of being five, reading about how fast the speed of light was, and repeatedly flicking the light switch on and off in my room to convince myself that yep, once I flipped it on, the light arrived pretty much instantly. That seemed pretty fast to me.
Later, I inhaled every astronomy book I could get my hands on, watched Mr. Wizard and Bill Nye on TV, and went to every movie about scientists and space that came along. I remember particularly enjoying the movie Twister because it gave me an encouraging look at what scientists themselves might actually be like. The fictional tornado researchers on screen were doing cool and exciting research and having fun along the way, and the main character was a woman who rolled around in the mud and was obsessed with science but still managed to end the movie with a great kiss (a combination I'd already been warned might not be tenable in the long run thanks to plenty of other movies featuring women who Had to Choose between Careers and Men).
-- My dorm in particular was the stuff of anarchic counterculture geek dreams. When I turned up as a freshman, the residents were busy constructing a gigantic wooden tower that would ultimately stand more than four stories tall. As it turned out, this violated Cambridge building codes, so after a couple of days of climbing all over the thing and hurling water balloons from the top (it was impressively structurally sound; these were MIT engineers building it, after all), the tower was carefully lowered with much fanfare. In the next four years, I'd help my dormmates built giant catapults, human-sized hamster wheels, and even a roller coaster, all purely for entertainment and made primarily out of two-by-fours and optimism. MIT was my first real indication that the road to brilliance sometimes took a few turns that steered well clear of common sense.
Through all of this, I remained convinced that despite my battles with coursework, MIT was the place for me. I wanted to be a professional astronomer, despite having only the vaguest sense of what the job actually entailed. I'd worked out early on that it meant being in school for the long haul--most astronomers I'd heard of had PhDs--and that I'd probably be using some very large telescopes at some point, but the details were unclear. I'd seen astronomers on PBS or in movies and imagined people sitting behind some enormous telescope situated inside a dome so they could ... do something. It looked fun, and I'd liked our backyard telescope, so I filed this away as something I'd surely figure out when the time came.
-- It took just one night of observing for me to get hooked. I loved it. Loved gearing up and heading out into the cold clear autumn nights, loved juggling a log book and old computer and flashlight with frozen fingers, loved climbing a ladder and wrestling one of those fourteen-inch telescopes to point it perfectly toward a star of my choice. I loved the thrill that came when everything was working and I could leap back off the ladder to peer at some brand-new data and my own hastily scribbled notes, all under the dim red lights of the shed. (Many observatories used deep-red lighting at night to help preserve observers' dark-adapted vision).
I have an abiding memory of standing in the November midnight cold, reveling in every perk of my teenaged metabolism as I downed Reese’s peanut butter cups by the handful, and peering through the viewfinder of my telescope at the exact moment that a meteorite went streaking through its field of view from top to bottom. I was pointed at a miniscule area of the sky, and the odds of a meteor passing through that tiny spot at the very moment when I’d pressed my eye to the eyepiece were vanishingly small. I don’t remember crying out or saying anything or even moving. I just stood there, perched on a ladder, eye pointed through the telescope, knowing what I’d just seen.
Yes, I thought. This is a good job.
-- One colleague has lucky observing socks she dons for every run; another swears eating a banana at roughly the same time every afternoon staves off clouds. People have lucky cookies, lucky snacks, even lucky tables in the dining room they’ll sit at before runs. I’ve developed the strict habit of refusing to check the weather until the day of the run itself. I tell myself that this forces me to always plan for a clear and productive evening, but deep down, it’s just as about not jinxing the night as anything else. Some astronomers also seem to have famously bad luck on observing runs. In a few cases, it’s gotten to the point where colleagues on the mountain will groan if they see one of their supposedly cursed colleagues on the schedule, convinced their mere presence will summon clouds or rain or high winds and extend their bad luck to every telescope unlucky enough to be nearby.
-- I’ve disappointed plenty of people who have asked for the name of a random star only to be met with an “um …” or friends who have asked “Hey, what planet is that?” and gotten back “Er … I dunno … Jupiter, probably?” In astronomers’ defense, telescope computers are literally light-years better than we are, combining orbital dynamics and lengthy equations to pinpoint exact sky positions with a precision far exceeding anything we can distinguish with the naked eye. Still, it comes as a surprise to most people that many astronomers can’t really find that much in the naked-eye sky.
-- The 3:00 a.m. haze in particular is what makes music choice utterly critical to observing runs. Almost any astronomer you ask will tell you that playing the right music is a vitally important ingredient for any observing run, to the point that it acquires an almost talismanic quality. Many observers have music that they only play at the telescope or set up playlists matched to the steps of the night. Generally, most observers tend toward more energetic music as the night gets later. Someone who might have queued up Bob Dylan at the start of the night will have moved on to AC/DC by the time the early morning hours roll around.
-- If astronomers as a community were asked to pick a favorite observatory animal, it would likely be the viscacha. Viscachas are relatives of chinchillas but resemble wise rabbit grandfathers with tall ears, long curled tails, sleepy eyes, and long, drooping whiskers. They frequent many Chilean observatories, and their steady presence over the years has alerted astronomers to a funny quirk of these little creatures: they seem to love watching sunsets. They’re always there, always sitting stock-still, and always gazing directly at the sinking sun on the horizon.
Levesque discloses enough about her childhood and her academic and professional career for The Last Stargazers to be considered a memoir, but she also reaches out to a large number of her peers with questions like, Have you ever seen a UFO, or, for women, have you ever been harassed or made uncomfortable by men at work. She looks ahead to where her field is headed and how studying the physical nature of stars is changing. This would be a wonderful book to share with students interested in astrophysics (hint: take as many math classes as you can) or those like me curious about what an astrophysicist does and the adventures they have.
Emily Levesque was born in 1984 and grew up in Taunton, Massachusetts. She received her S.B. in physics from MIT in 2006 and her PhD in astronomy from the University of Hawaii in 2010. She is professor in the University of Washington's astronomy department. Her research focuses on improving our overall understanding of how massive stars evolve and die. She's written two academic books: a professional text on red supergiants and a graduate textbook on stellar interiors and evolution. The Last Stargazers is her first book for everyone. She lives in Seattle, Washington.
