The Grand Design by Stephen Hawking and Leonard Mlodinow

First published in 2010; Bantam edition published February 21, 2012

Is philosophy dead? Stephen Hawking thinks it is. In his view, philosophy hasn't kept pace with science. According to Hawking, the ability to answer the big questions in life -- why we exist, why there is something rather than nothing -- resides in physics rather than philosophy (sort of an odd position, given the extent to which he creates a science-based philosophy in the concluding chapters). Together with his coauthor, Hawking suggests the answers to those questions in a short but surprisingly readable book that I, as a nonscientist, almost convinced myself I understood.

If Hawking's mind is a sleek and speedy Ferrari, mine is a rusty tricycle with wobbly wheels. It is to Hawking's credit that he can explain quantum mechanics in such simple terms that I can fleetingly grasp his meaning. As Hawking says, "The quantum model of nature encompasses principles that contradict not only our everyday experience but our intuitive concept of reality." No matter how often I read about these principles, I never quite grasp them, but Hawking nonetheless came close to rewiring my brain with his patient explanations. Hawking's writing is full of wit, yet Hawking is a serious thinker and The Grand Design is filled with serious thought. His brief discussions of complex questions are insightful despite their abbreviated nature.

Most of the early chapters include a brief history of science with special attention to physics. Demonstrating his ability to pack an enormous amount of information into a compact volume, Hawking tells the reader a bit about the backgrounds and eccentricities of these scientists, whose groundbreaking work he obviously admires. Admiration doesn't stop Hawking from being a critic; he repeatedly illustrates the unfortunate truth that scientists often become wedded to a theory and will postulate all sorts of fanciful explanations for experimental data that contradict the theory rather than abandoning it.

The most interesting chapter to me addresses a puzzling question: Is there such a thing as objective reality? I hope we are not all living in The Matrix, but Hawking argues that there "is no picture- or theory-independent concept of reality." There are only models of reality, and the model that currently fits best with our observations is the one we choose to call reality. Different models of reality might be equally valid under different conditions, a notion that rejects the concept of an "objective" reality.

Despite Hawking's skill at explaining difficult concepts in simple terms, I became totally lost (as I always do) when, in chapter 5, he explained the difficulty of creating a Grand Unified Theory that would explain each of the four forces of nature (or however many there might turn out to be) as components of a single law. Once the discussion turns to quarks and Feynman diagrams and virtual particles, not to mention M-theory (the current best model of the grand design), I feel myself sinking into a very deep bog. That isn't Hawking's fault, and readers who are more adept at wrapping their minds around abstract notions will derive more from the text than I did.

I felt slightly less lost reading Hawking's explanation of the origin of the universe, despite the troubling notion that it is meaningless to ask what happened before the universe began because time did not exist (and "before" did not exist) until the universe originated in a quantum event. Hawking's deft use of analogy makes it possible to visualize the complex theories he's explaining. I was back on solid ground with chapter 6, where Hawking turns his attention to the philosophical implications of the quantum principles he discusses in earlier chapters (it's easier, for me at least, to be an armchair philosopher than an amateur physicist). In chapters 7 and 8, Hawking discusses the likelihood of life originating on Earth (and perhaps elsewhere in the universe and perhaps in other universes, as well) given the unique set of environmental conditions and physical laws that make life possible, providing a thoughtful and effective refutation of the notion (developed at length in Robert Sawyer's Calculating God) that a divine guiding hand must have intelligently designed those laws and conditions.

I wish I had the sort of mind that intuitively grasped the principles of quantum mechanics that underlie The Grand Design, but for readers like me who are better with words than math and more at home with novels than physics textbooks, Hawking's book is a wonderful resource. For physicists and others who have made an extensive study of the book's subject matter, The Grand Design is probably too simplistic, more an overview of current thought than a groundbreaking treatise. Physicists clearly are not part of Hawking's target audience, but I am, and I can recommend this book to those who are as unschooled as I am. Philosophy might be dead, but ideas are not, and The Grand Design is filled with them.

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The Paris Directive by Gerald Jay

Published by Nan A. Talese on June 19, 2012

The Paris Directive starts out as a French police procedural involving a hit man, four dead Americans, and a disgruntled police inspector. When, approaching the midway point, the CIA station chief in Paris becomes involved, The Paris Directive takes on the added flavor of a spy novel, although one involving industrial rather than political espionage. Unfortunately, by trying to meld two different kinds of story, the novel fails to do justice to either one.

Inspector Paul Mazarelle feels miserable about his life, an attitude that isn't improved when Benjamin Reece, the co-owner of a New York art gallery, shows up at the police station in Bergerac to complain that his cash and credit card have been stolen from the vacation home in Taziac that he and his wife are sharing with another couple. Reece's housemate, Schuyler Phillips, is a wealthy CEO. A neighboring residence has been occupied by Klaus Reiner, a hit man who has been hired to kill Phillips. The job goes wrong and all four members of the household end up dead.

