Tag: Book Reviews

Sep 11 2010

Book Review: The Fellowship by John Gribbin

an_experiment_on_a_bird_in_an_air_pump_by_joseph_wright_of_derby_1768 I’ve written previously about the Royal Society via the medium of book reviews: Seeing Further, Joseph Banks and Age of Wonder, and also in a data mangling exercise. This post is about “The Fellowship: The Story of the Royal Society and a Scientific Revolution” by John Gribbin, it describes the scientific world before the Society and the founding of the Royal Society. As with many books about this period, the front cover of my copy features “An experiment on a bird in the Air pump” by Joseph Wright of Derby and so that is the image I use to decorate this post. Following my usual scheme this review is really an aide memoire as much as a review.

The book opens with a set of brief biographies, starting with William Gilbert of Colchester (1544-1603), and his scientific study of magnetism: de Magnete (1600). This work on magnetism was unusual for it’s time in that it was very explicitly based on experimental observation, rather than the “philosophising” of Aristotelian school which imputed that the world could be understood simply by thinking. William Gilbert is relatively little known (ok – I didn’t know about him!), perhaps because his work was in a relatively narrow field and was superseded in the 18th century by work of people like Michael Faraday furthermore Gilbert seems to have spent most of his life practicing as a doctor with his scientific work playing only a small part of his life.

Next step is Galileo Galilei (1564-1642). He continued in the tradition of William Gilbert, eschewing the philosophical approach for experiment. In contrast to Gilbert, Galileo made contributions across a wide range of science for a long period – promulgating technology such as telescopes, microscopes and computing devices. This likely explains his greater fame. A detail that caught my eye was that as a professor of mathematics at the University of Pisa he was paid 60 crowns per year, whilst the Professor of Medicine gained 2000 crowns. For many early scientists, medical training appears to be the major scientific training available.

Francis Bacon (1561-1626) was more important as a parliamentarian, lawyer and courtier than a scientist. I link reluctantly to wikipedia in this instance, since in the opening paragraph they seem to be repeating the myth that he met his end through stuffing snow into a chicken to see if this helped preservation. His fame as a founding father of modern science is based largely on a book he didn’t write in which he intended to describe how a scientist should work – a scientific method. Perhaps more notably he had a vision as to how science might function in society at a time when there was no such thing as a scientist. It is apparently from Bacon that Isaac Asimov got his “Foundation”; it is the name of an organisation of scientific Fellows found in Bacon’s fictional work New Atlantis. Finally we are introduced to William Harvey (1578-1657), who identified the circulatory system for blood in the human body by a process of observation and experiment (published in De Motu Cordis (1628)) he was primarily a physician.

The point of this preamble is to say that, as the founding of the Royal Society approached, a number of people had started doing or proposing to do a new kind of science (or rather natural philosophy as it would have been called). The new natural philosophy involved doing experiments, and thinking about them – it was experimental science in contrast to the “received wisdom” from the ancient Greeks which was certainly interpreted to mean at the time that thinking was all that was required to establish true facts about the physical world. It’s not really accurate to say that one person did this and everything changed: rather that a shift had started to take place in the middle years of the 16th century. The foundation of the Royal Society can be seen as the culmination of that shift.

The Royal Society was founded at Gresham College in London on 28th November 1660, although it’s origins lay in Oxford where many of the group that would go on to form the Society had been meeting since the 1640’s. The Royal charter of the Society was agreed a couple of years later. The central figure in the Oxford group was John Wilkins (~1614-1672). The original Society included Christopher Wren, Robert Boyle and Robert Hooke amongst others. What striking is the political astuteness of the founding fathers as the monarchy returned to England in the form of Charles II, the first President, Viscount Brouncker, was a Royalist and the Society clearly identified that a Royal seal of approval was what they required from the very beginning. The Society had an air of purposefulness about it, not of airy philosophising for the amusement of gentlemen. The Society started publishing the worlds first scientific journal, “Philosophical Transactions”, and commissioning a history of their founding by Thomas Sprat only a few years later.  As a scientist I have picked out those names that mean most to me, however it’s very clear that the Royal Society was more than a group of scientists meeting to talk about science and the other less scientifically feted Fellows were equally important in the success of the Society.

