The Lost World by Michael Crichton: a book review


The Lost World, by Michael Crichton (1995)

Recently, because this is the season for extra reading, I re-read The Lost World by Michael Crichton (which was made into a 1997 film). This novel turns 25 years old in September. Its main plot needs no explanation, of course. Just like Jurassic Park, there’s action, there’s excitement, and there’s dinosaurs chasing people.

As with all Crichton novels, there are technical and scientific themes that do not make it into the film. I had forgotten, for example, that the original mobile laboratory is solar powered: “He wants them light, I build them light. He wants them strong, I build them strong – light and strong both, why not, it’s just impossible, what he’s asking for, but with enough titanium and honeycarbon composite, we’re doing it anyway. He wants it off petroleum base, and off the grid, and we do that too. … The Explorer with the black photovoltaic panels on the roof and hood, the inside crammed with glowing electronic equipment. Just looking at the Explorer gave them a sense of adventure…” (pages 64 & 94)


Velociraptor skeletal cast at the Dinosaur Journey museum in Colorado (original photo by Jens Lallensack)

Another theme, naturally, is the changing scientific view of dinosaurs, and indeed other things, over time (in fact, the book and film are already out-of-date in some respects): “Back in the 1840s, when Richard Owen first described giant bones in England, he named them Dinosauria: terrible lizards. That was still the most accurate description of these creatures, Malcolm thought. … the Victorians made them fat, lethargic, and dumb – big dopes from the past. This perception was elaborated, so that by the early twentieth century, dinosaurs had become so weak that they could not support their own weight. … That view didn’t change until the 1960s, when a few renegade scientists, led by John Ostrom, began to imagine quick, agile, hotblooded dinosaurs. Because these scientists had the temerity to question dogma, they were brutally criticized for years, … But in the last decade, a growing interest in social behavior had led to still another view. Dinosaurs were now seen as caring creatures, living in groups, raising their little babies.” (page 83)


Tortuga Islands, Costa Rica (original photo by “rigocr”) – is this the mysterious Isla Sorna?

As with many Crichton novels, scientific hubris is a major theme. Other themes include the education of children (both dinosaur children and human children), information systems design, the theories of Stuart Kauffman about self-organisation and evolution, and the importance of what is now called the complex systems view.

Overall, this is a good solid action novel, with several scientific and philosophical themes to think about. Goodreads rates it 3.78. I’m giving it only 3½ stars, in part because it’s a little too much like Jurassic Park. But it’s certainly well worth a read.


The Lost World, by Michael Crichton: 3½ stars


Dune by Frank Herbert: a book review


Dune by Frank Herbert (1965)

I recently re-read the classic 1965 novel Dune by Frank Herbert. This is Frank Herbert’s best book, and one of the best science fiction novels ever written. It won the Hugo Award in 1966 (jointly with Roger Zelazny’s This Immortal) and won the inaugural Nebula Award. It became a quite terrible 1984 film and a somewhat better miniseries.

Parts of the novel are reminiscent of the work of Cordwainer Smith, notably the idea of a desert planet producing spice, and the idea that navigating a faster-than-light ship requires a guild of unusual navigators who can see into the future. However, most of the novel was so original that it became a huge hit when it first appeared. Themes that are particularly notable are those of planetary ecology, intergalactic politics, and unusual human skills.

I have always been moved by Herbert’s idea of a symbolic ecological language that can “arm the mind to manipulate an entire landscape” (Appendix 1), and the idea of making ecological literacy a key part of education:

At a chalkboard against the far wall stood a woman in a yellow wraparound, a projecto-stylus in one hand. The board was filled with designs – circles, wedges and curves, snake tracks and squares, flowing arcs split by parallel lines. The woman pointed to the designs one after the other as fast as she could move the stylus, and the children chanted in rhythm with her moving hand.
Paul listened, hearing the voices grow dimmer behind as he moved deeper into the sietch with Harah.
‘Tree,’ the children chanted. ‘Tree, grass, dune, wind, mountain, hill, fire, lightning, rock, rocks, dust, sand, heat, shelter, heat, full, winter, cold, empty, erosion, summer, cavern, day, tension, moon, night, caprock, sandtide, slope, planting, binder. …’
” (Chapter 22)

The unusual ecology of the desert planet Arrakis encourages us, of course, to think more deeply about our own planet (and Arrakis was apparently inspired by the Oregon Dunes here on Earth).