Previous reviews in the Year of Women:
-- Come Closer, Sara Gran
-- Veronica, Mary Gaitskill
-- Clothes, Clothes, Clothes, Music, Music, Music, Boys, Boys, Boys, Viv Albertine
-- Pizza Girl, Jean Kyoung Frazier
-- My Year of Rest and Relaxation, Ottessa Moshfegh
-- Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe, Fannie Flagg
-- The Memoirs of Cleopatra, Margaret George
-- Miss Pinkerton, Mary Roberts Rinehart
-- Beast in View, Margaret Millar
-- Lying In Wait, Liz Nugent
-- And Then There Were None, Agatha Christie
-- Desperate Characters, Paula Fox
-- You, Caroline Kepnes
-- Deep Water, Patricia Highsmith
-- Don't Look Now and Other Stories, Daphne du Maurier
-- You May See a Stranger: Stories, Paula Whyman
-- The Secret Lives of Church Ladies, Deesha Philyaw
-- White Teeth, Zadie Smith
-- Eva Luna, Isabel Allende
-- Slouching Toward Bethlehem: Essays, Joan Didion
-- Eve's Hollywood, Eve Babitz
-- You're on an Airplane: A Self-Mythologizing Memoir, Parker Posey
-- The Beauty of Living Twice, Sharon Stone
-- Fade Into You, Nikki Darling
June 27, 2020
The Last Stargazers is so cool that it makes astronomers look like geeky rock stars. I’ve read a lot of books about Astronomy and found them mostly boring. They tend to be dry and too technical, but I keep reading them because I love space. Levesque makes the science approachable and fun. Reading her book is like hanging out with a good and very smart friend who teaches you amazing things. She’s an MIT graduate who discovered a special kind of star (she talks about it here) but, with disarming self-deprecating humor, she talks about astronomers’ day-to-day life. Yes, they may get to see supernovae explode, but they also need to eat, sleep and use the toilet. Next time you get upset because it rains during your trip to the beach, at least be grateful that you’re not an astronomer waiting for her turn at a telescope. The evolution of astronomy is also a big part of the content. She doesn’t talk about Hubble or the grandparents of the science, most of the people she mentions are still alive and working, including some of the first women in the field, who had to face unspeakable challenges and whom the author has worked with. There are fun anecdotes about Earth and space making the most fascinating science understandable to dummies. Five Red Supergiants for this book!
I chose to read this book and all opinions in this review are my own and completely unbiased. Thank you, NetGalley/ Sourcebooks!
I chose to read this book and all opinions in this review are my own and completely unbiased. Thank you, NetGalley/ Sourcebooks!
October 29, 2021
What a fabulous and fascinating book! I had no idea what astronomers actually did. I had just assumed that they gazed through the eye-pieces of telescopes at these observatories scattered around the world, which they do but the computer seems to have taken over and does most of the data collecting.
Emily Levesque is an astronomy professor at the University of Washington. "She is the author of two academic works on astrophysics and has written for 'Physics Today'."
She has brought to life the world of stars, planets, black holes, etc. and has mentioned captivating stories of what astronomers get up to whilst "observing" in far-flung observatories n Chile, Hawaii, etc. It is a world of newer and larger telescopes and even gigantic robotic cameras. There are still dangers that can happen though to these astronomers.
This book is indeed a dazzling read and definitely to be reread.
Emily Levesque is an astronomy professor at the University of Washington. "She is the author of two academic works on astrophysics and has written for 'Physics Today'."
She has brought to life the world of stars, planets, black holes, etc. and has mentioned captivating stories of what astronomers get up to whilst "observing" in far-flung observatories n Chile, Hawaii, etc. It is a world of newer and larger telescopes and even gigantic robotic cameras. There are still dangers that can happen though to these astronomers.
This book is indeed a dazzling read and definitely to be reread.
July 31, 2022
Being an environmentalist, a very small part of me always wondered why should people look into the distant space, waste resources which can be used to tackle all the global problems of OUR world, which is literally dying infront of us but Emily Levesque's gorgeous book, has completely floored me to the point that I feel embarrassed, to even think that absurdity for a second. For people like Emily, astronomy is not just a job, its such beautiful devotion that I got inspired to try to get better at what I do.
Her quirky stories were a perfect blend to the science and technology she explained with such easy to understand words that the book is just chocolate.
Anyone who reads this book will understand what astronomy and astronomers are all about.
Her quirky stories were a perfect blend to the science and technology she explained with such easy to understand words that the book is just chocolate.
Anyone who reads this book will understand what astronomy and astronomers are all about.
February 1, 2021
Halley's Comet is quite possibly the most famous, and infamous, comet currently known. It is a “periodic” comet, coming close enough to the earth for viewing approximately every 75 years. Over the centuries, the appearance of Halley’s Comet has been erroneously blamed for earthquakes, illnesses (including the Black Plague in England), the births of two-headed animals and the assassination of Julius Caesar. The comet was last visible from earth in 1986. Early that year, a toddler named Emily Levesque looked through her older brother’s telescope at Halley’s Comet. It was her first step in a nearly lifelong pursuit of viewing the wonders and mysteries held by our night skies. Levesque details her adventures, and those of others, travelling the globe to observe the heavens in her new book.
Levesque, who currently works as a professor of astronomy at the University of Washington, recounts her pursuit from a young age to become an astronomer. She also describes the challenges she and her colleagues have faced and overcome to spend the night observing at telescopes all over the world. These challenges include, but are not limited to, working through the night from sunset to sunrise; long, arduous travel to remote locations; the potential for altitude sickness; inclement weather (which can ruin even the best laid plans); and the local residents (both human and animal) who can interfere with observatory data collection in any number of surprising ways. The result is a book that is engaging, personal and personable, sprinkled with fascinating science and an enticing look at a field that most people know little or nothing about. Levesque mentions early in the book how films and television regularly trot out characters who are purported to be astronomers, but that they rarely resemble or represent the real thing or the work they actually do.
The Last Stargazers also provides readers with a recent history of astronomy, and the technological developments that have advanced our study of the night sky and how those same technologies may have dire effects on the field as capabilities increase commensurately, and as funding disappears forcing difficult, and often unnecessary, choices.
While Levesque touches on some serious topics, The Last Stargazers is clearly intended to be a fun read. Later in the book, she states that her interest was “the quirks and hijinks and wacky stories that come from the odd type of work we do.” In this respect, the book is an unqualified success. There is no doubt that this will inspire people, of all ages, to seek out a telescope of any size to make their own observations of the wonders that appear during the night sky. And it would not be surprising at all if someone younger, although older than the toddler Levesque was when she viewed Halley’s Comet, to be inspired by this book and become an astronomer as well.
