The Joys of Reading ā and Writing ā About Science
At various stages in my journalism career, Iāve been a war reporter and a political reporter in the US and abroad. Iāve even written about visual art and icons of entertainment. These days, when Iām not editing Seeker, I write about climate change and environmental issues.
As difficult as those settings or topics may be, Iāve often found the most challenging writing ā the task of transforming a blank page into a story ā to be science writing. The concepts are often fantastical and the result of rarified knowledge from disciplines like chemistry, neuroscience, and astrophysics. Each of those fields, as well as countless others, are peering more deeply into ā and thinking more complexly about ā floral and fauna, the human mind, the deepest reaches of the cosmos, and just about everything in between.
Despite years of writing about science and editing many really talented science writers, the task of a science journalist can often feel daunting. (I try to not lose sight of the fact that Iām a) a journalist with a job in a very unfavorable job market and b) one working in the exciting field of science.) Even an advanced degree in science journalism often leaves me longing for many more years in an academic setting in order to feel more comfortable when speaking with researchers or reading a journal article.
With all that in mind, I read this wonderful passage about black holes, written by The New York Timesās Dennis Overbye in his obituary of Stephen Hawking, the iconic astrophysist who died last night at the age of 76. The passage was a reminder of how difficult the task of science writing can be, but also how tremendously rewarding it can feel as a writer, as well as a reader.
Hereās the passage that caught my eye:
By necessity, he concentrated on problems that could be attacked through āpictures and diagrams,ā adopting geometric techniques that had been devised in the early 1960s by the mathematician Roger Penrose and a fellow Cambridge colleague, Brandon Carter, to study general relativity, Einsteinās theory of gravity.
Black holes are a natural prediction of that theory, which explains how mass and energy ācurveā space, the way a sleeping person causes a mattress to sag. Light rays will bend as they traverse a gravitational field, just as a marble rolling on the sagging mattress will follow an arc around the sleeper.
Too much mass or energy in one spot could cause space to sag without end; an object that was dense enough, like a massive collapsing star, could wrap space around itself like a magicianās cloak and disappear, shrinking inside to a point of infinite density called a singularity, a cosmic dead end, where the known laws of physics would break down: a black hole.
Einstein himself thought this was absurd when the possibility was pointed out to him.ā
That, in my estimation, is wonderful science writing. Overbye conveys very specialized and abstract physics in a way thatās evocative, and a layperson is likely to easily understand.
It also made me recall why writing by the New Yorkerās John McPhee can be so enjoyable and informative at the same time, whether reading his descriptions of deep geological time or relating the movements and causes of a California mudslide.
Hat tip to them, and to my fellow science journalists out there.