Also fascinating is the idea that the human race has turned away from computers and the Internet, and gone back to training human minds to remember, calculate, and think:

‘Once men turned their thinking over to machines in the hope that this would set them free. But that only permitted other men with machines to enslave them.’
‘Thou shalt not make a machine in the likeness of a man’s mind,’ Paul quoted. […]
‘The Great Revolt took away a crutch,’ she said. ‘It forced human minds to develop. Schools were started to train human talents.’
” (Chapter 1)

The most obvious theme, and the source of the novel’s action, is the galaxy-wide intrigue between the noble House Corrino, House Atreides, and House Harkonnen; the resulting warfare between them; and the resistance of the desert Fremen to occupation (inspired by Lawrence of Arabia):

Paul took two deep breaths. ‘She said a thing.’ He closed his eyes, calling up the words, and when he spoke his voice unconsciously took on some of the old woman’s tone: ‘ “You, Paul Atreides, descendant of kings, son of a Duke, you must learn to rule. It’s something none of your ancestors learned”.’ Paul opened his eyes, said: ‘That made me angry and I said my father rules an entire planet. And she said, “He’s losing it.” And I said my father was getting a richer planet. And she said. “He’ll lose that one, too.” And I wanted to run and warn my father, but she said he’d already been warned – by you, by Mother, by many people.’” (Chapter 2)

Goodreads rates this classic science fiction novel 4.2. I’m giving it 4½ stars (but be aware that the sequels are not nearly as good).


Dune by Frank Herbert: 4½ stars


Skylark DuQuesne by E. E. Smith: a book review


Skylark DuQuesne by E. E. “Doc” Smith (serialised 1965)

I recently re-read E. E. “Doc” Smith’s Skylark DuQuesne, the final story of Smith’s Skylark series. Smith, of course, is famous for the Lensman series, which is a bit annoying in places, but which is still full of all kinds of interesting ideas. This book is another matter. It’s just bad. Now poor writing may forgivable in “space opera,” and age may play a factor here too – the novel was serialised beginning in June 1965, when Smith was aged 75, and was published as a book in 1966 (Smith died during the serialisation). This novel has so many flaws, in fact, that I can only mention some of them.

To begin with, the sexual titillation for teenage boys is just over the top. Is there any reason why the characters need to be naked quite so often? Or for one of them to be a stripper? It’s a trifle creepy, to be frank.

The mathematics depicted in the book is also disappointing: “‘Hold it!’ Seaton snapped, half an hour later. ‘Back up – there! This integral here. Limits zero to pi over two. You’re limiting the thing to a large but definitely limited volume of your generalized N-dimensional space. I think it should be between zero and infinity—and while we’re at it let’s scrap half of the third determinant in that no-space-no-time complex. Let’s see what happens if we substitute the gamma function here and the chi there and the xi there and the omicron down there in the corner.’” (Chapter 24: DuQuesne and Sleemet)

Smith is describing simple high-school calculus (integrating a function on a single real variable). Even by the standards of the time (never mind the future!) there was a lot more mathematics out there. Robert Heinlein had no trouble getting that fact across in 1952 in The Rolling Stones / Space Family Stone: “Their father reached up to the spindles on the wall, took down a book spool, and inserted it into his study projector. He spun the selector, stopped with a page displayed on the wall screen. It was a condensed chart of the fields of mathematics invented thus far by the human mind. ‘Let’s see you find your way around that page.’ The twins blinked at it. In the upper left-hand corner of the chart they spotted the names of subjects they had studied; the rest of the array was unknown territory; in most cases they did not even recognize the names of the subjects.” (Chapter IV: Aspects of Domestic Engineering).