Check the author interview here.
Reviewed by Daryl M., Librarian, West Valley Regional Branch Library
Levesque, who currently works as a professor of astronomy at the University of Washington, recounts her pursuit from a young age to become an astronomer. She also describes the challenges she and her colleagues have faced and overcome to spend the night observing at telescopes all over the world. These challenges include, but are not limited to, working through the night from sunset to sunrise; long, arduous travel to remote locations; the potential for altitude sickness; inclement weather (which can ruin even the best laid plans); and the local residents (both human and animal) who can interfere with observatory data collection in any number of surprising ways. The result is a book that is engaging, personal and personable, sprinkled with fascinating science and an enticing look at a field that most people know little or nothing about. Levesque mentions early in the book how films and television regularly trot out characters who are purported to be astronomers, but that they rarely resemble or represent the real thing or the work they actually do.
The Last Stargazers also provides readers with a recent history of astronomy, and the technological developments that have advanced our study of the night sky and how those same technologies may have dire effects on the field as capabilities increase commensurately, and as funding disappears forcing difficult, and often unnecessary, choices.
While Levesque touches on some serious topics, The Last Stargazers is clearly intended to be a fun read. Later in the book, she states that her interest was “the quirks and hijinks and wacky stories that come from the odd type of work we do.” In this respect, the book is an unqualified success. There is no doubt that this will inspire people, of all ages, to seek out a telescope of any size to make their own observations of the wonders that appear during the night sky. And it would not be surprising at all if someone younger, although older than the toddler Levesque was when she viewed Halley’s Comet, to be inspired by this book and become an astronomer as well.
Check the author interview here.
Reviewed by Daryl M., Librarian, West Valley Regional Branch Library
October 17, 2021
What a delightful book. There are those authors that take a stilted academic view of their profession and then there are those who have a fire that burns in their belly. For them, coming to work each day is an adventure and a blessing. Emily Levesque is one of the latter.
She is such an amazing cheerleader for her profession and this infectious love of the entire field pervades this entire book. After reading it I feel like I am on her team and a powerful advocate of team astronomy.
The book gives this a fascinating behind-the-scenes glimpse of what the day-to-day life of an astronomer is like. She runs through the challenges, the tedium and all of the little joys that make it exciting. She introduces us to some of the most important discoveries of the last 50 years.
She also does an amazing job of explaining the technical components of astronomy. What exactly do astronomers do all night while they’re sitting at those computer terminals?
Levesque is a very good writer and this book is delightfully approachable for even novices like myself. It was a true pleasure to read and I learned a lot.
She is such an amazing cheerleader for her profession and this infectious love of the entire field pervades this entire book. After reading it I feel like I am on her team and a powerful advocate of team astronomy.
The book gives this a fascinating behind-the-scenes glimpse of what the day-to-day life of an astronomer is like. She runs through the challenges, the tedium and all of the little joys that make it exciting. She introduces us to some of the most important discoveries of the last 50 years.
She also does an amazing job of explaining the technical components of astronomy. What exactly do astronomers do all night while they’re sitting at those computer terminals?
Levesque is a very good writer and this book is delightfully approachable for even novices like myself. It was a true pleasure to read and I learned a lot.
September 8, 2020
You know those memes: what people think I do, what I really do ? This book is the meme.
Emily Levesque is an astronomy professor studying how biggest stars evolve and die. She has a lot of experience in the field of astronomy, lot of stories to tell and fortunately use brilliant language to tell them.
I smirked a lot, use Google a lot, daydreamed about universe a lot. Astronomy is a wonderful life choice but don't
idealize it. It may sound romantic but observing is (used to be) adventurous job (speaking of tarantulas, lightning bolts, awful hurricanes, dangerous bridges - you name it). Studying hundreds of pages of signals & codes isn't fun neither. But still, to be at the top of the mountain in the observatory, looking at the sky with million of stars, can't say I wouldn't do it. It was quite an easy fun read even if you don't know anything about astronomy.
I can say without any regret that this was one of the best books I read this year. This version was only e-book but I definitely wants to buy a hardcover. And if Emily wants to write something else in the future, just check me in.
Emily Levesque is an astronomy professor studying how biggest stars evolve and die. She has a lot of experience in the field of astronomy, lot of stories to tell and fortunately use brilliant language to tell them.
I smirked a lot, use Google a lot, daydreamed about universe a lot. Astronomy is a wonderful life choice but don't
idealize it. It may sound romantic but observing is (used to be) adventurous job (speaking of tarantulas, lightning bolts, awful hurricanes, dangerous bridges - you name it). Studying hundreds of pages of signals & codes isn't fun neither. But still, to be at the top of the mountain in the observatory, looking at the sky with million of stars, can't say I wouldn't do it. It was quite an easy fun read even if you don't know anything about astronomy.
I can say without any regret that this was one of the best books I read this year. This version was only e-book but I definitely wants to buy a hardcover. And if Emily wants to write something else in the future, just check me in.
Read
March 21, 2026DNF . Just not the right reader for the text, didn't find it engaging enough, maybe it was a stylistic issue for me because the content is obviously rather interesting .
Read
September 27, 2020Emily Levesque takes us through a history of humanity’s fascination with the stars from its origins along the many scientific turning-points of the last hundred or so years of dedicated people making magic happen. She touches on many issues of immediate relevance, not least how the field of astronomy is currently undergoing radical changes with new technological innovations that will impact expectations, goals, methods and means of the scientific pursuit. We are introduced to some of the daily challenges of stargazing in the 21st century; from the critters living in close proximity to the telescope stations, to weather making or breaking a long-planned opportunity of data-gathering, the many people involved, the money making it possible, and even the environmental challenges with building science-domes on untouched land.
Full Review: https://curiousreaderr.wordpress.com/...
Full Review: https://curiousreaderr.wordpress.com/...
January 20, 2022
4.75 stars
Reading parts of this book truly made me feel giddy.
Reading parts of this book truly made me feel giddy.
Read
September 11, 2024This memoir by an astrophysicist won't teach you astrophysics (thank goodness) but it is a fascinating look into the secret lives of astrophysicists over the last half century. What do astronomers actually do? How do they observe the night sky? What instruments do they use, and what kinds of things can they learn about objects in space so very, very far away from us?