Gribbin’s book then goes on to consider three men important in the early life of the Royal Society. Firstly: Robert Hooke (1636-1703), originally scientific assistant to Robert Boyle (1627-1691) who became the Society’s first “Curator of Experiments”. Prior to his appointment the Fellows appeared to be poorly organised in terms of providing weekly demonstration experiments for the Society’s education. Hooke was a really outstanding scientist, a skilled draftsman and maker of scientific equipment. The reason Hooke is not better known is largely down to Isaac Newton, with whom he had a longstanding feud and who outlived him. Newton (1643-1727) does not need further introduction as a scientist, his role in the Royal Society was to provide scientific gravitas (after Hooke had died) he was also President of the Society for the period 1703-27. Edmond Halley (1656-1742) was more important to the Society on the administrative side, he is chiefly remembered from the scientific point of view for his prediction of the return of a comet calculated using Newton’s theory of gravitation. He also spent a great deal of time persuading Newton to publish and trying to extract data from Flamsteed (the Astronomer Royal). In addition to this he invented a diving bell, wrote the first article on life annuities, published on the trade winds and monsoons, made observations of the stars of the Southern hemisphere and went on several scientific expeditions.

Some miscellaneous thoughts that arose as I read:

  • Royal patronage, in this instance by Charles II, was important for the Society in this period and later by George III – as described a little in Age of Wonder.
  • On the face of it astronomy is blue-skies research, but at the time the precise measurement of the position of the stars was seen as a route to determining the longitude – an important practical problem.
  • It’s notable that the persistent anecdotes about the scientists mentioned here i.e. Francis Bacon and the frozen chicken, Newton and the apple falling from the tree and Galileo dropping things from towers, originate from the earliest biographies often written by people who knew them personally. These anecdotes have later been found to be rather fanciful, but nevertheless have persisted.
  • There was serious feuding going between scientists in the early years of the Society!

Overall I enjoyed this book, although it does sometimes have the air of a collection of short biographies of men who are already relatively well known. The most interesting part to me was the core part around the founding of the Society, bringing in some of the lesser known members and also highlighting the importance of the non-scientific aspects of the Society in it’s success.

In terms of scientific history reading, where next? “God’s Philosophers” by James Hannam seems relevant to understanding scientific activities prior to those covered in this book. A deeper investigation into Edmond Halley seems worthwhile, and I should also make another attempt at the Thomas Sprat history of the Royal Society.

Further reading

  1. “Joseph Banks” by Patrick O’Brian.
  2. “Seeing Further” edited by Bill Bryson.
  3. “God’s Philosophers” by James Hannam.
  4. “Age of Wonder” by Richard Holmes.
  5. “The Curious Life of Robert Hooke” by Lisa Jardine.
  6. “Hostage to fortune” by Lisa Jardine and Alan Stewart, which is a biography of Francis Bacon.
  7. “The History of the Royal Society of London, for the Improving of Natural Knowledge” by Thomas Sprat.
  8. “Isaac Newton: The Last Sorcerer” by Michael White.

Jun 24 2010

Book review: Botany of Desire by Michael Pollan

Yet another in my erratic series of book reviews cum notes. This time I’m reading “The Botany of Desire:A Plant’s-eye View of the World” by Michael Pollan.

The introduction lays out the land of the book, sections on apples, tulips, marijuana and potatoes and the central thesis: that it’s a useful idea to consider that not only do we domesticate plants but that in a sense plants naturalise us. As stated in the introduction this thesis felt a bit hardline, grating a little for my taste but once into the reading this feeling receded since the illustrative stories are enticing and nicely written.

First up, are is the story of apples in American and the folk hero, Johnny Appleseed, who travelled the mid-West, setting up ad hoc orchards from seeds, a little way in front of the settler-wave, and sold them trees as they moved into the area.

