Once Upon a Universe: Not-so-Grimm Tales of Cosmology , Robert Gilmore Copernicus Books/Springer-Verlag, New York, 2003. $25.00 (228 pp.). ISBN 0-387-95566-6
Breathes there a physicist with soul so dead,
Who never to himself has said
How can I show the public the marvels of comprehending scientific reality?
The above revision of Sir Walter Scott’s 1805 patriotic verse summarizes scientists’ ambitions to share the wonders they understand, and the remaining mysteries of the physical world, with those who have supported—often unknowingly—their research.
For most physicists, the desire to show the public the joys of understanding scientific reality remains unslaked—at least as far as reaching a wider audience goes. Robert Gilmore has acted upon that desire. Once Upon a Universe: Not-so-Grimm Tales of Cosmology is the fourth in a series of his books using fairy-tale approaches to communicate important points about physics.
In his latest book, Gilmore presents six tales. Two deal with basic physics: “The Prince and p” and “Snow White and the Particularly Little People”; two with relatively conventional astronomy: “Ali Gori and the Cave of Night” and “Cinderenda and the Death of Stars”; and two with cosmology: “Jack and the Starstalk” and “Waking Beauty.” Each tale features one or more initially naive characters whose adventures bring them into contact with a wise entity—a wizard, a philosopher, a dominie, a surveyor, an artificer, or an astrogator—who explains one or more of the amazing phenomena of physics. The explanations read well, and the stories invariably end with the formerly naive character better informed.
Why then do I doubt the book’s ability to secure readers among the general public? My own inclinations and experience have led to the conclusion that the public does not care for physics (or astrophysics or cosmology) packaged in the form of a fable. This disinterest is doubled when the fable includes, as it must, a great deal of straightforward exposition. Whether one is a Richard Feynman, George W. Bush, or royal chamberlain, he will eventually end up using sentences like “the upper cone that you see there is bounded by all the possible paths that light may take as it moves from you into the future. … Along the [present light] cone lie all those events where someone or something might look back and see you as you are now. … Within this [past light] cone will lie all the events of your actual past, which must be separated by movements slower than light. …” Thus I cannot see why Gilmore thought that bringing Hendrik Lorentz briefly into the picture would make much of a difference in how readers would absorb the scientifically significant parts of his book. A fair number of general readers might find the author’s approach condescending and unhelpful. I salute Gilmore for his desire to connect with the public, but I believe he has little chance of doing so with cosmic fairy tales.
But all is not lost. A segment of the market does exist that might find deep pleasure in such cosmic quests. I can well imagine that someone who has mastered the material, at least in part, could take delight in revisiting topics recast into a fairy-tale format. Small jokes, such as “The Prince and p,” could resonate in a mind primed to understand scientific matters written in a style that might leave others with a diffident, suspicious, or even hostile attitude.
As its inside cover states, Once Upon a Universe demonstrates more than one way to shed light on the strange profundities of modern physics and cosmology. The problem is that Gilmore’s way probably won’t fly with those who fear the worst about physical science, and even those with a positive attitude are likely to find his approach of little merit. But give the book to your scientist friends. They will thank you for it—and mean it.