And hinting at new, future, mathematics is quite possible too. Isaac Asimov did it in 1942 in the first part of Foundation: “‘Good. Add to this the known probability of Imperial assassination, viceregal revolt, the contemporary recurrence of periods of economic depression, the declining rate of planetary explorations, the…’ He proceeded. As each item was mentioned, new symbols sprang to life at his touch, and melted into the basic function which expanded and changed. Gaal stopped him only once. ‘I don’t see the validity of that set-transformation.’ Seldon repeated it more slowly. Gaal said, ‘”But that is done by way of a forbidden sociooperation.’ ‘Good. You are quick, but not yet quick enough. It is not forbidden in this connection. Let me do it by expansions.’ The procedure was much longer and at its end, Gaal said, humbly, ‘Yes, I see now.’” (Chapter 4)

In contrast, Smith’s novel seems to have the goal of making his teenage readers feel good about what they know, rather than encouraging them to grow (and that applies to both intellectual and moral growth).


A PDP-8 computer of 1965

A related problem (common to Smith’s novels, and indeed to much early science fiction) is the failure to imagine how computers might be used. The novel assumes powerful computers (“brains”) which can both sense and influence the physical world. Yet manual information processing is still the order of the day: “Tammon was poring over a computed graph, measuring its various characteristics with vernier calipers, a filar microscope, and an integrating planimeter, when Mergon and Luloy came swinging hand in hand into his laboratory” (Chapter 9: Among the Jelmi)

Finally, the antagonist Marc DuQuesne (the name is a Genesis 4:15 reference, since the surname is pronounced duːˈkeɪn) is a rather unpleasant kind of Nietzschean Übermensch, and the protagonist (Richard Seaton) is not much better. Julian May, in her excellent Saga of Pliocene Exile (and even better Galactic Milieu Series) apparently based her character Marc Remillard in part on Smith’s Marc DuQuesne. But Marc Remillard repents of his crimes, and atones for them, and is actually interesting to read about. Smith’s novel finishes with DuQuesne as arrogant, as unrepentant, and as banal as ever.

Goodreads rates Smith’s novel 3.8, and some old-school science fiction fans still seem to enjoy it. It was even nominated for the Hugo Award for Best Novel, back in 1966, although it can hardly be compared to the other nominees – Dune and This Immortal (tied winners), The Squares of the City, and The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress (which was re-nominated, and won, in 1967). I give Smith’s novel just one star – but if you are nevertheless intrigued, it is now public domain in Canada and is online there.

*
Skylark DuQuesne by E. E. “Doc” Smith: 1 star


Infinitesimal by Amir Alexander: a book review


Infinitesimal: How a Dangerous Mathematical Theory Shaped the Modern World by Amir Alexander (2014)

I recently read Infinitesimal: How a Dangerous Mathematical Theory Shaped the Modern World by Amir Alexander. This book concentrates on the “indivisibles” of Bonaventura Cavalieri and the “infinitesimals” of John Wallis (the man who introduced the ∞ symbol). As a history of pre-calculus, that’s rather incomplete. There are also some errors, noted by Judith Grabiner in her review for the MAA.

Alexander portrays the Jesuits as the “bad guys,” suppressing the idea of “indivisibles,” even though interesting and useful mathematical results can be obtained by using them. However, Alexander does not fully explain the Jesuits’ actions. There is not a word about their struggle with the Dominicans for intellectual leadership of the Catholic Church (although this played a major part in the Galileo saga). Nor does he explain the link between defending Aristotle and defending the doctrine of Transubstantiation. And, of course, the critics of Cavalieri and Wallis were actually quite correct. “Infinitely small numbers” greater than zero do not exist, and calculus did not have a rigorous foundation until the work of Cauchy and Weierstrass in the 1800s.

