Ah, summer. Sunny days, sultry nights and … great books about science and engineering? Why, yes. Every so often I encounter books that are so compelling, engaging and mind bending, I’m driven to share them with readers.
Ah, summer. Sunny days, sultry nights and . . . great books about science and engineering?
Why, yes. Every so often I encounter books that are so compelling, engaging and mind bending, I’m driven to share them with readers. Here are some tomes that hopefully will rekindle your delight and pride in being an engineer while expanding your mind during the dog days of summer.
Topping the list is “The Great Bridge: The Epic Story of the Building of the Brooklyn Bridge,” by David McCullough. Simply put, this might be one of the best celebrations of engineering, ever. McCullough tells the story of the Brooklyn Bridge, starting from the vision in the eye of its architect, John Roebling, in 1867. He details the formidable political and logistical challenges overcome by his son, Washington Roebling, who served as chief engineer from John Roebling’s death in 1869 until the bridge’s completion in 1883.
The story has it all: Crooked politicians, unscrupulous contractors, cutting-edge technology – even a scandalous preacher. For anyone who’s disgusted by the greedy antics of folks such as Bernie Ebbers and Gary Winnick, or appalled at the senseless actions of clueless regulators, the book’s a charming reminder that the world might change, but human nature doesn’t – and great engineering can be accomplished, regardless.
“The Great Bridge” also provides a terrific introduction to a world-class writer whose new book “1776” is out just in time for the holiday weekend. Although “1776” is really a military history, it details three Revolutionary campaigns during ’76 – McCullough highlights the critical roles of technology and operations during the U.S. Revolution.
My favorite segment describes how a little-known portly young blowhard, Henry Knox, proposed transporting the cannons from Fort Ticonderoga, which U.S. forces had recently captured from the British, to Boston. The idea Knox had in mind was so arrogant as to be ludicrous: 25-year old Knox, assisted by his 19-year old brother William, would haul 120,000 pounds of weaponry across 300 miles of ice and snow in the dead of winter, crossing the formidable Berkshire mountains with very few men and little funding (George Washington authorized Knox to spend up to $1,000).
Knox did it, and the guns of Ticonderoga played an instrumental role in driving the British from Boston. Even more than that, the escapade demonstrated the meritocratic values and can-do mentality of the emerging young country. As McCullough writes, “That such a scheme hatched by a junior officer in his 20’s, who had no experience, was transmitted so directly to the supreme commander, seriously considered, and acted upon, also marked an important difference between the civilian army of the Americans and that of the British.” Exactly – and it’s a spirit that’s still in evidence today, as young engineers launch risky start-ups or get the OK to roll out cutting-edge technology.
But Americans have hardly cornered the market on ingenuity. If you haven’t yet read it, you should definitely pick up another great book, the self-explanatorily titled, “How the Scots invented the modern world: The true story of how Western Europe’s poorest nation created our world and everything in it,” by Arthur Herman. Amazingly, Herman does a solid job supporting the title thesis – and tells a rousing good yarn in the process. You’ll find out the reason behind the stereotype of the Scottish engineer – and how the ideas and approaches of the Scots are influencing the world, even today.
Finally, a slightly different story emerges from “Incompleteness: The proof and paradox of Kurt Goedel,” by Rebecca Goldstein. If, like me, you’re annoyed by inaccurate characterizations of Goedel’s incompleteness theorems and their implications for modern philosophy, you’ll appreciate this book. It describes not only Goedel’s true worldview, but his friendship with Einstein and the logical and human framework behind his work. (Unfortunately, if – like me – you were once able to prove the theorems but can no longer remember how, the book’s no help.) Goldstein is an unusual writer. A professor of philosophy and a talented novelist, she’s one of the rare few who understand both the people and science – and she combines both in telling the story of the people who make science.
And there you have it: Four great books celebrating engineering and science. I hope they brighten your summer as much as they have mine.
