Deborah Mason

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When staring up at a starlit night, who doesn’t wonder how the universe began, how the stars were born or how we happen to be here on Earth? These questions have existed since the beginning of time, but only recently have we been able to find any of the answers. Yet the answers, which are being discovered with dizzying speed, are not easily accessible to the general public. Everyone has heard of the big bang and Einstein’s theory of general relativity, but precious few of us have the time to learn the science behind them. Happily, in Astrophysics for People in a Hurry, Neil deGrasse Tyson answers our questions about how the universe ticks—without the painful mathematics.

Perhaps no one has done more to educate the nonscientific community about the universe than Tyson. As director of the Hayden Planetarium at the American Museum of Natural History, an author and a popular television personality, Tyson is, for many, the face of astrophysics—and for good reason. He is passionate about astrophysics and wants everyone else to be, too. This book, a compilation of 12 essays he wrote for Natural History magazine, is infectiously enthusiastic, humorous and, above all, accessible. Tyson is able to convey complicated concepts with clarity.

Ultimately, reading Astrophysics for People in a Hurry is both a humbling and exhilarating experience. Compared to the vast and expanding universe, we are tiny, irrelevant specks. But at the same time, by encouraging us to take a cosmic perspective, Tyson also reminds us that everything around us and in us—the Earth, the elements, perhaps even life itself—originated in space. We truly are made out of stars.

 

This article was originally published in the May 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

When staring up at a starlit night, who doesn’t wonder how the universe began, how the stars were born or how we happen to be here on Earth? These questions have existed since the beginning of time, but only recently have we been able to find any of the answers. Yet the answers, which are being discovered with dizzying speed, are not easily accessible to the general public. Everyone has heard of the big bang and Einstein’s theory of general relativity, but precious few of us have the time to learn the science behind them. Happily, in Astrophysics for People in a Hurry, Neil deGrasse Tyson answers our questions about how the universe ticks—without the painful mathematics.

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Dani Shapiro is a novelist and short story writer, but above all she is a memoirist. In her three earlier memoirs—Slow Motion, Devotion and Still Writing—Shapiro used the lens of her own life to explore family tragedy, the search for meaning and the act of writing. In her latest memoir, Hourglass: Time, ­Memory, Marriage, she examines her marriage to journalist and screenwriter Michael Maren.

By almost every measure, they have a strong marriage: They’ve been together for 18 years, coped with their young son’s rare and dangerous illness and succeeded in a business where very few people thrive. And yet, like every other marriage, there are fault lines. Maren, a former war correspondent, is addicted to adrenaline, and Shapiro fears that he regrets their safe life. She is also terrified that they will end their lives in poverty. They are both haunted by the deaths and illnesses of their parents. In Hourglass, Shapiro paints a beautiful portrait of a marriage that miraculously flourishes despite fear and guilt.

This is not a chronology of a marriage: It is a memoir, and while the lives we lead are linear, our memories rarely are. Shapiro analyzes her marriage by linking together the memories of seemingly unrelated events, recounting each episode with clarity and beauty. The story of Maren’s futile battle with an annoying woodpecker deepens the meaning of Shapiro’s rediscovery of her old journals. In a particularly moving episode, Shapiro recalls a vision of her grandchildren playing with her friend’s grandchildren. The golden beauty of that dream may never come true, but nonetheless its very existence becomes a real part of the structure of the marriage.

Together these memories form a reality that is as diaphanous, fragile and as surprisingly resilient as a spider web. Hourglass is not only a profound and moving reflection on Shapiro’s marriage, but on all marriages.

This article was originally published in the April 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Dani Shapiro is a novelist and short story writer, but above all she is a memoirist. In her three earlier memoirs—Slow Motion, Devotion and Still Writing—Shapiro used the lens of her own life to explore family tragedy, the search for meaning and the act of writing. In her latest memoir, Hourglass: Time, ­Memory, Marriage, she examines her marriage to journalist and screenwriter Michael Maren.

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Since before Marco Polo published his account of adventures in Central Asia and China, the West has been fascinated by the East and vice versa. However, the fascination has also been accompanied by confusion on both sides. Why, an American might ask, are Koreans so dominated by familial desires, whereas a Korean might ask with equal bewilderment how an American could justify fulfilling a personal dream, even if it meant flouting parental wishes. In her latest book, The Girl at the Baggage Claim, Gish Jen explores the gap between the interdependent East and the individualistic West.

Jen, the author of four novels, a collection of short stories and the acclaimed Tiger Writing: Art, Culture, and the Interdependent Self, is well suited to this task. Born in Scarsdale, New York, to Chinese immigrants, every aspect of her life has been shaped by the cultural values both of her parents and of the America in which she was raised. Indeed, even her name is a blending of her two cultures. Jen has a variety of names, reflecting her different relationships: She has a Chinese name, Ren Bilan, and an American name, Lillian Jen; names that reflect her marital status (Gish O’Connor, Lillian O’Connor); and names that reflect confusion about her name (Jen Gish, and the incorrectly pronounced “Geesh Jen”). But her pen name is “Gish Jen,” a choice that deliberately stakes out her individual identity as an author.

