The first half of this book was phenomenal. Though there was no narrative, no plot and no protagonist, it was one of the more unique and enjoyable books on planetary science I’ve read.

The writing style is staccato and dry to the point where the whole book could just be one long bullet list of facts about the ice giants and Pluto-Charon. But, oh, what a collection of bullets!

To be clear, this book has no personality. It’s just fact after fact of "what we know" about the outer planets (mostly from Voyager 2 measurements) and still manages to be interesting as hell.

Uranus’ rings are x, y and z. Titania’s surface has a density of such-and-such. Neptune may have a thin cloud layer at an altitude of so-and-so.

It reads more like a (good) textbook or a (interesting) lecture than anything else but it is well organized and a good way to bring yourself up to speed on the few measurements we have of the outer planets.

The second half of the book is a primer on how to observe the planets with a telescope but it’s neither clear or encouraging for the average reader. There are some nice tips regarding shopping for a telescope but the objects to be observed are just too difficult for the amateur astronomer to resolve.

Also, all of the really interesting aspects of the planets discussed earlier in the book, like atmospheric composition and magnetic properties, need a nine-figure space probe to be measured. So it’s a bit of a tease when he says to make sure to buy a dew guard for your 60mm refractor.

Since the content in this book was so curt anyway this observation section didn’t really detract from any sort of flow, though it was definitely not necessary to include it.

I was also a little disappointed that there was no mention of the theory that Uranus and Neptune may have formed in the inner solar system and migrated to their present locations. That’s awesome!

Not for the faint of heart, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto and How to Observe Them delivered exactly what the cover promised.

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This is one of the few books I’ve ever re-read and it was much better the second time now that I can appreciate it.

Wells was way ahead of his time and truly a pioneer of the genre. I believe his writing would be considered lackluster sci-fi if written today, but in a historical context the book is phenomenal.

I like that the only downsides to being invisible are that it’s cold in the nude and you need lackeys to carry your visible stuff around so you’re not spotted. There’s nothing in the book about the social isolation or moral challenges associated with invisibility. It just sounds awesome. Don’t get caught is the lesson to be learned.

There are a lot of details regarding getting trapped in rooms and walking softly that make one particularly contemplative about the other "lesser" senses. And it’s also fun because you can’t help but imagine yourself in Griffin’s situation, which really draws you into the narrative.

Awesome!

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This was a regrettable book. Half of it was pretty good and the other half was unreadable.

The juxtaposition of the first two great ages of discovery with the third (culminating in the Voyager mission) is a logical comparison, but Pyne’s attempt falls far short of enjoyable. The chief offense of our purportedly award-winning author is that he forces this loosely braided narrative down the reader’s throat with no regard to it’s success.

In each chapter he establishes a rough theme about discovery then erratically jumps from the (very good) technical discussion of the Voyager mission to some of the most lofty, pretentious and difficult to follow mish-mash of European history I have ever encountered. During the latter, he throws around obscure historical figures and events with absolutely no chronology, qualification or explanation, speaking as if he’s delivering a lecture to a conference of history professors. Then he uses an obnoxious number of $20 words just to showcase his vocabulary, which truly detracts from the story on just about every page of the book.

Making matters worse, the segue between the space and historical narratives almost always included some form of the classic high school book report hand-off "There were similarities as well as differences," which was just absolutely terrible.

To be sure, the parts of the book that were about the twin Voyager spacecrafts making their way through and beyond the solar system were interesting, well-tempered and well-written. Clearly his lack of expertise regarding the Voyager mission made his reportage infinitely more enjoyable because he couldn’t demonstrate his exhaustive (and exhausting) knowledge of arcana.

I think Voyager was actually two books hacked to bits and reassembled as some sort of academic exercise. To remedy this I decided about half-way through to only read the parts about the Voyager mission and I’m confident that I lost little in the process.

If you DO want to read a solid book about the great ages of discovery, I highly recommend The Age of Wonder by Richard Holmes. He’s not a douche.

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I think what I liked best about this book is the author’s (fleeting but refreshing) attitude of exploration for exploration’s sake. Venus’ surface is so hot that it glows red in the dark, there’s but a trace of water in the atmosphere, and it rains battery acid. We’re probably not going to live there anytime soon (besides the fact that we’d be moving 30 percent closer to the life-giving time bomb we orbit)… but we should go nonetheless!

He does spend a good deal of time talking about the historic significance of Venus in various cultures around the world, trying to give the reader an anthropological imperative to care. I just thought it was interesting. Despite its prominence in the cultures of our species and its teasing proximity, it’s crazy to think that we couldn’t penetrate the dense cloud cover to see the surface of Venus in detail until the early 1990s!

It’s very interesting to hear how the Russians actually led our exploration of our "twin planet" during the early Cold War years, before JFK set our sights on human exploration of the moon as the ultimate middle finger to the Ruskies.

As usual, some of the best science we have done as a species had war as an impetus. I guess we’ll take what we can get. The sad truth of it all is that nations don’t posture by flying space missions anymore, letting researchers ride wave after wave of fear-induced funding. Now governments just cut science funding and spend the money on weapons. Booo!

Later he likens Venus’ CO2-saturated atmosphere to a possible future Earth if we continue to plunder this planet, but this environmentalism hook seemed a little perfunctory to me. Ninety percent of the time Grinspoon sounds like a space nerd just excited to be able to talk about planets for a living… and it makes me jealous.

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There’s a terrible irony associated with being a student of physics: The vast majority of casual science reading is either coloring books for preschoolers or graduate-level textbooks.

This is just one reason that Titan Unveiled is exceptional. It’s delightfully conversational and sufficiently technical but not too inside-baseball that you need an aerospace engineering degree to follow along. If ever it was appropriate to make this analogy, planetary scientists call this the Goldilocks Zone.