I've always been fascinated by the idea of astronomy, although my maths is nowhere near sufficient to do more than pick out some of the constellations and celestial features visible from my back yard with a pair of binoculars. This was a great entry level introduction to modern observational astronomy for laypeople. Some of the details are mind-blowing - the way invisible light spectra can be mapped to tell us what elements are present on stars millions of light-years away from us, or the fact that multiple ridiculous truths about the universe have been predicted by astrophysicists using nothing more than maths, and then proven after building ridiculously sensitive instruments to detect them.
The further I got into this book, the more I had to marvel that so many people have devoted so much of their lives and so much research money to an area of knowledge with, honestly, so little practical effect on the world around us. Astronomy was deeply practical in medieval times when the sky was every man's clock, telling him everything from when to plant his barley to what minute of the day it was - but what good does it do us, in an age of nuclear power, climate change, and cancer research, to detect supernovas, gravitational waves, or merging neutron stars in galaxies so far away from us that we couldn't travel to them even if we wanted to? The whole time I was reading the book I could hear the scoffing voices in my head from people I've known who likewise scoffed at me for reading and writing fantasy fiction, on the basis of a kind of religiously baptised utilitarianism. "What use is that? God wants us to spend our time doing REAL work." After spending large chunks of my life in the company of people who viewed any form of art with disdain, it was actually pretty wild to realise that here was a whole area of science that they would probably also scoff at.
Which got me thinking about how in astronomy, the border between art and science and theology blurs together. The stars cannot be exploited or profited from, despite various (astrological) attempts to do so. They can only be observed, the way that art is observed. Humanity has always studied the stars, because the stars are beautiful, because we love them, and because that love calls us to observe and marvel at them. This is the way that the Bible actually talks about the stars - not just as utilitarian signs to mark the seasons, but as works of God that are studied by all who delight in them: artworks, that provoke us to contemplation of the divine:
When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained;
What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?
For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour.
Levesque, who is moved to awe and wonder, to delight and gratitude by the vision of the night sky as much as any human being, attempts to justify her profession in the book's final pages. But unfortunately for her, she grew up on a reading diet of Carl Sagan and thus is deprived of the conceptual framework to do so. She struggles gamely, offering standard utilitarian explanations that fall ridiculously short of the funding and skills necessary for her academic discipline: technological advancements in building the necessary instruments may be useful in other areas, or the science of the night sky may be some young scholar's entry point into some other, more practically useful, branch of science. In terms of personal motivation - well, of course one can't expect a theological motive from those who don't believe in a God, but even more glaring is her inability to conceive of the universe in any artistic terms. To be sure, she uses metaphors to do with love and beauty. And, she struggles to articulate a concept which I instantly recognise as the old, religiously-tinged "vocation". Astronomers become astronomers because, in looking at the night sky, they recognise beauty, fall in love, and develop a vocation. But Levesque has neither the conceptual basis, nor the vocabulary to capture her love of this beauty and the vocation it inspires. In the end, she can only admit defeat:
Why do we study the universe? Why do we look at the sky and ask questions, build telescopes, travel to the very limits of our planet to answer them? Why do we stargaze?
We don’t know exactly why, but we must.
I learned a lot from this book about the night skies, and the people who study them, and I'd recommend it to anyone equally interested. But I wish that we could recover a more integrated worldview. In working so hard to strip itself of any artistic or religious motivation, I can't help feeling that modern science has impoverished itself.
I've always been fascinated by the idea of astronomy, although my maths is nowhere near sufficient to do more than pick out some of the constellations and celestial features visible from my back yard with a pair of binoculars. This was a great entry level introduction to modern observational astronomy for laypeople. Some of the details are mind-blowing - the way invisible light spectra can be mapped to tell us what elements are present on stars millions of light-years away from us, or the fact that multiple ridiculous truths about the universe have been predicted by astrophysicists using nothing more than maths, and then proven after building ridiculously sensitive instruments to detect them.
The further I got into this book, the more I had to marvel that so many people have devoted so much of their lives and so much research money to an area of knowledge with, honestly, so little practical effect on the world around us. Astronomy was deeply practical in medieval times when the sky was every man's clock, telling him everything from when to plant his barley to what minute of the day it was - but what good does it do us, in an age of nuclear power, climate change, and cancer research, to detect supernovas, gravitational waves, or merging neutron stars in galaxies so far away from us that we couldn't travel to them even if we wanted to? The whole time I was reading the book I could hear the scoffing voices in my head from people I've known who likewise scoffed at me for reading and writing fantasy fiction, on the basis of a kind of religiously baptised utilitarianism. "What use is that? God wants us to spend our time doing REAL work." After spending large chunks of my life in the company of people who viewed any form of art with disdain, it was actually pretty wild to realise that here was a whole area of science that they would probably also scoff at.
Which got me thinking about how in astronomy, the border between art and science and theology blurs together. The stars cannot be exploited or profited from, despite various (astrological) attempts to do so. They can only be observed, the way that art is observed. Humanity has always studied the stars, because the stars are beautiful, because we love them, and because that love calls us to observe and marvel at them. This is the way that the Bible actually talks about the stars - not just as utilitarian signs to mark the seasons, but as works of God that are studied by all who delight in them: artworks, that provoke us to contemplation of the divine:
When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained;
What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?
For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour.
Levesque, who is moved to awe and wonder, to delight and gratitude by the vision of the night sky as much as any human being, attempts to justify her profession in the book's final pages. But unfortunately for her, she grew up on a reading diet of Carl Sagan and thus is deprived of the conceptual framework to do so. She struggles gamely, offering standard utilitarian explanations that fall ridiculously short of the funding and skills necessary for her academic discipline: technological advancements in building the necessary instruments may be useful in other areas, or the science of the night sky may be some young scholar's entry point into some other, more practically useful, branch of science. In terms of personal motivation - well, of course one can't expect a theological motive from those who don't believe in a God, but even more glaring is her inability to conceive of the universe in any artistic terms. To be sure, she uses metaphors to do with love and beauty. And, she struggles to articulate a concept which I instantly recognise as the old, religiously-tinged "vocation". Astronomers become astronomers because, in looking at the night sky, they recognise beauty, fall in love, and develop a vocation. But Levesque has neither the conceptual basis, nor the vocabulary to capture her love of this beauty and the vocation it inspires. In the end, she can only admit defeat:
Why do we study the universe? Why do we look at the sky and ask questions, build telescopes, travel to the very limits of our planet to answer them? Why do we stargaze?
We don’t know exactly why, but we must.