The point about apples is that they don’t grow true from seed, take a fine apple and plant its seed and what you get is a lucky dip. This is a recurring theme, plants amenable to domestication appear quite often to be those amenable to quickly producing a wide variety. To grow “true” from an apple you need to graft from the parent onto a root stock. It’s always struck me as something of a miracle that grafting works and that people managed to discover it.

Apples were significant to the early settlers since they offered sweetness (sugar would not have been very available), a sense of order when planted in neat orchards and cider. It seems cider played a big part in the popularity of Johnny Appleseed during his life, since the apples grown from seed were most often best suited to cider-making rather than eating. After he died the temperance movement gained strength in the US, and this aspect of apple cultivation was pushed into the background.

Despite the focus on Johnny Appleseed (and comparisons to Dionysus) the thing that will remain with me from this section is the descriptions of the wild apple forests around Alma-ata in Kazakhstan. You can get a flavour of the place from the fabulous images here, in an article in Orion Magazine and here, on the BBC website. These wild trees are important because they represent massive genetic diversity. The drawback of grafted plants is that they are genetically identical to their parents, so over time they become more and more susceptible to pests and diseases which evolve freely to take advantage of their stasis.

After the apples come the tulips, and Tulip Mania amongst the unlikeliest of enthusiasts: the Dutch. Tulips are a relatively recent addition to the pantheon of flowers, unlike the rose and the lily which appear in the Bible, tulips appear to have been introduced to Europe from Turkey in around 1550.

Interesting thought from this section: flowers became beautiful before there were ever humans to appreciate them – in a sense flowers are the result of the aesthetic decisions of bees (and other pollinating insects).

Tulip Mania was a speculative bubble in the Netherlands slightly before the middle of the 17th century wherein the prices paid for tulip bulbs skyrocketed, a single bulb fetching the equivalent of a acres of land or a fine townhouse, only to crash thereafter.

The flower in the picture to the left is Semper Augustus, emblematic of the most valued of the tulips during tulip mania. The interesting thing is that the most prized of these flowers – those that had “broken”  – were actually suffering the effects of a virus from which their line would eventually weaken and die. “Broken” refers to the variegated appearance with a dark colour, appearing in streaks on a lighter background. The modern Rembrandt tulips are similar in colouring but, according to Pollan, less impressive than the best of the virus “broken”.

A common theme through all these stories is the large variability of the species from which the domesticated cultivars are drawn and the vulnerability of the much more uniform varieties once domesticated.

The third section is devoted to marijuana, clearly a plant for which the author has some fondness. Marijuana has long been cultivated for two reasons: one for fibre as hemp, and one for drugs. Since the early 80’s and the American “War on drugs” marijuana production has been pushed underground, or rather indoors. Pollan recounts the story of the recent cultivation of marijuana by Dutch and American growers. The plant has undergone fairly rapid change in the last few years with the crossing of the large, traditional cannabis sativa and the more compact, frost resistant cannabis indicas. A substantial amount of work and horticultural ingenuity has gone into this process, leading to plants that can produce high yields of the active material in small, indoor spaces. The prize being the $13,000 that a hundred plants grown on a 6 foot square table can yield in a couple of months.

For Pollan there is an element of horticultural challenge in this process, he clearly grows a wide range of plants  in his own gardens (from each of the sections of this book) valuing the challenge and the diversity. The garden at SomeBeans Towers is similar: more a plantswoman’s garden than a designer’s garden.

He digresses at length on purpose of intoxication and whether drug taking really does open the doors of perception, or just lead to inane blithering, falling eventually for the former. There’s an interesting section on the neuroscience of cannabis.

The book finishes with a chapter on potatoes, in particular on a genetically modified potato called NewLeaf which was developed by Monsanto to express the pesticide from the Bacillus thuringiensis bacteria (Bt). Organic certification schemes allow the limited ‘manual’ application of the Bt pesticide. In this chapter he visits various potato growers, spanning the ultra-technological to the organic. He highlights the dilemma that he finds GM potatoes more palatable than the non-organic equivalent when presented with the choice, in large part because the level of inputs, in particular fungicides and insecticides, to conventionally grown potatoes is very high.  His visit to an organic highlights something from the organic movement in which I’m in favour: which is a willingness to explore different methods of cultivation (and a wider range of cultivars), where I part company is where they say “There must be no X” where X is a somewhat arbitrarily drawn list, enforced with religious fervour.