I was left rather disappointed with this book. GoodReads rates it 3.83, but I’m only giving it two stars.


Infinitesimal: How a Dangerous Mathematical Theory Shaped the Modern World by Amir Alexander: 2 stars


Fictional books

A recent meme asked for “fictional books” that have influenced one. I’m not sure if it’s what they meant, but the obvious ones for me are the infamous Necronomicon of Abdul Alhazred, and Copper, Silver, Gold: An Indestructible Metallic Alloy by Egbert B. Gebstadter (my illustration above).


Laws Guide to Nature Drawing and Journaling: a book review


Laws Guide to Nature Drawing and Journaling by John Muir Laws

Having written before about nature journals, a while ago I purchased the Laws Guide to Nature Drawing and Journaling by John Muir Laws of johnmuirlaws.com. This is a wonderful guide to both the scientific and artistic aspects of keeping a nature journal. There are chapter on how to observe as well as chapters on how to draw flowers, trees, and other things. Laws provides three useful observation cues: “I notice,” “I wonder,” and “it reminds me of” (click page photographs to zoom):

This wonderful book is full of practical tips, both on the scientific side and the artistic side. I particularly liked this little curiosity kit:

I haven’t quite finished with the book, but I really love it so far. Other reviews online are also very positive: “I can’t find a thing lacking in this book” (scratchmadejournal.com); “informative and inspiring” (parkablogs.com); “the best book for nature journaling in your homeschool” (proverbs14verse1.blogspot.com). Goodreads rates the book 4.67.

* * * * *
Laws Guide to Nature Drawing and Journaling by John Muir Laws: 5 stars


In the Wet by Nevil Shute: a book review


In the Wet by Nevil Shute (1953)

I recently re-read the novel In the Wet by Nevil Shute. Like An Old Captivity, reincarnation is a key part of the storyline. The novel is set partly in the year in which it was written (1953, which was the year of the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II) but mostly 30 years in the future (1983). The book is thus rather dated, with the “future” now 37 years in the past. There is also language that would be unacceptable today (“n—-r,” “b–ng,” and “g-n”) and, by modern standards, the novel is both fanatically monarchist and extremely right-wing.

The Hero

One of the things that makes the novel interesting is that the hero, David Anderson, is a quarter Aboriginal (the book expresses an optimistic view of Australian race relations). David is from Cape York. His maternal grandmother is of the Kaantju people, and his father is a white stockman. Born literally in a ditch, David grows up on a cattle station, learning to ride a horse at age 3 or 4, and eventually joins the Royal Australian Air Force. He becomes a pilot in some hypothetical 1970s war (note that the First Indochina War and the Malayan Emergency were both ongoing when the novel was written). After that David becomes a test pilot, rising to the rank of Wing Commander and earning the Air Force Cross. The novel focuses on his transfer to the Queen’s Wing, flying royalty in two aircraft donated by the Australian and Canadian people (while also dealing with some complex politics and falling in love).


The hero in a contemporary Australian Women’s Weekly serial of the novel

The Aircraft

Nevil Shute was an aircraft designer, and the hypothetical fast long-range private jet in this book seems to be based on a planned (but never built) civilian version of the Avro Vulcan bomber. Nevil Shute seems to me to have underestimated progress in the aircraft industry, however, with his reported speed of 500 knots (930 km/h) matched by the much larger Boeing 747, although matching the range of 8000 nautical miles (15,000 km) had to wait for the Boeing 747-400ER of 2000.


