This is a take on the YA wizard-school genre, and it is brutal. In this world, as young wizardly people (my terminology) enter adolescence, their powers awaken, and they become attractive to horrible monsters that want to eat them, yadda-yadda. The wizard-folk who survived to become robust adults decided the best solution to this problem is to lock all the children in a magical school suspended in a magical void while they go through this transition. The school has, naturally, become infested with horrible monsters who devour a significant proportion of the students before they graduate. This is the setup, and it already begs many questions, only some of which are answered. My favorite being, “Why, exactly?”

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This is perhaps the seminal work on product design, usability, interfaces, and all sorts of things that I like to notice and (occasionally) denigrate mercilessly. I cannot use some brands of microwave oven without cursing their makers’ makers, so I was excited to finally read this book. Norman provides a framework and vocabulary for understanding design which is important and impressive considering how very much is encompassed by the notion of “Design”. The examples give a clear picture of the problem and the difficulties faced by designer and user. Unfortunately, Norman does not get much farther than that.

Beyond the framework and vocabulary, the book didn’t tell me much that I didn’t already know. There wasn’t much meat to the book, the writing was meandering and unstructured, and Norman always seemed to stop short of asking the really interesting questions. This was surprising because issues of design can generally be distilled down to questions about human behavior which is endlessly fascinating. Whenever an interesting question appeared, I found Norman’s analyses lacking in imagination. This left a small amount of useful content that, uncharitably, could have fit in one chapter which leaves a lot of book without much to say.

Overall, I found the book to be disappointing: significant perhaps but disappointing.

This is the book that could replace most every textbook used in grade school math. It brings the reader from geometry to differential calculus in an astonishingly smooth progression. Let me say that again because you weren’t paying attention: Lockhart leads you, in plain language, from the most basic concepts of line and shape, all the way to differential ever-loving calculus in a single svelte volume. And this progression is more than a series of lectures, this is a book on Mathematics: each concept leads logically to the next, each answer leads to the next question. And you, the reader, are doing the asking and answering. It feels inevitable and effortless. This is Truth without pretense. Lockhart does not waste time (his or yours) on arbitrary definitions or vocabulary. He knows that understanding a thing is more important than knowing the name of a thing.

This book cultivates, indeed relies upon, the spark of curiosity that drives all children. The spark that gets extinguished so efficiently by what presently passes for education in most American schools. Instead of training you to be a calculator, Lockhart shows you his own passion and curiosity and teaches you how to ask and answer your own questions. This is a book that teaches you how to fish.

This book may not be what you expect. Odell challenges fundamental aspects of our society, and she deliberately does not use the patterns she seeks to disrupt. This book is not a tight, efficient proof of thesis. It is a meandering conversation, almost a stream of consciousness. Odell does not force her ideas upon the reader. She thinks out loud; following where history and experience lead.

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Roughly speaking, this is a history of the field of taxonomy. This is not a scientific text, but it is a text about science, and science is done by people, and people are flawed biased stubborn creatures (also clever, so very clever). It is a delight to see how this problem of classification changed and coalesced over time, and all the drama and controversy that went with it. Scientists are as dysfunctional as everyone else, perhaps more so in some regards. Yoon shows us how messy progress is.

If there is one flaw to this book, it is Yoon’s treatment of her central thesis. The thesis itself is sound enough: many problems are a result of people feeling increasingly separated from nature. This relates to our improved understanding of the tree of life displacing our natural intuition: as scientists became the authorities in naming things “correctly”, so the every-person was discouraged from participating. This conflict between science and intuition is exemplified by the scientifically-sound pronouncement: “there is no such thing as a fish”. The problem with Yoon’s analysis is that there is more than one way to categorize things, and everyone knows it.

Just because some people are working out how organisms relate to each other evolutionarily doesn’t mean other people aren’t discussing how they relate behaviorally, or visually, or intuitively. Indeed they are. To put it simply, the naming of Dendrocygna does not preclude the existence of bottom-dwelling fish or flightless birds, or perhaps you’ve heard the terms scavengers, predators, burrowers, nocturnal, diurnal. Yoon’s failure to even acknowledge the existence and use of polyphyletic groups severely undermines her argument that monophyletic classification has ruined everything.

While her thesis is intruiging, Yoon’s analysis lacks rigor. She presents more correlation than causality, and neglects to even mention other possible explanations for the woes of modern humans. Wielding the umwelt like a proverbial hammer, she pounds on every problem like a proverbial nail. The result is thought-provoking but ultimately unsatisfying.

This book was listed as reference for Lulu Miller’s “Why Fish Don’t Exist”, and it is clear why; this is a superior history. However Soon’s deeper analysis of how that science has influenced modern life feels incomplete and shallow. This is a valuable read with a questionable premise.

This review contains spoilers. For a biography. Of a man who died in 1931. You have been warned.

I don’t have a proper name for this sort of story, perhaps a sub- or sibling genre of gonzo journalism. I’m going to content myself by calling it kin to “Sita Sings the Blues”. Miller interleaves a biography of David Starr Jordan with the events of her own life while writing said biography. Miller’s half of the story recounts a low point in her life. In that time she leans into her research on Jordan, who spent a lifetime classifying fish, trying to reconstruct the tree of life (for a broader view on this part of the story, see Naming Nature by Carol Kaesuk Yoon). His dedication to this cause despite catastrophic setbacks was a source of inspiration to her. So in her darkest days, she clung to the idea of this steadfast scientist; trying to understand how he did it. And then she learns that he was implicated in a murder, supported compulsory sterilization, and was more than a little racist. This is a strong beat narratively, but comes off a bit contrived. It only takes a few minutes of research to learn about the more controversial parts of Jordan’s life. To be working on a biography of a person in such a granular way so as to know the details of their early life without knowing the first thing about their adult self seems… implausible. Also, using a surprise reveal in a biography of someone who died in 1931 is questionable.

This ultimately results in a book that feels a little padded, a little forced. The biography of Jordan is strong, but the sudden reveal of his dark side is unnecessarily dramatic. Miller’s own tragedies are lamentable, but the weave with the rise and fall of Jordan’s life adds little. “Here is a biography of an amazing scientist who turns out not to have been such a great guy after all and by the way I was depressed when I wrote this.”

Stanley has, through her own personal experience and experience helping others, developed techniques to heal from and develop resilience to stress and trauma. These techniques can help with anything from capital-T-Trauma to to the stress of everyday life. At the extreme end, this requires a skilled practitioner and might even be covered by your health insurance as therapy. On the mundane side, this involves practicing some simple life skills that anyone can learn; the sort of thing they should really teach in school.All this is to say, Stanley has produced something beneficial to the health of modern humans. The book she has written to spread the word is a tragedy.

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This is a frustrating book. It is a story about women struggling against mostly sexism and also racism. Good does not triumph. Sexist assholes run the world. The protagonist “succeeds” in spite of them, but the world is still run by sexist assholes. This is a portrayal of America’s past, but let’s not kid ourselves, it is also our present, and for a while yet, our future. It is depressing and enraging.

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This book reminded me why I like reading science fiction. Reading is an exercise in imagination. Picture Paris on the eve of the French Revolution, or New York City in the 1920s, a tall ship lost at sea, a boring suburb, an old shopping mall, a struggling law firm, a sweat shop, a merciless desert, a merciless dessert. Add some characters and off you go. Genres like science fiction and speculative fiction tend to take more liberties with their settings. As the setting becomes more unfamiliar, the exercise becomes more strenuous (I’m looking at you Greg Egan), and the imagination benefits from a little stretching now and then.

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