I learned a lot from this book about the night skies, and the people who study them, and I'd recommend it to anyone equally interested. But I wish that we could recover a more integrated worldview. In working so hard to strip itself of any artistic or religious motivation, I can't help feeling that modern science has impoverished itself.
September 23, 2024
[4.5 stars]
one of those books that really holds tight to the sheer joy of science and discovery
one of those books that really holds tight to the sheer joy of science and discovery
September 9, 2020
In The Last Stargazers Levesque provides an exciting look at the history of astronomy in the last half century and the breathtaking progress that has been made since.
When I began the book I wasn't familiar with recent history of astronomy. Most of my knowledge was gleaned from TV shows and science fiction movies which isn't all that accurate most of the time for entertainment purposes. I enjoyed Levesque recounting events, mishaps and adventures not just in the last 60-70 years but also going farther back in history. I've learned a lot about the finer points of astronomy, how imaging the night sky used to work and how it works at this moment in time. Something I also appreciated was that she talked a bit about the investments in science (and especially astronomy), how it has to be balanced with other demands on earth but also why it makes sense.
Levesque knows how to engage the reader and has them racing through the book, eager to read the next piece of history or funny or weird story she might tell. Never dull, always with a little sprinkling of humour.
I would recommend this book to anyone interested in learning more about space and particularly astronomy.
Disclaimer: I was provided an advanced reader copy by the publisher through Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
When I began the book I wasn't familiar with recent history of astronomy. Most of my knowledge was gleaned from TV shows and science fiction movies which isn't all that accurate most of the time for entertainment purposes. I enjoyed Levesque recounting events, mishaps and adventures not just in the last 60-70 years but also going farther back in history. I've learned a lot about the finer points of astronomy, how imaging the night sky used to work and how it works at this moment in time. Something I also appreciated was that she talked a bit about the investments in science (and especially astronomy), how it has to be balanced with other demands on earth but also why it makes sense.
Levesque knows how to engage the reader and has them racing through the book, eager to read the next piece of history or funny or weird story she might tell. Never dull, always with a little sprinkling of humour.
I would recommend this book to anyone interested in learning more about space and particularly astronomy.
Disclaimer: I was provided an advanced reader copy by the publisher through Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
July 20, 2020
"Ah, why didn't I become an astronomer too?" That was my reaction as I read the first few chapters of “The Last Stargazers” by Emily Levesque. When she was not even two years old, with Halley's comet shining in the sky, little Emily fell in love with the stars and the universe. In this book she talks with passion, affection and humor about her life and that of other astronomers. She talks about amazing discoveries, traditions, exhilarating facts, difficulties, even tragedies. She talks about telescopes and the people who live around them. She talks about old and new observation practices, accidents of various kinds, the evolution of observing and working with data... She talks about the beauty of the universe and the human struggles to understand it a little more.
This is a clear book, within everyone's reach, that will make you look in a different way at the sky and the stars. At the Sun and our planet. You will feel more alive, with a bigger breath.
This is a clear book, within everyone's reach, that will make you look in a different way at the sky and the stars. At the Sun and our planet. You will feel more alive, with a bigger breath.
October 21, 2020
As an amateur astronomer, I’ve always wondered what it was like observing at the giant, professional telescopes and the life a professional astronomer. When Levesque came to speak to our astronomy club and mentioned this book was in the works, I immediately preordered it. It is a wonderful mashup: part memoir, part collected anecdotes, part history of observing. Levesque brings all the very human stories, and the beauty of observing, to life. I got bit teary at some of her descriptions of the sky, especially the 2017 solar eclipse—she managed to put into the words what I often find so hard to explain when someone asks “why are you into astronomy?” I loved this book and recommend it to all the space fans out there who want to learn about the experiences of the astronomers behind the discoveries.
Also, side note, the hardback edition is stunning. Hats off to the cover designer.
Also, side note, the hardback edition is stunning. Hats off to the cover designer.
September 29, 2026
I work with two different AIs every day: one for work and one for a hobby. I asked my hobby AI what I should read next. It suggested four books. I had already read three of them and enjoyed them immensely; this was the one I hadn't read.
It's basically a day in the life of an astronomer. Yes, yawn all you want; I get it, it's not for everyone. It's full of stories about academic and career goals thwarted by weather and by the scramble for highly sought-after telescope time. There's no math and very little science. It's mainly a collection of stories, some lived and some tribal lore. The most interesting part for me was the discussion of how modern telescopes no longer need a human physically present, and for some, like Hubble and JWST, it's impossible. Does this mean the end of astronomy as a profession? I think it just makes astronomers more efficient.
I couldn't help thinking about how the general public reacts to news of a new telescope costing billions of dollars when many are struggling to feed their families. The path from astronomy to helping humanity is vague at best, and the author shares her own thoughts on this in the last few pages. I did some analysis of what the major telescopes cost the average American taxpayer: about $11 a year. Is it worth it? Like most big questions, the answer depends on what humanity's goals are.
May 27, 2025
Prisipažinsiu: prieš skaitant tikrai turėjau galvoje tą stereotipinį vaizdą: astronomas palinkęs prie teleskopo. Tačiau kaip ir kitose sferose, technologijos traukia mokslininkus nuo paties stebėjimo į duomenų nagrinėjimą. Smagus pasakojimas apie teleskopų ir žvaigždžių tyrimų evoliuciją, kiek laiko užtrunka duomenų apdorojimas, kaip vyksta šių tolimų objektų fotografavimas. Autorė pasakoja iš savo bei kolegų patirties: kokių kuriozų nutiko, kaip vyko atradimai. Knygoje susipina romantiškas žvaigždžių stebėjimas ir mokslinis priėjimas, taip paverčiant šią profesiją ne kažkokia magiška, o kaip tik labai žmogiška ir artima.
Read
October 8, 2021a wonderful window into the days-in-the-life of an observational astronomer. mostly accounts of observing runs, memorable tales and mishaps collected from fellow astronomers, brief dive into the legal entanglements of telescope construction
July 14, 2024
4.5 stars
This is a really interesting look at what it means and what it takes to be an astronomer.
Looking at the various types of telescopes around the world in such detail could have been really dull after a while, but I found the whole thing incredibly fascinating.
This is a really interesting look at what it means and what it takes to be an astronomer.
Looking at the various types of telescopes around the world in such detail could have been really dull after a while, but I found the whole thing incredibly fascinating.
February 1, 2026
Truly delightful - a combination of scientific explanation and fun anecdotes about the people who have devoted their lives to the study of the universe in recent decades. I really enjoyed it!