The Avro Vulcan bomber

The Society

Nevil Shute’s social prediction is even worse. A visitor to Australia, he underestimates the left-wing tendency in Australian politics, and overestimates the monarchist tendency. He postulates a large drop in the British population (with all kinds of economic consequences), and large rises in the Australian and Canadian populations (see dotted lines in the chart below). Immigration to Australia was, in fact, less than he expected, and much of it was to come from Greece, Italy, the Netherlands, Malta, the former Yugoslavia, and (eventually) Vietnam. The UK, on the other hand, was to see substantial immigration from India and Pakistan.

On the whole, I would call this novel a well-written historical curiosity. As an old Danish proverb has it, it is difficult to make predictions, especially about the future. Goodreads rates the book 3.86, which is similar to my rating.


In the Wet by Nevil Shute: 3½ stars
(subtract 2 if you voted for Australia to become a republic)


Spineless by Juli Berwald: a book review


Spineless by Juli Berwald (2017)

I recently read Spineless: The Science of Jellyfish and the Art of Growing a Backbone by Juli Berwald (not to be confused with Spineless by Susan Middleton). Part memoir and part science writing, this book is very well-written, and moderately full of information about the oft-ignored jellyfish clan (some readers will find the combination of autobiography and science not to their liking). The book cover appears to be mostly derived from this Haeckel print:

I myself was fascinated by the jellyfish in the Monterey Bay Aquarium, but I did not fall in love with jellyfish the way that Juli Berwald did. This book does not quite do the job either, perhaps because of the distractions of the (not all that compelling) autobiographical material. It also seemed difficult to reconcile the author’s concerns about global warming with her high-carbon lifestyle.


Sea nettles at the Monterey Bay Aquarium (photo by “Omegacentrix”)

Still, this book is well worth a read. Other reviews of the book are linked from the author’s Wikipedia article.

* * *
Spineless by Juli Berwald: 3 stars


Complexity in medicine: some thoughts

I have been thinking recently about medicine and complexity, as a result of several conversations over many years. In particular, the Cynefin framework developed by Dave Snowden (see diagram below) seems a useful lens to use (this thought is not original to me – see among others, the articles “The Cynefin framework: applying an understanding of complexity to medicine” by Ben Gray and “Cynefin as reference framework to facilitate insight and decision-making in complex contexts of biomedical research” by Gerd Kemperman). I will also refer to two case studies from the book Five Patients by Michael Crichton, which is still quite relevant, in spite of being written in 1969.


The Cynefin framework developed by Dave Snowden. The central dark area is that of Disorder/Confusion, where it is not clear which of the four quadrants apply (image: Dave Snowden).

The Cynefin framework divides problems into four quadrants: Obvious, Complicated, Complex, and Chaotic. In addition, the domain of Disorder/Confusion reflects problems where there is no clarity about which of the other domains apply. In medicine, this reflects cases where multiple factors are at work – potentially, multiple chronic conditions as well as one or more acute ones. These conditions can exist in all four quadrants. Ben Gray gives the example of a child with a broken arm linked to both a vitamin deficiency and an abusive home environment. Several quite different interventions may be required.

The Obvious Quadrant

The quadrant of the Obvious applies to conditions with clear cause and effect, where there is a single right answer. According to Dave Snowden, the appropriate response is to sense what is going on, categorise the situation as one on a standard list, and then to respond in the way that people have been trained to do. This response may be trivial (a band-aid, say), or it may involve enormous professional skill. In medicine, much of nursing falls in this quadrant, as does much of surgery.

Michael Crichton’s Five Patients discuses the case of Peter Luchesi, a man admitted to Massachusetts General Hospital during 1969 with a crushed arm and nearly severed hand, as the result of an industrial accident:

Three inches above the left wrist the forearm had been mashed. Bones stuck out at all angles; reddish areas of muscle with silver fascial coats were exposed in many places. The entire arm about the injury was badly swollen, but the hand was still normal size, although it looked shrunken and atrophic in comparison. The color of the hand was deep blue-gray.