When I turned the page to see that there was an afterword in this book, I shouted, "Ooh, a bonus chapter!" I really enjoyed it cover to cover and I was sad to see it end.

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It was good! The scope was a bit narrow only really focusing on the ATLAS and CMS experiments at the Large Hadron Collider, but it’s understandable since the LHC hasn’t been in operation that long.

The history behind the construction and the different roles played by the partner nations was all very interesting and I really enjoyed the little vignettes of the high-energy and quantum scientists that pioneered the field.

My favorite factoid: the LHC is comprised of over 1 billion miles of ultra-fine superconducting filaments, enough to stretch from the Earth to the Sun and back again five times!

It’s fun, give it a shot.

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My assumption going into this book was that the author would use physical reasoning to make higher mathematical concepts clearer and more accessible. It’s a great idea: Gauss’ Law in 2D can be imagined as a spreading puddle of oil, of course!

Instead you get a mess of contrived analogies that are literary Rube Goldberg devices at best and not applicable at worst. The author would spend pages upon pages setting up these exercises and, though some were well done (like where to park in a drive-in to maximize your movie field of view), most were too ambitious to succeed.

What really killed me though was that after each hypothetical mechanical system was laboriously hammered together to elucidate some rather simple math concept, the author would provide a more rigorous mathematical proof which was always so much more valuable than the brittle physical analogies.

All in all, it’s an interesting idea and a book worth borrowing from the library.

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Endless Universe was good though a bit bothersome at times.

I understand that, as competing theories, it is essential to point out the dissimilarities between the inflationary and cyclic models of the universe, but Steinhardt and Turok seemed like they were fighting their way out of a corner throughout the book — and they wrote it!

Being in a defensive stance for most of the book also made some of their arguments seem petty. On p.222 they basically claim that the inflationary model spells the end of empirical science as if there is nothing else to discover about the universe if that theory "succeeds." It’s just not true.

Another issue I had was that the authors waited until almost the end of the book to elaborate on any flaws in the cyclic model, leaving me with some very obvious questions in the front of my mind throughout my reading. I know that you don’t want to hand over a list of all your character flaws on a first date, but when it comes to science writing, not hearing the faults in a more natural progression was very distracting.

Also, it was one of those books that elaborates on some pretty high concepts to paint a picture of a theory, but then goes on to define what an atom is in the glossary! Most popular physics books claim that no prior knowledge is necessary, but it’s never true.

If you don’t know what an atom is, you probably won’t understand anything covered in this book… and you are scientifically illiterate to an embarrassing degree.

The authors ended the book on a very vague "we’ll see what happens" note, so I figured I’d do the same:

Endless Universe was a good read about some very interesting ideas that, frankly, I hope are right! The ekpyrotic (cyclic) model is a beautiful theory indeed, though no self-respecting scientist worth his weight in protons chooses a model based on neatness. Without resorting to the anthropic principle, it does make a lot of sense, but only space-time will tell!

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I’m a little jealous because this is exactly the book I wanted to write.

It’s not exactly the most useful collections of calculations, but it’s interesting as hell… if you’re interested in that kind of stuff. Actually, all but one individual that I recommended the book to (you better be reading it, dude waiting for the R at Atlantic Ave!) asked me why I would want to read something like that. Answer: Because it’s awesome.

I think my brain is one neuron richer now that I know (approximately) how many flies it takes to pull a car at 40 mph. And I believe that my synapses fire an attosecond faster now that I know whether a hurricane is stronger than an atomic bomb.

Best of all, this book gives you the inspiration (if you’re so inclined) to just wonder about the magnitudes of the things around us. Our entire reality is experiential and Geekspeak lights the fire under your ass to appreciate it just a little more.

How hot is such an ass fire? Well, assume the affected area to be pi times the square of one ass cheek’s diameter…

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Despite this book’s title, it’s not so much about the merits of Pluto to be considered a planet as it is an indictment of the IAU for being a collection of short-sighted children with pet projects to sell.

Tombaugh discovered Pluto so of course his wife wants it to be considered a planet. And, sorry, but "Kids love that little planet!" is not a cogent argument to throw reasonable classification of celestial bodies out the window. Kids are dumb.

Intrinsic brightness and hydrostatic equilibrium are reasonable tests and I’m still not sure why this view hasn’t prevailed. Why is it so difficult to just decide and stick with it?

The reality of gravitation is that two things always orbit each other! The Earth DOES orbit the Moon and both are bright and round so why can’t we call both a planet? The Pluto-Charon "binary-planetary system" is exactly the same as the Earth-Moon system They’re just closer in mass so their orbits are exaggerated.

Oh, too many planets makes too much shit for kids to remember? Those goddamned kids again?! I think it’s actually jaded or lazy teachers that don’t want to find better ways to teach about the dynamic nature and spectacular variety of the solar system. They’re comfortable with 9 (or 8) planets, which is the only reason the IAU ever had a problem.

Sure, 32 names are harder to remember (Mercury, Venus, Earth, Luna, Mars, Ceres, Jupiter, Io, Europa, Ganymede, Callisto, Saturn, Mimas, Enceladus, Tethys, Dione, Rhea, Titan, Iapetus, Uranus, Miranda, Ariel, Umbriel, Titania, Oberon, Neptune, Triton, Pluto, Charon, Haumea, Makemake and Eris) but why take the easy way out?

How about a helpful mnemonic with all 32 hydrostatic bodies to teach the children of tomorrow?

I’m Exceedingly Upset, Nay Hysterical, That So Very Many Reputable Teachers, Enlightened Thinkers, And Eager Curriculum Makers Categorically Decided To Impetuously Lampoon, Maybe Even Maraude, Generations Of Poor Unwitting Children Just Like Me.

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