August 16, 2021
An entertaining memoir and collected stories about modern observational astronomy. Parts of it amount to a catalogue of errors (one of which was fatal) made while using these massive instruments. I found it interesting that I have made many of these same errors myself while using my 5-inch refractor on my driveway; fortunately nothing fatal yet.
February 14, 2021
This book could have been much better than it was, as is often the case. There are really a couple of issues with this book that prevent it from being as enjoyable as it could have been. One of them is that the author is obsessed with identity politics, and so instead of getting a book that focuses on how astronomers work in the present world, we get endless fussing and feuding about politics, including whining about diversity and simultaneously bemoaning and practicing politics in the hypocritical fashion of the contemporary left. The second problem is strangely related to the first, and that is that the author conveys astronomy as a dying and vanishing field. It is quite possible that this unreasonable pessimism is related to the intense politicking that the author simultaneously bemoans and practices in that there is a perceived high degree of conflict to attain positions of secure government funding for research and this is viewed as a zero sum game. The author is unfortunately not insightful enough to realize that increased identity politics threatens the public funding from those whose love of basic science research does not outweigh their hatred of leftist politics because it attacks the consensus of funding basic research that is not supposed to further unhelpful political agendas.
This book is a bit shy of 300 pages in length and is divided into thirteen chapters. After starting with an introduction, the first couple of chapters of the book contain the author's own story of her childhood as well as her own studies in first physics and then astronomy. After that the author talks about the practical business of astronomical research and its lack of comfort for scientists, as well as the hazards which can afflict the astronomer as well as the loss of valuable time spent because of things like volcanoes. There is a chapter where the author collects stories about research from others, including the true story of how a Texas telescope was shot, causing surprisingly little damage. There is a chapter devoted to the political conflicts involving women in astronomy and fights over the location of telescopes, and then a chapter that discusses different varieties of astronomy with their own language. Later on the author discusses the complexity of research as well as targets of opportunity, the ways in which astronomers seek to detect gravity waves from space and also a look at the future of the field.
Yet while there are certainly problems with this book, there is also some enjoyment that can be found in it. When the author is not discussing her disreputable interests in corrupting public funding for identity politics, there are actually some good discussions here. The author includes plenty of personal stories about her own research and her experience seeking insights about stars and how she learned how to be an astronomer and how this knowledge is not exactly widely disseminated around the general public, even of educated people. There are humorous cartoons and a discussion of the lack of safety and personal comfort for those who have to spend time in the large domes that exist. Even among the political aspects of this book there are some discussions of the ways that research can be harmed by the intense competition that occurs between astronomers, especially when people seek to steal the time of others in order to look for a supernova or engage in some other sort of "hot" research. Similarly, the author expresses her love of travel as well as her thinking about the sort of places that astronomical research takes place in, and how these places are almost uniformly sacred to some sort of heathen religion, something the author does not ponder to reflect on when it comes to her own learning and research.
This book is a bit shy of 300 pages in length and is divided into thirteen chapters. After starting with an introduction, the first couple of chapters of the book contain the author's own story of her childhood as well as her own studies in first physics and then astronomy. After that the author talks about the practical business of astronomical research and its lack of comfort for scientists, as well as the hazards which can afflict the astronomer as well as the loss of valuable time spent because of things like volcanoes. There is a chapter where the author collects stories about research from others, including the true story of how a Texas telescope was shot, causing surprisingly little damage. There is a chapter devoted to the political conflicts involving women in astronomy and fights over the location of telescopes, and then a chapter that discusses different varieties of astronomy with their own language. Later on the author discusses the complexity of research as well as targets of opportunity, the ways in which astronomers seek to detect gravity waves from space and also a look at the future of the field.
Yet while there are certainly problems with this book, there is also some enjoyment that can be found in it. When the author is not discussing her disreputable interests in corrupting public funding for identity politics, there are actually some good discussions here. The author includes plenty of personal stories about her own research and her experience seeking insights about stars and how she learned how to be an astronomer and how this knowledge is not exactly widely disseminated around the general public, even of educated people. There are humorous cartoons and a discussion of the lack of safety and personal comfort for those who have to spend time in the large domes that exist. Even among the political aspects of this book there are some discussions of the ways that research can be harmed by the intense competition that occurs between astronomers, especially when people seek to steal the time of others in order to look for a supernova or engage in some other sort of "hot" research. Similarly, the author expresses her love of travel as well as her thinking about the sort of places that astronomical research takes place in, and how these places are almost uniformly sacred to some sort of heathen religion, something the author does not ponder to reflect on when it comes to her own learning and research.
January 4, 2023
(Review is of the audiobook narrated by Janet Metzger. ISBN: 9781696602143)
First off, you can jump into this at Chapter 3. This is where Levesque profiles her first astronomer. The first two chapters are mostly about the author's background and how she came to study astronomy. If you're a fan of recipe blogs that preface the actual recipe a couple dozen paragraphs about the blog author's family history, the origin and subsequent development of the recipe as it was passed down through the generations, and its particular emotional significance to the author, then the first two chapters are for you.
I exaggerate a bit but honestly, I don't care about what the author was fascinated by as a child, or her path through school and training to become an astronomer. She is one. Clearly she loves the profession and her work. Just...start with that.
(This review includes a lot of this biographical content, if you'd like examples. The reviewer noting at the end, "Levesque discloses enough about her childhood and her academic and professional career for The Last Stargazers to be considered a memoir...")
Second, I abandoned the audiobook because I found the narrator, Janet Metzger, to be...well, kind of boring, it must be said. Her voice and tone, while perfectly fine, were also a bit flat. I felt the narration needed more brightness and bounce, not to mention a feeling of being invested in the material. Metzger narrated like she was describing a video presentation, such as the kind you might find in a museum or gallery where the narration tends to be clear, deliberate, and overall neutral in tone.
Given one summary of the book described it as "...a love letter to astronomy and an affirmation of the crucial role that humans can and must play in the future of scientific discovery." a narrator who could convey that love and enthusiasm would have done the material more justice, not to mention creating a far more interesting listening experience.
First off, you can jump into this at Chapter 3. This is where Levesque profiles her first astronomer. The first two chapters are mostly about the author's background and how she came to study astronomy. If you're a fan of recipe blogs that preface the actual recipe a couple dozen paragraphs about the blog author's family history, the origin and subsequent development of the recipe as it was passed down through the generations, and its particular emotional significance to the author, then the first two chapters are for you.
