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As a second book, narrowly focused on the question of complexity in biology, it is outstanding. Specifically, the question is one of how self-organization (complexity) relates to evolution and what this means for natural selection. Complexity is frequently talked up as the unifier of the sciences. Lewin takes a balanced approach, taking the time to talk to complexity theorists and understand their ideas, then talking to mainstream biologists to see how the ideas relate. His conclusion shows no inherent bias. Where other books on complexity show extreme (perhaps undue) enthusiasm, Roger Lewin's concusion is decidedly "wait and see". I found his insights to be on target and relevant.
I mentioned that this is a good second book. For an introduction to complexity, read John Holland's "Hidden Order". For a history of the Santa Fe Institute and some of the personalities there, read Mitchell Waldrop's "Complexity". Either or both of these would serve as an adequate introduction to this book.
I find Lewin strikes the right balance with his reader presenting difficult concepts with elegant clarity yet providing enough detail to challenge the reader. To make the material too simple would leave the concepts incoherent-to provide too much would leave the reader behind. He also presents a balanced view of the subject. There are detractors in the scientific community. They are heard from. Lewin develops various concepts directly related to complexity rather cleverly. We are given a piece of concept that is added onto later in a different context providing us with a kaleidoscopic way of thinking of the material. It is all connected but our focus shifts slightly giving us a new view of the subject. In the beginning there were Boolean Networks. Other concepts follow: edge of chaos; complex adaptive systems; emergence. If anyone has ever wondered even in passing why is it that discrete bits of biota or data that do not amount to much in themselves can produce not only something more complex when put together but something that is more than the sum of its parts then Complexity is of interest to you.
This book doesn't have to be the final authority or explain it all to be a very good read. And, in reference to other reviews, novel new ways of approaching scientific inquiry don't come from just anyone. Personalities matter. Putting the subject of complexity in the context of those who have been pursuing its secrets is not only acceptable but adds to our understanding. The implications for the opening up of new ways of seeing what we've heretofore been looking at 'through a glass darkly' are incredible. I can see why some of the leading scientists might find the subject worth their time and energy. So many things we wish to fix about how we operate within the system that supports us have proved intransigent to change. Perhaps this is because up to now we have been hampered by a too narrow view of what dynamics are relevant to a particular line of inquiry.
Lewin has presented complexity as a good mystery novel. It is a non-fiction mystery novel the ending of which has yet to be written.
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As it happens, I had rather high hopes for this book, but those hopes will have to be satisfied by another author. This thin volume, just a tad over 200 pages, packs less information per word than any non-fiction book I've ever read. What little there is about Java Man, Solo Man and other Asian links in the human chain is interesting, even if it is presented as notes an anthropology student might write in preparation for a final. But there is far too little of that sort of information - the sort of information that caused me to read the book in the first place - and far too much personal invective. Although they claim to have no stake in the various theories of human origins (which would be a reasonable claim for geochronologists, primarily interested as they are in the age of rocks), even the casual reader will be struck by the snide and puerile assaults against one side of the debate.
It probably does not help that none of the "authors" is an expert in the field of human evolution. Swisher and Curtis are geochronologists, and Lewin, who actually did the writing, is a science writer by trade. A better writer might have done more with this material, perhaps, and would hopefully have opted to omit the utterly unnecessary diatribes against former colleagues. It may be news to non-scientists that scientists, as all humans, are capable of vain and stupid behavior. But that observation, if useful at all, belongs in a book devoted to the psychology of science, not one ostensibly devoted to a serious scientific issue. But much of the book is just an ambling array of irrelevant observations. I do not know whether they were included to add heft to this otherwise empty volume, or whether Lewin actually believes that they are interesting. Besides those that serve to lash out at professional enemies, much of the prose is devoted to such banalities as what people ate, the roads they drove, the view from the hotel, and so on.
Worst of all, perhaps, is that much of the book involves dead ends. Science is like that, of course. But there is a saying in the theater that, if you bring a cannon on stage in the first act, you must fire it by the third. A book about science (which this purports to be, and which is fundamentally different from a science book) should follow the same rule. This is, after all, an effort to tell a story. But here we have an opening sentence that alludes to the discovery of volcanic material in a Homo erectus skull from Java. We learn that this material could provide a reliable radiometric date of the age of the specimen. We also learn that the Indonesian curator offers to let the American scientists collect dateable material, and that rich benefactors underwrite a spur-of-the-moment trip to collect the samples. But then, at the last minute, we learn that the Indonesian curator changes his mind, and all is for naught. Why we make such a laborious literary detour to learn all this is hard to understand, and makes the book even harder to justify recommending.
The couple of dozen or so pages that actually discuss Dubois, radiometric dating, and human evolution are fairly well done, and quite useful. Were this the only book on the subject, I'd recommend it notwithstanding is otherwise objectionable qualities. But I am certain it is not the only source available to the non-expert. Were I now looking, I would not stop here, but would continue my search.
