Book Review – The Poisoner’s Handbook by Deborah Blum
A few weeks ago, a copy of The Poisoner's Handbook by Deborah Blum ended up in my grubby little paws.
Blum, who describes herself as a lapsed chemist, has put together a fascinating book that is equal parts crime drama, chemistry lesson, and history book.
Blum follows the development of forensics as a legitimate discipline in New York City during the Prohibition Era by Charles Morris and Andrew Gettler.
Much of the work of Morris and Gettler involved developing new or more reliable techniques to detect the numerous poisons that tended to turn up in people of the era. Apart from the various adulterants in Prohibition booze (kerosene, mercury, and Lysol were known to turn up, and as Prohibition dragged on, the Government actively developed new formulas to ensure that industrial alcohol couldn't be used to make booze), such delightful poisons such as cyanides, carbon monoxide, radium, and thallium were used to put spouses, lovers, business associates, and random people into the ground. An interesting observation that I hadn't made before but should have is that a lot of poisons are deadly because they chemically resemble things that are supposed to be in our bodies but are more reactive. This allows the poisons to interfere with normal physiological processes - for example carbon monoxide binds to hemoglobin in the blood more tightly than oxygen - with predictably deadly results.
Blum's research into the details of each substance allows her to give detailed descriptions of the effects of each poison, and her blunt narration of the techniques necessary to isolate those poisons from cadavers would make for interesting dinner conversation (apparently the first step is often to mince brain tissue into a paste...).
Her account of the political obstacles Norris and Gettler had to deal with just to obtain and maintain funding for their department make it seem all the more remarkable that they were able to accomplish the groundbreaking work that they did. Norris used many of his personal resources to provision and operate his laboratory.
To give much more detail would be to ruin the fun of the book. I highly recommend The Poisoner's Handbook to anyone with an interest in medical detective work or in the details of early 20th Century American history. For those who might want a rating, I give this book five skulls and crossbones out of five.
-Jay
In Which The Badger Tries Valiantly To Read The Lost Symbol
I read Dan Brown's first four novels in relatively quick succession. They were all at least moderately engaging despite their flaws, and The Da Vinci Code is one of three novels that I have read at one sitting with breaks only to do necessary things like feed the kids. (The others were Tolkien's The Hobbit and Tom Clancy's The Hunt For Red October, if anyone cares.)
Brown's novels attempt to incorporate real technologies and history into their fictional settings, although Brown often takes some fairly liberal license with things. That's usually forgiveable if the surrounding narrative is engaging. Brown also tends to rely on his characters doing fairly unlikely things in key situations. That's something that sticks out like a tusk on a narwhal when I see it.
For example, in Digital Fortress, the climax to the book depends on a room full of very intelligent people suddenly becoming complete idiots at the same time. All of them. In response to a riddle that I answered before I'd read the entire thing. That kind of awkward plot contrivance sucks the life out of a story faster than a swarm of mosquitoes can drain a moose.
Angels and Demons was better, but in the end relied on what amounted to superhuman abilities on the part of the Langdon character to resolve a key plot element. It wasn't quite as jarring as Digital Fortress, but it was pretty close.
The Da Vinci Code was probably Brown's best work, despite being based on what I can most charitably call complete bullshit. There was a lot of controversy around the book when it came out because of the way it portrayed Christianity in general, and a lot of people got really spun up about the liberties that Brown took with "facts", when in reality he was taking liberties with bullshit that had already parted ways with most of what anyone actually regards as historical fact. So, if you were offended by The Da Vinci Code, it's probably high time you got over it and move on.
Anyhow, Brown's new book, The Lost Symbol takes the hero of the last two books, Robert Langdon, and plonks him down in Washington, D.C. in the middle of a mystery that involves the Freemasons.
D.C. is a fascinating city, and certainly makes a good setting for a mystery/thriller. The Masons make a good secretive society to weave a story around - no problems so far.
But the plot device that hit me like a spiked bowling ball dropped in my lap from the top of a tall building is the concept of Noetic Science that is starting to get woven into the plot. Noetic Science, near as I can tell, is pretty much an umbrella under which congregates a lot of things that I would, again with great charity, call bullshit. The Wikipedia page talks about things like "studies on the efficacy of compassionate intention on healing AIDS patients." Ooooooo-kay.
The introduction of Noetic Science into The Lost Symbol effectively means that I'll be reading the rest of the book with a tiny voice in the back of my head whispering bullshit! the whole time.
Not good.
It's probably a reflection on myself that I can suspend my disbelief thoroughly enough to be immersed in, say, Tolkien's Middle Earth, but I can't let myself buy into the notion of Noetic Science for the duration of one book, so for the sake of argument I'll make a conscious effort to ignore my tiny whispering voice for the remainder of the book.
(NOTE: I'll mention here that Brown gets a lot of heat from far better critics than me for what can best be described as clumsy writing. I don't disagree in the sense that he does know how to mix up a world-class bowl of word salad, particularly when he over-describes characters. At the same time, I suspect that Brown is well aware that he's writing what he hopes will be popular, best-selling books that appeal to a wide variety of readers. To that extent, his style of writing probably serves him well. (I did, after all, read The Da Vinci Code in a day, so his style clearly wasn't so onerous that it made me put the book down...) An engaging story can often overcome an awkward writing style.)
I'm going to make a push to complete The Lost Symbol, mainly because I hate to leave a book unfinished, but I'm not sure I can get past Noetic Science...
-Jay
A Quick Book Review
Your Inner Fish: A Journey into the 3.5-Billion-Year History of the Human Body By Neil Shubin (Pantheon, 2008).
Neil Shubin is the Provost of the Field Museum in Chicago, and is a professor of anatomy at the University of Chicago. He's also a paleontologist, and in 2004 discovered the fossil that was to become known as Tiktaalik at a dig on Ellesmere Island, Nunavut Territory, Canada. (Tiktaalik is notable for being an exemplar of the evolutionary transition between fish and tetrapods.)
The general theme of the book is that many features of the modern mammalian body (specifically the modern human body) can be traced back to (sometimes radically different) features in more primitive organisms, including fish, sponges, and bacteria.1
This represents a different viewpoint than many books on evolution, which often frame the subject in terms of humanity's hominid and primate ancestry. By employing such a shift in perspective, Shubin is free to investigate such things as the origins of body plans, sensory organs (specifically visual, auditory, and olfactory senses), and teeth - things we all largely take for granted.
His approach is to consider a feature - let's say the mammalian eye - and then discuss how this feature is built up from features that already existed (e.g. the mammalian camera eye ultimately evolved from light-sensitive patches of cells, which underwent various elaborations over millions of years). Typically he employs genetic comparisons, pointing out that genes that regulate various features in humans are also present (in perhaps slightly different forms) in other organisms. (An example would be the eyeless gene in fruitflies compared to PAX6 in vertebrates, including humans.)
The net result of Shubin's efforts is a very readable, engaging book that takes the reader through a comparative anatomy course with a generous helping of genetics in a mere 200 pages. A well-assembled notes section provides additional resources for anyone who might want to dig deeper into the topics presented.
All in all, highly recommended.
NOoC
1Primitive here means "found earlier in the fossil record".