The section also covers the history of the cultivation of the potato, from the wide variety in the mountain gardens of its native Peru, to its introduction into Europe as a favoured staple crop. Prior to the introduction of the potato bread was the staple food in Europe; wheat is somewhat fussy in its growing conditions particularly in Northern Europe and getting bread from wheat is quite an involved process. Potatoes, on the other hand, are less fussy on growing conditions and exceedingly simple to prepare for eating (stick in fire and wait, or if feeling extravagant: boil in water).

Overall I enjoyed this book, each section seemed to divide into two unlabelled parts one largely factual and one rather more philosophical – I preferred the more factual sections but appreciated the philosophical too.

May 22 2010

Book review: The World of Gerard Mercator by Andrew Taylor

Once again I have been reading, this time “The World of Gerard Mercator” by Andrew Taylor. As before this blog post could be viewed as a review or, alternatively, as some notes to remind of what I have read. Overall I enjoyed the book, it provides the right amount of background information and doesn’t bang on interminably about minutiae. I would have liked to have seen some better illustrations, but I suspect good illustrations of maps of this period are hard to come by and a full description of Mercator’s projection was probably not appropriate.

The book starts off with some scene setting: at the beginning of the 16th century the Catholic church were still keen on Ptolemy’s interpretation of world geography in fact to defy this interpretation was a heresy and could be severely punished. Ptolemy had put down his thoughts in Geographia produced around 150AD, which combined a discussion of the methods of cartography with a map of the known world. As a precedent Ptolemy’s work was excellent, however by the time of the 16th century it was beginning to show it’s antiquity. Geographical data, in Ptolemy’s time, from beyond the Roman Empire was a little fanciful, and since the known world was a relatively small fraction of the surface of the globe the problems associated with showing the surface of a 3D object on a 2D map were not pressing. Ptolemy was well aware of the spherical nature of the world, Eratothenes had calculated the size of the earth in around 240BC, he stated that a globe would be the best way of displaying a map of the world. However, a globe large enough to display the whole world at sufficient detail would have to be very large, and thus difficult to construct and transport.

Truly global expeditions were starting to occur in the years before Mercator’s birth: Columbus had “discovered”  the West Indies in 1492, John Cabot made landfall on the North American landmass in 1497. Bartolomeu Dias had sailed around the Southern tip of Africa in 1488, Vasco da Gama had continued on to India in 1497, around the Cape of Good Hope. The state of the art in geography could be found in Waldseemüller’s map of 1507, showing a recognisable view of most of our world. Magellan‘s expedition would make the first circumnavigation of the globe in the early years of Mercator’s life (1519-1522).

Mercator was born in Rupelmonde in Flanders on 5 March 1512, he died 2 December 1594 in Duisburg in what is now Germany at the age of 82. This was a pretty turbulent time in the Netherlands, the country was ruled by Charles V (of Spain) and there appears to have been significant repression of the somewhat rebellious and potentially Protestant population. Mercator was imprisoned for heresy in Rupelmonde in February 1543, remaining in custody until September, many in similar circumstances were executed, however Mercator seems to have avoided this by a combination of moderately powerful friends and a lack of any evidence of heresy.

Mercator’s skill was in the collation and interpretation of geographical data from a wide range of sources including his own surveys. In addition he was clearly a very skilled craftsman in the preparation of copperplate engravings. He was commercially successful, manufacturing his globe throughout his life, as well as many maps and scientific instruments for cartographers. He also had a clear insight into the power of patronage.

His early work was in the preparation of maps of the Holy Land (in 1537) and Europe (in 1554), along with a globe produced in 1541. The globe seems to be popular amongst reproducers of antiquities, you can see details of it on the Harvard Map Collection Website.