Carefully, Appel picked up the hand, which flopped loosely at the wrist. He checked pulses and found none below the elbow. He touched the fingers of the hand with a pin and asked if Luchesi could feel it; results were confusing, but there appeared to be some loss of sensation. He asked if the patient could move any of his fingers; he could not.

Meanwhile, the orthopedic resident, Dr. Robert Hussey, arrived and examined the hand. He concluded that both bones in the forearm, the radius and ulna, were broken and suggested the hand be elevated; he proceeded to do this.

Outside the door to the room, one of the admitting men stopped Appel. ‘Are you going to take it, or try to keep it?’

‘Hell, we’re going to keep it,’ Appel said. ‘That’s a good hand.’

Once the surgeons had sensed the problem and categorised it as an arm reconstruction, a team of three surgeons, two nurses, and an anaesthetist (all highly trained in their respective fields) then spent more than 6 hours in the operating theatre, repairing bone, tendons, and blood vessels. Certainly not trivial, but a case of professionals doing what they were trained to do.

The Complicated Quadrant


Public Domain image

The Complicated quadrant is the realm of diagnosis. Information is collected – in medicine, that generally means patient history, blood tests, scans, etc. – and is then subjected to analysis. This identifies the nature of the problem (in an ideal world, at least), which in turn indicates the appropriate response.

Diagnosis by physicians typically searches for the cause of an illness, while diagnosis by nurses typically focuses on severity. This reflects differences in the responses that physicians and nurses have been trained to provide (the triage officer in a modern hospital is typically a nurse).

Decades of work have gone into automating the diagnosis process – initially using statistical analysis, later using expert systems, and most recently using machine learning. At present, the tool of choice is still the human brain.

In general, modern medicine excels when it operates in the Obvious and Complicated quadrants.

The Complex Quadrant

The Complex quadrant is the realm of interactions. It is inherently very difficult to deal with, and cause and effect are difficult to disentangle. The paradigm of information collection and analysis fails, because each probe of the system changes it in some way. The best approach is a sequence of experiments, following each probe with a response that seems reasonable, and hoping to find an underlying pattern or a treatment that works. Michael Crichton provides this example:

Until his admission, John O’Connor, a fifty-year-old railroad dispatcher from Charlestown, was in perfect health. He had never been sick a day in his life.

On the morning of his admission, he awoke early, complaining of vague abdominal pain. He vomited once, bringing up clear material, and had some diarrhea. He went to see his family doctor, who said that he had no fever and his white cell count was normal. He told Mr. O’Connor that it was probably gastroenteritis, and advised him to rest and take paregoric to settle his stomach.

In the afternoon, Mr. O’Connor began to feel warm. He then had two shaking chills. His wife suggested he call his doctor once again, but when Mr. O’Connor went to the phone, he collapsed. At 5 p.m. his wife brought him to the MGH emergency ward, where he was noted to have a temperature of 108 °F [42 °C] and a white count of 37,000 (normal count: 5,000–10,000).

The patient was wildly delirious; it required ten people to hold him down as he thrashed about. He spoke only nonsense words and groans, and did not respond to his name. …

One difficulty here was that John O’Connor could not speak, and so could not provide information about where he felt pain. He appeared to suffer from septicaemia (blood poisoning) due to a bacterial infection in his gall bladder, urinary tract, GI tract, pericardium, lungs, or some other organ. Antibiotics were given almost immediately, to save his life. These eliminated the bacteria from his blood, but did not tackle the root infection. They also made it difficult to identify the bacteria involved, or to locate the root infection, thus hampering any kind of targeted response. In the end (after 30 days in hospital!) John O’Connor was cured, but the hospital never did locate the original root infection.

Similar problems occur with infants (Michael Crichton notes that “Classically, the fever of unknown origin is a pediatric problem, and classically it is a problem for the same reasons it was a problem with Mr. O’Connor—the patient cannot tell you how he feels or what hurts”). As Kemperman notes, medical treatment of the elderly often also falls in the Complex domain, with multiple interacting chronic conditions, and multiple interacting drug treatments. Medical treatment of mental illness is also Complex, as the brain adapts to one treatment regimen, and the doctor must experiment to find another that stabilises the patient.