Mazarelle, a former Parisian, is unchallenged by his job in Bergerac until the vacationing couples are brutally murdered. While the evidence points to Ali Sedak, a handyman who was working on the vacation home, the reader learns in the first few pages that Reiner is responsible. Benjamin's daughter Molly, a Manhattan prosecutor, flies to France and (not surprisingly) engages in her own investigation.

The motivation for the murder of Phillips is a bit difficult to swallow but I'm always prepared to accept the implausible or the sake of a good story. I was more troubled by the decision of the people who wanted Phillips killed to order a follow-up hit to divert attention from the Phillips slaying when the new murder would assuredly have the opposite effect. Just as problematic is their plan to deal with Reiner, which depends upon a wildly improbable coincidence.

The Paris Directive tries to be too many things at once. It doesn't quite succeed as a murder mystery, given that there's no mystery about the killer's identity. Nor does it quite succeed as a novel of international intrigue, given that the intrigue is deeply buried until it finally resurfaces in the final chapters. Racism against Algerian Arabs in France adds an ugly note of social realism to the story but that aspect of the story is underdeveloped.

What did work for me is the character of Mazarelle. Molly is an interesting character but not a particularly convincing one. Reiner, like the other secondary characters, lacks depth. Mazarelle, on the other hand, is an engaging cop. A dejected man who has thrown himself into his work after the death of his wife, Mazarelle contemplates retirement but tells Molly that "homicide is my life." If this had been a more traditional mystery, if Mazarelle had played the role of detective and uncovered a murderer, The Paris Directive would have been a better novel. As it stands, The Paris Directive is worth reading for the chance to know Mazarelle, but not so much for the story.

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Existence by David Brin

Published by Tor Books on June 19, 2012

Could there be a more ambitious title than Existence? David Brin earns forgiveness for his hubris by pulling off a dazzling exploration of humanity's response to the inevitable end of everything -- a redefinition of human existence. No small story, Existence strives for epic status. It is far-reaching, thought-provoking, and above all, entertaining. Existence is an idea-driven novel that doesn't skimp on plot or interesting characters. The story -- structured as a tapestry of interwoven plot threads -- changes directions more often than a miniature golf course. Since no summary could do it justice, a quick identification of the threads will have to suffice.

Operating a long bola tethered to a space station, Gerald Livingstone grabs orbiting space debris before it can cause any damage. After snatching a puzzling object from orbit, Gerald eventually realizes that it is a communication device, an alien emissary. Understanding what its many voices are trying to communicate becomes a daunting task that captivates the world's imagination. Peng Xiang Bin, collector of salvage in flooded Shanghai, finds a submerged object that closely resembles the orbiting artifact. Intriguingly, the "worldstone" is communicating a different message than its orbiting rival.

Hacker, the playboy heir to a fortune whose hobbies include amateur rocketry, befriends some unusual dolphins after his reentry vehicle crashes. Hacker's mother, Lacey, is a member of the powerful clade that exerts influence over nearly everything. Tech-bashing apocalyptic novelist Hamish Brookeman is a proponent of the Renunciation Movement, which wants to slow the development of technology until wisdom catches up. A reporter named Tor Povlov is on the verge of becoming a media star when a life-altering experience forces her to change the way she investigates and reports. More than the others, her storyline showcases the Information Age on steroids.

Eventually all of these plotlines (and others that are late-blooming) come together, although sometimes only loosely. Most of the story takes place on Earth but space junkies will be happy with the final 150 pages. Scattered chapter breaks provide information that adds texture to the narrative. The most salient of these are excerpts from Pandora's Cornucopia, which examines and catalogs threats to human existence. Add to this mix a sort of freeform autistic poetry that makes copious use of +/- symbols and you get a sense of the diverse and varied ideas and writing styles that Brin incorporates into the novel.

Although much of Brin's future is familiar -- eyewear that reveals or blocks a wide array of virtual inputs, evolving AIs, a Balkanized America -- he treats the reader to fresh ideas: a worldwide autism plague, homesteaders rebuilding cities that are buried underwater, public urination as a way to recycle phosphorus, self-righteous indignation (the enemy of reason) as a brain-altering addiction ... and more. Fans of knowledge will enjoy the discussions of ancient history, political theory, gene-splicing, brain chemistry, and the Fermi paradox, while science fiction fans will appreciate Brin's references to classic works in the genre.

Thankfully, Brin doesn't feel the need to describe every aspect of his imagined future in painstaking detail. Brin has the self-discipline to integrate information into the story, avoiding the pace-deadening exposition that mars the work of more self-indulgent writers. Brin skillfully blends his wealth of ideas with the necessities of good storytelling: an entertaining, carefully constructed plot and believable (if not always multidimensional) characters.

While Brin leavens the plot with humor and action scenes, the novel raises profound questions about the nature of existence -- how long humanity will endure, how it will end, how the definition of "human" will change, and what the human race is prepared to do to make its collective life last. Perhaps Brin's point lies in a quotation from Jamais Cascio that appears in the text: "in bad times, pessimism is a self-fulfilling and fatal prophecy." Or perhaps the point lies in a quotation from Darwin about the impossibility of understanding the "complex contingencies" on which existence depends.