Mercator is best known for his “projection”, in this context a projection is a way of converting the world – which is found on the surface of a 3D sphere into a flat, 2D map. Mercator introduced his eponymous projection for his 1569 map of the world, illustrated at the top of this post. The particular feature of this projection is that if you follow a fixed compass bearing you find yourself following a straight line on the Mercator projected map. This is good news for navigators! The price you pay for this property is that, although all regions are in the correct places relative to each other, their areas are distorted so those regions near the poles appear much larger than those near the equator. Mercator seems to have made little of this discovery, nor described the method by which the projection is constructed – this was done some time later, in 1599, by Edward Wright. Prior to maps following Mercator’s projection navigation was a bit hit and miss, basically you headed up to a convenient latitude and then followed it back to your destination – an inefficient way to plan your course. If you’re interested in the maths behind the projection see here.

In terms of it’s content the 1569 map shows Europe, Africa and a large fraction of Asia much as we would see it today, certainly in terms of outline. The Eastern coast of North and South America is fairly recognisable. The map fails in it’s representation of the West coast of America – although to give credit where it is due, it at least has a west coast. The landmasses indicated at the northern and southern poles are close to pure fantasy. The Southern continent had been proposed by Ptolemy as a counterbalance to the known Northern continents – with no supporting evidence. Exploration of the far North was starting to occur during Mercator’s life, with expedition such as that of Frobisher.

Mercator is also responsible for the word “atlas” to describe a book containing a set of maps, in this instance he coined the term to describe the volumes of maps he was preparing towards the end of his life, the last of which was published published posthumously by his son, Rumold, in 1595.

Following my efforts on Joseph Banks, I thought I’d make a map of significant locations in Mercator’s life. You can find them here in Google Maps, zoom out and you will see the world in Mercator projection – a legacy from a man that lived nearly 500 years ago.

May 01 2010

Economics: The physics of money?

Today I’m off visiting the economists, this is a bit of a different sort of visit since I haven’t found that many to follow on twitter, instead I must rely on their writings.

I’ve been reading Tim Harford’s “The Undercover Economist” which is the main topic of this post, in the past I’ve also read “Freakonomics” by Levitt and Dubner. Harford’s book is more about classical economics whilst “Freakonomics” is more about the application of quantitative methods to the analysis of social data. This is happy territory for a physicist such as myself: there are numbers, there are graphs and there are mathematical models.

David Ricardo pops up a few times, it would seem fair to compare him to the Newton of economics, he lived 1772-1823.

I learnt a whole bunch of things from Tim Harford’s book, including what shops are up to: working out how to persuade everyone to pay as much as they are willing to pay, by means such as “Value” and “Finest” ranges whose price differences don’t reflect their cost differences, similar pricing regimes are found in fancy coffee. In a way income tax bypasses this, it replaces willingness to pay with ability to pay – I’m sure shops would love to be able to do this! Scarcity power allows a company to change more for its goods or services, and a company’s profits are indication that this might be happening.

Another important concept is market “efficiency”: perfect efficiency is achieved when no-one can be made better off without someone else losing out, this is not the same as fairness. In theory a properly operating market should be efficient but not necessarily fair. Externalities are the things outside the market to which a monetary value needs to be attached in order for them to be included in the efficiency calculation, this includes things like pollution and congestion in the case of traffic. This sounds rather open-ended since I imagine externality costing can be extremely disputed.

There’s an interesting section on inside / asymmetric information, and how this prevents markets from operating properly. The two examples cited are second-hand car sales and health insurance, in the first case the seller knows the quality of the car he his selling whilst the buyer struggles to get this information. Under these circumstances the market struggles to operate efficiently because the buyer doesn’t know whether he is buying a ‘peach’ (a good car) or a ‘lemon’ (a bad car), this reduces the amount he is willing to pay – the seller struggles to find a mechanism to transmit trusted quality information to the buyer. Work on information asymmetry won a Nobel Prize for Economics for George Akerlof, Michael Spence, and Joseph Stiglitz in 2001.