Jen holds up a comprehensive and scholarly mirror to both worldviews—and be warned: Her mirror is honest, and at times provocative. Her intent, however, is not merely to explain their differences. Instead, Jen promotes a new worldview, an “ambidependence” that recognizes the values of interdependence while still nourishing the creativity that arises from individuality. The Girl at the Baggage Claim is the first step toward bridging the gap.

 

This article was originally published in the March 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Since before Marco Polo published his account of adventures in Central Asia and China, the West has been fascinated by the East and vice versa. However, the fascination has also been accompanied by confusion on both sides. Why, an American might ask, are Koreans so dominated by familial desires, whereas a Korean might ask with equal bewilderment how an American could justify fulfilling a personal dream, even if it meant flouting parental wishes. In her latest book, The Girl at the Baggage Claim, Gish Jen explores the gap between the interdependent East and the individualistic West.

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Let’s face it: We are fascinated by cannibalism, from Hannibal Lecter to the brain-eating zombies in “The Walking Dead.” In Cannibalism: A Perfectly Natural History, zoologist Bill Schutt writes about cannibalism with a delightful mixture of humor and scholarship.

Our horror of cannibalism is so deeply instilled that we assume it is an aberration resulting from extreme conditions such as starvation. Until fairly recently, most zoologists shared that belief. However, research since the 1990s has demonstrated that cannibalism is anything but rare in the animal kingdom. Schutt makes a convincing and frequently hilarious argument that cannibalism is a logical and successful strategy that many animals—especially insects, amphibians and fish, but also birds and mammals—employ in order to ensure the survival of their species.

The book is at its best, however, when discussing human cannibalism. Schutt writes movingly about the tragic Donner Party, one of the most infamous examples of starvation-induced human cannibalism. He also discusses the ongoing debate about whether ritual cannibalism—the consumption of human flesh for liturgical or spiritual reasons—actually exists, or if it is a rumor based on ignorance and fear, as well as an excuse for genocide and exploitation. But the most sobering reading comes when he explores the links between cannibalism and emerging diseases, and the implications for our own future in the face of diminishing resources.

Erudite, amusing and often moving, this is a compelling examination of a serious topic. Be prepared for some pretty curious looks, though—most people aren’t used to hearing bursts of laughter from someone reading a book emblazoned with the title Cannibalism!

 

This article was originally published in the February 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Let’s face it: We are fascinated by cannibalism, from Hannibal Lecter to the brain-eating zombies in “The Walking Dead.” In Cannibalism: A Perfectly Natural History, zoologist Bill Schutt writes about cannibalism with a delightful mixture of humor and scholarship.
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While thousands worked on the Manhattan Project, it is doubtful that e = mc2 would have been translated into the atomic bomb without Enrico Fermi. Given his role in ushering in the Atomic Age, it is surprising that, until now, there has been no major biography of Fermi in English; The Pope of Physics: Enrico Fermi and the Birth of the Atomic Age, by husband and wife authors Gino Segrè and Bettina Hoerlin, does an excellent job of filling that gap.

Although Fermi didn’t discover nuclear fission, he arguably made the greatest contributions towards harnessing its power. The first nuclear chain reaction took place in December 1942, at the University of Chicago, under his direct supervision. Afterward, he was a leader in the development of the atomic bomb.

The main problem for any biographer of Fermi is the nature of his work, which depended upon complex mathematical models, an intuitive understanding of the workings of the atomic nucleus, and intricate experimentation. Happily, the authors’ clear explanations ensure that the reader is not only able to follow Fermi’s contributions to science, but also understand their impact on his life story.

Segrè and Hoerlin both had family connections with Fermi: His uncle was one of Fermi’s closest colleagues, and her father worked with him on the Manhattan project. Together, they paint an affectionate and honest portrait of a man who was defined by his contradictions. Fermi, nicknamed “The Pope” for his infallibility, was both a theoretical and an experimental physicist, nearly a contradiction in terms. He was deeply apolitical, but politics nevertheless molded his life, from his increasingly uneasy relationship with Mussolini, which culminated in his arrival as a refugee to the United States, to his defense of Robert Oppenheimer during the McCarthy era. Unemotional, he inspired great love from his wife, friends and colleagues, and yet his own children suffered from his aloofness.

In all, this comprehensive and enjoyable biography is a valuable introduction to the life of Fermi. 

While thousands worked on the Manhattan Project, it is doubtful that e = mc2 would have been translated into the atomic bomb without Enrico Fermi.

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