I exaggerate a bit but honestly, I don't care about what the author was fascinated by as a child, or her path through school and training to become an astronomer. She is one. Clearly she loves the profession and her work. Just...start with that.
(This review includes a lot of this biographical content, if you'd like examples. The reviewer noting at the end, "Levesque discloses enough about her childhood and her academic and professional career for The Last Stargazers to be considered a memoir...")
Second, I abandoned the audiobook because I found the narrator, Janet Metzger, to be...well, kind of boring, it must be said. Her voice and tone, while perfectly fine, were also a bit flat. I felt the narration needed more brightness and bounce, not to mention a feeling of being invested in the material. Metzger narrated like she was describing a video presentation, such as the kind you might find in a museum or gallery where the narration tends to be clear, deliberate, and overall neutral in tone.
Given one summary of the book described it as "...a love letter to astronomy and an affirmation of the crucial role that humans can and must play in the future of scientific discovery." a narrator who could convey that love and enthusiasm would have done the material more justice, not to mention creating a far more interesting listening experience.
January 16, 2023
Astronomers are a rare breed. Misled by the media, I imagined astronomy to consist of staring through telescopes into the wee hours of the morning. Movies and television don't paint the sciences in a positive light.
The Last Stargazers is a book by Emily Levesque. I assumed the book would focus on the redshift of galaxies leading to the eventual darkening of the sky, but I was pleasantly surprised to find myself incorrect. The book discusses the ins and outs of being a professional astronomer. From navigating mountain roads without headlights because of light pollution, worrying about the weather and various animal life, and managing cold conditions.
Levesque is a fine wordsmith. She manages to make the stories engaging. I liked the tales of yore when they used photographic plates instead of CCDs for taking space photos. I know that telescopes don't take pictures like the ones in media, but they still look amazing.
I have no problems with the book. Thanks for reading my review, and see you next time.
The Last Stargazers is a book by Emily Levesque. I assumed the book would focus on the redshift of galaxies leading to the eventual darkening of the sky, but I was pleasantly surprised to find myself incorrect. The book discusses the ins and outs of being a professional astronomer. From navigating mountain roads without headlights because of light pollution, worrying about the weather and various animal life, and managing cold conditions.
Levesque is a fine wordsmith. She manages to make the stories engaging. I liked the tales of yore when they used photographic plates instead of CCDs for taking space photos. I know that telescopes don't take pictures like the ones in media, but they still look amazing.
I have no problems with the book. Thanks for reading my review, and see you next time.
September 2, 2020
Levesque weaves together her personal experiences, anecdotes shared by colleagues, and details from the history of astronomy to capture a view of the field as a whole and where it is headed. From her own early excitement at viewing Halley's Comet with her family in the backyard to riding on the Stratospheric Observatory at 45,000 feet, she makes the life of a modern astronomer come to life.
I especially enjoyed how she toggles back and forth between her observation runs at various telescopes around the world, descriptions of her educational path to her current position, and a look at the development of astronomy throughout history. Just the advances from bare eyeball observations of the stars to the ability of interferometers to measure gravitational waves is astounding. And traveling thousands of miles to use telescopes on remote mountaintops in Chile or Hawaii certainly seems to explode the image of figures hunched over telescopes in the dark, never wandering far from home.
For those with an interest in the field of astronomy, this book offers details about how research into black holes, supernovae, and other stellar objects is carried out. There are technical details about the advance from small handheld telescopes to the construction of large radio astronomy facilities or the Hubble Space Telescope. And the hilarious stories of scientists startled by a raccoon landing on their lap looking for a snack or skunks wandering into observatories through an open door put a more human face on the daily lives of these researchers.
Highly recommended for anyone curious about STEM careers or outer space.
I especially enjoyed how she toggles back and forth between her observation runs at various telescopes around the world, descriptions of her educational path to her current position, and a look at the development of astronomy throughout history. Just the advances from bare eyeball observations of the stars to the ability of interferometers to measure gravitational waves is astounding. And traveling thousands of miles to use telescopes on remote mountaintops in Chile or Hawaii certainly seems to explode the image of figures hunched over telescopes in the dark, never wandering far from home.
For those with an interest in the field of astronomy, this book offers details about how research into black holes, supernovae, and other stellar objects is carried out. There are technical details about the advance from small handheld telescopes to the construction of large radio astronomy facilities or the Hubble Space Telescope. And the hilarious stories of scientists startled by a raccoon landing on their lap looking for a snack or skunks wandering into observatories through an open door put a more human face on the daily lives of these researchers.
Highly recommended for anyone curious about STEM careers or outer space.
August 23, 2021
I tried so hard to appreciate this, but it was boring. Soooome fun facts about being an astronomer, I guess, but nothing compelling. All I can really recall is what I felt was an insensitive attitude toward Hawaiians who don't want an observatory in a sacred place. Maybe if this book was half as long?
November 26, 2021
Emily Levesque leads her readers along the path not only as she became captivated by the night sky but the dedication and hard work that brought her to being an astronomer. But it is also a history of the telescopes that astronomers used to peel back the mystery of the cosmos - and all the some-time hilarious tales that go along with it. From the earliest designs and chancy acrobatics an observer had to go through to move the massive machine to women finally being allowed to perform their own observations and not just as the spouse of another astronomer. The future of observations with remote viewing (controller at the telescope and the astronomer/observer connected by internet); queue sequencing (which creates a queue of requested observations and data based on weather conditions and which areas of the sky was the focus that night) and robotic (where some locations are recorded night after night giving multi-month and eventually, multi-year videos of possible changes or a program of locations over time).
But it's the stories that she tells amidst the history that makes this a charming reading experience. We know that telescopes are built in the more remote locations away from light pollution as well as as close to the sky as possible (depending on their purpose - radio telescopes just need quiet zones - no cellphones, internet, microwaves, etc). Her tales of developing extensive requests for a night or two where data can provide insight into her area of study and a rainstorm moves in or cloud cover ruins any opportunity. Remember, these telescopes receive hundreds of requests for every single day and approval is like winning the lottery. . . repeatedly.
Okay, now for some stories - -
-An operator who spun the dome of Apache Point Observatory in order to have the wind blow off the falling snow. Normally, they don't like winds since it can blow sand and grit which can etch the giant mirrors. The VLA (Very Large Array in New Mexico) that can do a synchronized 'snowdump' across all 27 dishes.