Similarly Complex is the day-to-day maintenance of wellness (see the Food and Wellness section below) which often falls outside of mainstream medicine.

The Chaotic Quadrant

The Chaotic quadrant is even more difficult than the Complex one. Things are changing so rapidly that information collection and experimentation are impossible. The only possible response is a dance of acting and reacting, attempting to stabilise the situation enough that it moves from Chaotic to Complex. Emergency medicine generally falls in this quadrant – immediate responses are necessary to stop the patient dying. In the airline industry, the ultimate (and extremely rare) nightmare of total engine failure shortly after takeoff (as in US Airways Flight 1549) sits here too – each second of delay sees gravity take its toll.

Success in the Chaotic domain requires considerable experience. In cases where the problem is a rare one, this experience must be created synthetically using simulation-based training.

Food and Wellness

Michael Crichton notes that “The hospital is oriented toward curative treatment of established disease at an advanced or critical stage. Increasingly, the hospital population tends to consist of patients with more and more acute illnesses, until even cancer must accept a somewhat secondary position.” There is, however, a need for managing the Complex space of minor variations from wellness, using low-impact forms of treatment, such as variations in diet. Some sections of this field are reasonably well understood, including:

Traditional culture often addresses this space as well. For example, Chinese culture classifies foods as Yin (cooling) or Yang (heaty) – although there is little formal evidence on the validity of this classification.

There remain many unknowns, however, and responses to food are highly individual anyway. There may be a place here for electronic apps that record daily food intake, medicine doses, activities, etc., along with a subjective wellness rating. Time series analysis may be able to find patterns in such data – for example, I might have an increased chance of a migraine two days after eating fish. Once identified, such patterns suggest obvious changes in one’s diet or daily schedule. Other techniques for managing this Complex healthcare space are also urgently needed.


Origin by Dan Brown: a book review


Origin by Dan Brown (2017)

I recently read Origin, the latest Dan Brown novel. Just about every Dan Brown novel covers topics dear to my heart, such as cryptography, computer simulation, the theory of computation, and artificial intelligence – but also the history of science, the history of Christianity, Dante, and Galileo. Dan Brown routinely promises an accurate depiction of these background topics (in this latest novel, he says “All art, architecture, locations, science, and religious organizations in this novel are real”). However (as I also pointed out for his Angels & Demons), the reality of his novels doesn’t quite live up to this claim. To pick just three examples, Yves Klein did not invent the pigment in International Klein Blue; “Pope Innocent XIV” was an Argentinian antipope, not a Spanish one; and it is not suprising when computer simulations produce results reflecting the assumptions built into their design.


Gaudí’s la Sagrada Família (image credit) plays a major part in the novel. It has been on my bucket list for decades. It still is.

Even as a work of pure fiction, Origin still disappoints. As with Dan Brown’s previous novels, the constant appearance of crazed gunmen doesn’t make up for the plot weaknesses. And a major theme of the novel is artificial intelligence – now, I don’t object to this being portrayed far in advance of current technology (that’s not uncommon in fiction), but the theme of artificial intelligence has been handled far better by (among others) Robert A. Heinlein, Arthur C. Clarke/Stanley Kubrick, Michael Crichton, and Peter F. Hamilton. I also found the book’s ending profoundly anticlimactic. However, if you’re a fan of Dan Brown novels, you’ll probably like this one too.

For other reviews, see The Week (“Dan Brown is a very bad writer”), The National (“The idea that a computer simulation would fundamentally destroy the faith of billions in their religions is so utterly, cluelessly juvenile that it seems right at home in a Brown novel”), and The Stream (“It’s sci-fi done by someone who knows nothing about sci-fi”).


Origin by Dan Brown: 2 stars