In the second case, health insurance, the buyer purportedly knows the risk they present whilst the seller doesn’t, this doesn’t quite ring true to me, it seems the observed behaviour in the US private healthcare system matches this model though. In a private insurance system the people who are well (and are likely to remain well) will not buy insurance, whilst those that believe themselves to be ill, or at serious risk of being ill will be offered expensive insurance because there is not a large population of healthy buyers to support them. Harford recommends the Singapore model for health care, which has compulsory saving for health care costs, price controls and universal insurance for very high payouts. This gives the consumer some interest in making most efficient use of the money they have available for health care.

You might recall the recent auctions of radio spectrum for mobile phone and other applications, this turns out to be a fraught process for the organiser – in the US and New Zealand this process went poorly with the government receiving few bids and less cash then they expected. In the UK the process went very well for the government, essentially through a well designed auction system. The theoretical basis for such auctions is in game theory, with John von Neumann and John Nash important players in the field (both recognised as outstanding mathematicians).

Tim Harford did wind me up a bit in this book, repeatedly referring to the market as “the world of truth”, and taxes as “lies”. This is a straightforward bit of framing: that’s to say the language used means anyone arguing against him is automatically in the “arguing against the truth” camp irrespective of the validity of the arguments. The formulation that taxes represent information loss is rather more interesting and he seems to stick with this more often than not. In this instance I feel the “world of truth” is ever so slightly tongue in cheek, but in the real world free-markets are treated very much as a holy “world of truth” by some political factions with little regard to the downsides: such as a complete ignorance of fairness, the problems of inside information and the correct costing of externalities.

A not inconsiderable number of physicists end up doing something in finance or economics: As Tom Lehrer says in the preamble to “In old Mexico”: “He soon became a specialist, specializing in diseases of the rich”. It turns out you get paid more if the numbers you’re fiddling with represent money, rather than the momentum of an atom. Looking at these descriptions of economic models, I can’t help thinking of toy physics models which assume no friction, and are at equilibrium. These things are very useful when building understanding, but for practical applications they are inadequate. Presumably more sophisticated economic models take this things into account. From a more physical point of view, it doesn’t seem unreasonable to model economics through concepts such as conservation (of cash) and equilibrium, but physics doesn’t have to concern itself with self-awareness – i.e. physical systems can’t act wilfully once given knowledge of a model of their behaviour. I guess this is where game theory comes in.

The interesting question is whether I should see economics as a science, like physics, which is used by politicians for their own ends or whether I should see them as being rather more on the inside. Economics as a whole seems to be tied up with political philosophy. Observing economists in the media there seem to be much wider range of what is considered possibly correct than you observe in scientific discussion.

Apr 20 2010

Book review: Joseph Banks by Patrick O’Brian

Once again I venture into my own idiosyncratic version of the book review: more reading notes than review. This time I’m reading the biography of Joseph Banks by Patrick O’Brian. Joseph Banks has popped up regularly in my recent reading about the Royal Society and the Age of Wonder. He was on Captain Cooks trip to Tahiti, and then went on to serve as President of the Royal Society for 42 years – the longest term of any President. The Inelegant Gardener has been reading about Kew and various plant hunters, and Sir Joseph crops up there too. Despite his many talents, there are relatively few biographies of Banks, and he is relatively unknown.

Sir Joseph was born of a wealthy family from Lincolnshire, he was educated at Harrow, Eton and then Oxford University. At some point in his school years he became passionately interested in botany, and whilst at Oxford he went to the lengths of recruiting a botany lecturer from Cambridge University to teach him. The lecturer was Daniel Solander, a very talented student of Carl Linnaeus, who would later accompany Banks on his trip around the world with Captain Cook, they would remain close friends until Solanders death in 1782.