-An observer that woke (they sleep during the early morning hours after being up all night) to a distant boom but went back to sleep. When he woke again at midday, there was no hint of light penetrating the light-blocking curtains so he went outside to pitch darkness - that morning, Mount St. Helens erupted ninety miles away and the bulk of the plume went right over the observatory.
- Tales of scorpions creeping up people's legs while observing and moths and tarantulas that share the domes. Burros and kangaroos and other wildlife that wander the night nearby and can scare both themselves and any observer out for a breath of fresh air.
- Lightning striking various buildings on the peaks.
- The literal collapse of the Green Bank's West Virginia 300-foot 600-ton radio telescope ("Fell down? Telescopes don't just fall down")
- When the observer noticed the air over the telescope beginning to shimmer and went to investigate only to discover the walls were on fire. Grabbing afire extinguisher, he put it out and was ready to return to his observations only management intervened.
- When the 107-inch telescope at the McDonald Observatory received 7 shots directly into the mirror. . . 'thunk' was the sound they made. It's attacker then attempted a hammer but was arrested. The mirror weighs 4 tons, is fused silicate glass (think security protective windows) and a foot thick. The holes are still there and the results of the ordeal was that the 107-inch now works as a 106-inch.
And dozens more.
It's a fascinating look into what our astronomers experience in the name of science. Some fun, some cooperative and some competitive (they're human after all).
2021-240
But it's the stories that she tells amidst the history that makes this a charming reading experience. We know that telescopes are built in the more remote locations away from light pollution as well as as close to the sky as possible (depending on their purpose - radio telescopes just need quiet zones - no cellphones, internet, microwaves, etc). Her tales of developing extensive requests for a night or two where data can provide insight into her area of study and a rainstorm moves in or cloud cover ruins any opportunity. Remember, these telescopes receive hundreds of requests for every single day and approval is like winning the lottery. . . repeatedly.
Okay, now for some stories - -
-An operator who spun the dome of Apache Point Observatory in order to have the wind blow off the falling snow. Normally, they don't like winds since it can blow sand and grit which can etch the giant mirrors. The VLA (Very Large Array in New Mexico) that can do a synchronized 'snowdump' across all 27 dishes.
-An observer that woke (they sleep during the early morning hours after being up all night) to a distant boom but went back to sleep. When he woke again at midday, there was no hint of light penetrating the light-blocking curtains so he went outside to pitch darkness - that morning, Mount St. Helens erupted ninety miles away and the bulk of the plume went right over the observatory.
- Tales of scorpions creeping up people's legs while observing and moths and tarantulas that share the domes. Burros and kangaroos and other wildlife that wander the night nearby and can scare both themselves and any observer out for a breath of fresh air.
- Lightning striking various buildings on the peaks.
- The literal collapse of the Green Bank's West Virginia 300-foot 600-ton radio telescope ("Fell down? Telescopes don't just fall down")
- When the observer noticed the air over the telescope beginning to shimmer and went to investigate only to discover the walls were on fire. Grabbing afire extinguisher, he put it out and was ready to return to his observations only management intervened.
- When the 107-inch telescope at the McDonald Observatory received 7 shots directly into the mirror. . . 'thunk' was the sound they made. It's attacker then attempted a hammer but was arrested. The mirror weighs 4 tons, is fused silicate glass (think security protective windows) and a foot thick. The holes are still there and the results of the ordeal was that the 107-inch now works as a 106-inch.
And dozens more.
It's a fascinating look into what our astronomers experience in the name of science. Some fun, some cooperative and some competitive (they're human after all).
2021-240
August 21, 2024
The Last Stargazers debunks any notion that astronomy is or ever was all glitz, glamour and groundbreaking discovery. Unfortunately, reading about how boring astronomy can be is also a bit, well, boring. But it doesn’t last. Readers will feel comforted by Emily Levesque, a seasoned astronomer who nevertheless feels an imposter syndrome of her own from time to time, and who totally loses her shit at the sight of a total solar eclipse, just like the rest of us. There are beautiful tales of connection between strangers who share the same sky, as well as really goofy ones of astronomers who sound the alarm on new discoveries only to sheepishly backtrack when they realize that, oh, that’s just Mars. Astronomy can be the best of times and the worst of times — whether you’ve adopted a completely nomadic and nocturnal lifestyle just to sit around and wait for a cloud to pass by, or are suddenly sprung into a cosmo-wide search alongside an international community of observers for a Nobel prize-deserving discovery. The book follows the progression of the field of astronomy itself, from the oldest of telescopes to the newest, from inhabiting observatories in remote corners of the world to having the data sent directly to your smartphone within the comfort of your own home. It can be equal parts ominous and riveting to understand just how much there is out there to explore, and indeed Levesque reveals that we may well reach a point where there’s too much data that we won’t know what to do with it — or where there’s not enough scientists to do it.
September 18, 2020
Rather than focusing on the discoveries we've made, this book tells the stories of how Astronomy is done and the people who do it.
It starts with amusing and amazing stories like the one of a bear in the observatory, an ongoing war against moths, and that one time a telescope got shot with a handgun. Then it transitions to exciting stories of the first discoveries of FRBs, gravitational waves, a nearby supernova, etc. It ends with a wistful lament of the end of the hands-on era and a giddy anticipation of how observation is going to be done in the future.
It reads like a conversation with a friend or a mentor and shows you what it's really like to be up in the prime focus cage of a large telescope, or deep into the desert at a radio observatory, or up in the airplane that flies through our stratosphere carrying an infrared telescope.
A lot of sciences have their stories from out in the field, and those stories always seem to take a back seat to the discoveries made. This book does a fantastic job of bringing those stories into focus on a way that I'm certain everybody will enjoy.
It starts with amusing and amazing stories like the one of a bear in the observatory, an ongoing war against moths, and that one time a telescope got shot with a handgun. Then it transitions to exciting stories of the first discoveries of FRBs, gravitational waves, a nearby supernova, etc. It ends with a wistful lament of the end of the hands-on era and a giddy anticipation of how observation is going to be done in the future.
It reads like a conversation with a friend or a mentor and shows you what it's really like to be up in the prime focus cage of a large telescope, or deep into the desert at a radio observatory, or up in the airplane that flies through our stratosphere carrying an infrared telescope.
A lot of sciences have their stories from out in the field, and those stories always seem to take a back seat to the discoveries made. This book does a fantastic job of bringing those stories into focus on a way that I'm certain everybody will enjoy.
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