The book is, at times, needlessly verbose. The story, though interesting, could be told in half the number of pages. The "divorce" from the Institute of Human Origins should have been completely eliminated. I find it tedious that scientists are continually waging their battles with other scientists in print.
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Thank you, Oscar Wilde, for having the stones to say something that allows the rest of us to quote you and thus not come off sounding like such hard-hearted bastards: "all bad poetry is sincere." The problem with reviewing (much less critiquing) bad poetry is that it makes the reviewer, oft-times, feel like an ogre. You pick up a book full of thoroughly awful verse about a topic that it would be heresy to bash. There are an awful lot of bad poems about rape, child molestation, and other such light and airy topics; one need not look far to find a thousand examples. In this case, your obstreperous, bullheaded reviewer is going to take on one hundred twenty-eight pages written by Dr. Roger A. Lewin about the death of his wife and the effect it had on him and his two-year-old daughter. And, so I don't sound like too much of an ogre, let me, dear reader, gently remind you of Wilde's quote, and say that denigration of the work is not denigration of the inspiration of the work.
Roger Lewin is a psychiatrist. Roger Lewin is also an exceptionally bad poet. I have no idea if these two things are combined, but I suspect that, at least in Lewin's case, it is. Lewin manages to flaunt all the rules of what makes good poetry, sometimes all of them in a single poem. We have expressionless laundry lists of verbs, we have telling and not showing, bad puns, little psychological tricks, the whole painful mess of teen angst. Which might be forgivable if Lewin were still a teen; one does not want to make assumptions regarding his age, but his late wife would have been forty-nine when the book was published; thus, one guesses his teen days are relatively far behind him. Growing up and gaining life experience has not made the man a better poet.
In the great tradition of "I don't know art, but I know what I like," a few examples of what I'm talking about above:
"The range
of verbs
is too narrow
to name
my horrified
acquiescence
in your demise."
("Autumn Voice")
Let me point out the piquancy of word choice here, and say that I have never before seen the phrase "horrified acquiescence" in a poem. And I hope to never see it in a poem again. (As you may be able to guess from the first few lines of the strophe, this was preceded by, yes, an expressionless laundry list of verbs.)
"Language
is
spoken;
otherwise
it's
broken."
("My Lips, Your Face")
Do I need to say anything about that? It's the kind of thing college freshmen should be getting in poetry 101 classes as examples of how not to write poetry.
Perhaps the most painful thing about reading a Lewin collection is that on very, very rare occasions, he gets it right. Not in the way an Ira Sadoff or a Debra Allbery gets it right, not with a whole, sustained poem that sings its perfection to the heavens. But he'll come up with a line, or even a whole strophe, that Hilda Doolittle, T. S. Eliot, and Ezra Pound look down and smile upon. The image is concrete, there are no extraneous words; there may still be bad line breaks, but it's as good as Lewin gets:
"First hard frost
like hair spray
arrests
the willow's branches
leaning south and east
in memory
of last night's breeze."
("Soon After My Wife's Death")
A tad long for haiku, but with the same economy of tone and verbiage. In a hundred-twenty-eight page book, you get more of these minor gems than you do in a smaller book like New Wrinkles, but an increase in pearls guarantees you a greater increase in swine. Ultimately, it's not worth the frustration.
The vanity press business has flourished for decades, if not centuries, and one suspect that it's been feeding off the blood of aspiring (and very bad) poets since its very inception. For all I know, poets were the reason for the genesis of the vanity press business. Evanston Publishing (and its more recent and equally loathsome subsidiary, Chicago Spectrum Press) claims it is not a vanity publisher, but someone who takes your money and lets you self-publish using their equipment. (The difference: you, not the press, keep the rights to your work.) It's not exactly a difference of semantics, but the end result is the same. This is the third offering from Evanston/Chicago Spectrum I have had the misfortune to read, and if I remember to check from now on, it will be the last. *
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Better than Lewin's Lamentations, if only because it's half as long. Less swine to root through for the elusive pearls. But my god, what swine.
"Poetry has the wind
for a coat of arms, the wind
for a coat of harms, the wind
for a coat of charms."
("Poetry Has the Wind")
In some twisted way, I can see this book becoming a cult classic, elevating Lewin to the same status as the triumvirate of Horrible American Poets-Rod McKuen, Susan Polis Schutz, and Helen Steiner Rice. Lord knows there's stuff in here that puts him at the heights, or lows, of what those three have been able to accomplish. New Wrinkles, as with all of Lewin's work, is best taken with large doses of alcohol. * ½
This book covers Leakey's finds and his interpretation of such finds. There is s small black and white glossy section that displays the lake and several ancestors (including Australopithecus.)
The table of contents is:
People of the Lake
A question of survival
In the Beginning
A New Perspective on Human origins
The Human Family Unearthed
Lessons from Bones and Stones
An Ancient way of life
The first Affluent society
The nature of Intelligence
The Origins of Language
Sex and the need for Women's Liberation
An End to the Hunting Hypothesis
As you can see this is not just a book about bones. He also quotes a lot of Freud. So I do not know why this book fell out of favor. However it makes for some good background reading.