Much like the world of the present, Brin's future is filled with sincere people who are frantic to save the planet while arguing about the nature of threats and proposed solutions, thus exacerbating the problems they seek to correct. Yet I was impressed by the sense of balance and optimism that pervades Existence. Brin pokes fun at prophets of doom while recognizing the need for cautionary voices. He is respectful of scientific achievement while acknowledging the reality that technological advancements often outstrip mankind's ability to use them wisely.

The true nature and purpose of the communication devices makes Existence one of the most imaginative first contact stories I've encountered. Existence is a little messy, as you would expect a novel of this length to be, and it drags in spots, although not often. If it doesn't quite succeed in its ambition, if the various plot threads don't perfectly cohere, if some of the characters are a bit underdeveloped, Brin nonetheless deserves credit for accomplishing so much in this intriguing and captivating novel. 

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You and Me and the Devil Makes Three (Esquire's Fiction for Men)

Published by Esquire on June 5, 2012; distributed digitally by Open Road Media

The first installment of Esquire's "Fiction for Men" series -- available exclusively as an ebook -- only partially fulfills its mission, described as publishing "the type of original short stories men love to read -- plot-driven, immediate, essential, and impossible to put down." I think men (and women) love to read good fiction, whether plot-driven or character-driven, but even by Esquire's narrow standards, only two of the three merit attention. Those two, however, make the volume worth reading.

The title story, by Aaron Gwyn, is written in spare prose that suits a spare idea: a young coke user has a harrowing experience and, months later, finds himself in a room filled with lawyers and the family members of a murder victim. The story is written in the second person, a technique that rarely works, but my more significant complaint is that the scant power generated in the middle section of the story is wasted. The story's final scene is pointless and utterly unrealistic.  (Not recommended)

In Jess Walter's "Big Man," the middle-aged members of a spectacularly unsuccessful recreational league basketball team decide to recruit a big man to play in the post -- the boyfriend of a team member's ex-wife. The story is peppered with intelligent humor but it's also poignant in its exploration of a man who confronts the end of a season -- not a basketball season, but a season of his life.  (Highly recommended)

"Young Man's Blues" by Luis Alberto Urrea is a slice of a young man's life. He makes a daring decision to do the right thing but there will eventually be a price to pay. Characters have strong, believable personalities and the tension in the story's second half is palpable. (Recommended)

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A River So Long by Vallie Lynn Watson

Published by Luminis Books on June 15, 2012

Written in uncomplicated prose, A River So Long tells Veronica's story in brief passages, a series of vignettes that eventually form the essence of a life. The novel's unconventional form is its chief strength.

Long before her unnamed husband let the septic system back up, flooding their house with sewage while he lay passed out on the couch, there were serious issues with Veronica's marriage. Veronica's response: a fling in Jamaica; chatting with old boyfriend Klein (with whom she once engaged in questionable behavior involving Klein's minor sister, now a television star); a fling with a married co-worker named Van she meets on business trips; a fling with Enzo who (she thinks) might be a suitable boyfriend even though he's not her type; a fling with old boyfriend Dylan -- and we're not even thirty pages into the novel.

The rest of the story skips around in time, describing Veronica's job-related travels and her trysts and chance encounters with the various men, women, and couples in her life. Veronica seems vaguely aware that she's searching for passion (or romance or love) in all the wrong places. As Veronica flits from city to city, hotel room to hotel room, her home and the homes of others, she engages in a variety of seemingly random acts, many of which are amusing if barely comprehensible.

It isn't clear what Veronica thinks about any of this; the reader is privy only to her most superficial thoughts on an emotional level. We know about the view she prefers in Jamaica and how she feels about the décor in various hotel rooms, but we learn little about the feelings she has (or lacks) concerning her husband and lovers. Veronica's husband has about as much depth as a stick figure; he exists only as a foil for Veronica. Much the same could be said for every character other than Veronica. Although there is more to Veronica, much of her interior remains hidden from the reader. Veronica's motivation for behaving as she does -- behavior that is often strange -- remains murky throughout the novel.

Veronica seems to be filled with fears and self-doubt but she doesn't agonize about her insecurities. To the extent that she thinks about her life at all, she realizes that she's living in the past. The relentless self-examination that is so often the basis for character-driven novels isn't part of Veronica's persona. Perhaps Vallie Lynn Watson's point is that some people just drift through life, unable or unwilling to take control of it. If so, it's a refreshing if unusual way to depict a novel's central character. At the same time, it makes Veronica something of a puzzle.

Despite (or because of) its strangeness, A River So Long sustained my interest. The story is told obliquely; what little we know about Veronica we learn as she remembers the cars she has owned or the crosses she received as gifts. A fragmented story that often seems superficial accumulates depth by its end, although the novel depends largely on the reader's imagination to fill the empty spaces. At some points the randomness of the story -- descriptions of Veronica's luggage or the co-workers at her first job or the flowers at weddings and funerals -- is mildly annoying, yet it makes sense if Watson's goal was to stitch together a life from its patchwork pieces. At times the story has a surrealistic quality but I never had trouble believing that the characters were real. Although I'm giving A River So Long a weak recommendation, in the end I found it more satisfying than not.

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