Sir Joseph’s first trip abroad was to Newfoundland and Labrador in 1766. The area had been ceded to Britain by France, but there was an international fleet of fishing boats operating in it’s waters. Banks made his trip as a guest Constantine John Phipps on HMS Niger, which was sent to the area to keep an eye on things. It seems fairly common for gentleman to travel as guests on navy ships of the time: this was broadly the scheme by which Charles Darwin would later join HMS Beagle on his trip around the world.

1768-1771 finds Banks circumnavigating the world on Captain James Cook’s ship, HMS Endeavour, in Cook’s first such expedition. This voyage was funded by George III following an appeal from the Royal Society for a mission to Tahiti in order to observe the transit of Venus. Banks paid for the contingent of naturalists from his own funds. The stay in Tahiti is much written about largely, I suspect, because they remained there some time. Following their stay in Tahiti, they continued on to New Zealand, which they sailed around rather thoroughly but seemed to land on infrequently as a result of hostile responses from the inhabitants. They then sailed along the East coast of Australia, stopping off on the way at various locations but most particularly Botany Bay. At the time the the existence of Australia was somewhat uncertain in European minds. There’s a rather fine map of their course here and Banks’ journals are available here.

Through the chapters on both these voyages, O’Brian makes heavy use of the diaries of Banks, quoting from them extensively and often between block quotes further quoting Banks’ own words. This may work well for those of a more historical bent, but I felt the need for more interpretation and context. It often feels that O’Brian is more interested in the boats than the botany.

The next episode is somewhat odd: Banks was planning a second trip around the world with Captain Cook but he never went. At almost the last minute he withdrew on the grounds that the Admiralty would not provide adequate accommodation for him and his team scientists. The odd thing is that, despite what appears a fractious falling out, Banks appeared to remain very good friends with both Cook and Lord Sandwich, First Lord of the Admirality at the time. I wonder whether Banks, remembering the 50% mortality rate of his previous voyage with Cook, understandably got cold feet. As a consolation he went off to Iceland in 1772 for a little light botanising, where he scaled Hekla.

Despite recording an extensive journal, collecting a considerable number of anthropological, botanical and zoological specimens as well as a large number of drawings by his naturalist team Banks never published a full report of his Tahiti voyage. He showed the artefacts at his home in Soho Square and prepared a substantial manuscript, with many fine plates but seems to have lost interest in publishing close to the end of the exercise. Throughout his life he produced relatively few publications, this may be a reflection of his dilettante nature: he was skilled in many areas but not deeply expert and so published relatively little.

Banks was elected to the Royal Society whilst on his world tour, and later become President for a 42 year term, until his death in 1820. He made some effort to improve the election procedures of the Society, at the time of his election being in the right social class appeared to be more important than being a scientist. As part of his role as President he was heavily involved in providing advice to government including a proposal to use Australia as a colony for convicts. He was also heavily involved in arranging the return of scientists and others caught up in the wars following the French revolution. In addition to his work at the Royal Society, he also helped found the Africa Association and the Royal Academy.

Kew gardens was created a few years before Joseph Banks became it’s unofficial superintendent (in around 1773) and then director. He had a pivotal role in building the collection: commissioning plant collectors to travel the world, all backed by George III. I must admit that my recent reading has led me to see George III in a new light: as an enthusiastic supporter of scientific enterprises, rather than a mad-man. George III and Banks also collaborated on a programme to introduce merino sheep from Spain, which had potentially huge commercial implications. Banks was seen as a loyal courtier.

Through his life it’s estimated that Banks wrote an average of 50 letters per week almost entirely in his own hand, although they were fantastically well organised during his life, on his death they were rather poorly treated and dispersed. Warren R. Dawson produced a calendar of the remaining correspondence. I’ve not found this resource online but a treatment like this Republic of Letters would be fantastic.

I suspect a comprehensive biography of Joseph Banks is exceedingly difficult to write; this one seemed to cover voyaging well but I felt was lacking in botany and his scientific activities at the Royal Society. Perhaps the answer is that a comprehensive biography is impossible, since he had interests and substantial impacts in so many areas. There was simply no end to his talents!

Footnote
In the style of a school project I have made a Google Map with some key locations in Joseph Banks’ life.