The Dissapaearing Spoon
The Dissapaearing Spoon
The Dissapaearing Spoon
OFFICES
Sometimes the right book finds you at the right time, and it shis your
perception of a familiar subject just a lile, just enough to make a dierence.
It reminds you of something important you havent thought of in a while, or it
shows you a new way of looking at and interacting with the world. Last winter,
for me, that book was The Disappearing Spoon, by Sam Kean. I heard a very fuzzy
description of the book at a holiday party, something about the periodic table and
political history. As someone eternally interested in chemistry and its impact on
society at large, I was intrigued.
The book accompanied me through a hectic holiday travel season, and as I
read lile kernels of story about each of the elements in the periodic table, I found
myself unable to stop bringing them up in conversation. As my family pulled foil
over Christmas leovers and discussed my current hometown of Pisburgh: Did
you know that aluminum used to be more expensive than gold, and that Pisburgh
is where the guy who figured out how to isolate it cheaply set up shop? Or as news
of the flood in Brisbane hit American televisions: Did you hear that Australian
astronomers used chromium to provide evidence that the fine structure constant
may change over time?
The book follows an unusual format, which may explain why the first
description I heard of it was so fuzzy. Each chapter is a thematically-related series
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of stories, and each story centers on one element in the periodic table. Over the
course of the book and in no particular periodic order, each element gets a story of
its own. Some of the stories are fairly well-known: copper is oligodynamic, which
explains why it is used in public places where germs would otherwise spread;
the mixture of niobium and tantalum known as coltan, which provides fuel for
cell phone baeries, has played a role in fueling tribal conflict in Sudan; Wilhelm
Rntgen discovered x-rays by observing barium lit up by active Crookes tubes.
Other stories are less common and more jolting: supporters of Gandhi were
more prone to goiters because they preferred homemade sea salt to the iodized salt
imported from imperialist Britain; the devil in Mark Twains Sold to Satan is an
anthropomorphized critical mass of radium, held back by a thin film of polonium;
King Midass golden touch was probably a reference to the abundance of zinc
relative to tin in ores around Phrygia, so that Phrygian refineries produced golden
brass where nearby towns had only bronze to show. The books eponymous tale
refers to a milder form of elemental trickery, in which practical-joker chemists
cra spoons from gallium. The spoons appear normal on sight but melt away into
nothing when dipped in cups of hot teaa disappearing act made possible by
galliums 84F melting point.
The stories are absorbing, conversational, and bite-sized, making the book a
perfect read for travel or bedtime. Moreover, when taken together, they compose a
detailed and sometimes shocking portrait of the role that chemistry and chemicals
have played in human social and political history. Above all, the stories are
thought-provoking and anchored in everyday activities, which means they tend
to return to mind more frequently and more unexpectedly than standard Science
or Nature articles.
Keans aim in The Disappearing Spoon is primarily to relay fascinating
anecdotes, but along the way he provides insightful commentary on various
relationships between science and society, warning of the dangers of incautious
research on newly-discovered elements and revealing historical vignees that
oer partial explanations of how modern chemistry has become so thoroughly
entangled with modern industry. Chemistry, the most industrially-fraught of
the modern natural sciences, is sometimes vilified for the hand it has played
in allowing eager entrepreneurs to expose innocent laborers and consumers to
unforeseen and occasionally lethal dangers. For instance, contemporary organic
and natural consumer markets oen tout the purity and wholesomeness of their
products by deeming them chemical-free, an embarrassingly false admission that
underscores the bad rap chemistry has received from its more torrid aairs with
industry.
Many of Keans stories, such as the one of aluminum related above, oer
portraits of industrys courtship of chemistry over the past two centuries, without
taking a strong stance on whether or not the current marriage merits a divorce. As
such, excerpts of the book make excellent pedagogical tools for sparking classroom
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debates about historical and contemporary relations between science and society,
as well as providing countless springboards for more rigorous academic inquiry
into the history of chemistry.
The book oers pedagogical tools for the philosophy classroom, as well.
In the chapter entitled Chemistry Way, Way Below Zero, Kean touches on
the tenuous relationship between chemistry and physics during a story about
Bose-Einstein condensates. The discussion is far from a robust academic debate
on the maer, and indeed it oen feels philosophically nave. But by taking the
reader on a whirlwind romp through the basics of crystal structure, the discovery
of noble-gas compounds, the usefulness of superconductivity, and interpretational
diiculties surrounding Heisenbergs uncertainty principle, Kean manages to
weave a surprisingly un-technical tale of convoluted feedback dynamics between
advances in physics and advances in chemistry in the twentieth century. The
ten-minute story easily inspires classroom discussions of reduction in the sciences,
as well as of the proper interpretation of the uncertainty principle and, with Keans
breezy description of the so-called miscalculation that led Bose to predict his
condensates, of the relationship between mathematics and scientific theories.
Keans book is a rich deposit of beautiful, heartwarming, distressing, true
stories from the history of chemistry. Siing through the deposit in search of a
particular fact or moral is a bit like panning for goldoen frustrating, rarely
rewarding. On the other hand, carrying around a sample of the deposit and
showing o bits of it to family and friends, or to colleagues and students,
can produce fun and insightful conversations about the relationship between
chemistry and everyday activities like cleaning up holiday dinners. Whether they
are read for pedagogical or personal reasons, the stories in The Disappearing
Spoon are likely to follow their readers around, provoking thought and sparking
discussion long aer the book is returned to the shelf.
J R. B
University of Pisburgh
Department of History and Philosophy of Science
1017 Cathedral of Learning
Pisburgh, PA 15260
jrb135@pi.edu
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