Books like Eating the Sun — picked by fans

In this classic book, Kuhn introduces the idea of a "paradigm" and shows that real progress comes through paradigm shifts.

That hit me like a rock when I first read it. I love how in the second edition, Kuhn talks about the difficulties of deep change: "the problem is that the new paradigm is always worse than the old one." 

The new paradigm may be better in some way, but it is also sketchy, unformed, and it creates lots of new uncertainties. So, for somebody to shift to a new paradigm always requires a leap of faith!

I regard this book as perhaps the greatest book about the nature of science ever published. In it, Popper spells out his dramatic view that science proceeds by putting forward bold, imaginative guesses, which are then subjected to ferocious attempts at empirical refutation. When these conjectured theories are refuted, scientists are forced to think up a better conjectural theory–and that is how science makes progress.

In this book, Popper shows how this dramatic account of how science proceeds by a process of conjecture and refutation has implications for fields beyond science, such as philosophy, in that it implies that, whatever we are doing, our best hope of success in solving our problems is to consider possible solutions and subject them to ferocious criticism.

What I love about this book is its clarity and honesty. It is a work of philosophy that has nothing to do with the fashionable task of analyzing concepts at the time of its publication. It sets out a clear view about the nature of the world–what it is that science is telling us about the nature of the world–and discusses problems that this view gives rise to with admirable clarity and honesty. 

And the author makes a vital contribution in connection with his discussion of the nature of sensations and consciousness. Above all, I admire the patent honesty of this book so much, the capacity of the author to pursue his basic idea wherever it may lead, to the ends of the earth, with scrupulous honesty and integrity.

I love how this book tells a dramatic story about dark corruption at the heart of modern science set after the Second World War, especially in the USA. Physicists allowed politicians to think that the vast sums of money they gave to physics would result in weapons even more terrible than the atomic bomb. But actually, the money was spent on particle colliders, experimental devices that had nothing to do with weapons of war. 

Scientific funding was based on a quagmire of duplicity and deception, and Greenberg tells this story vividly and grippingly. I first read the book with the excitement that one might read a thrilling political thriller. A political/intellectual scandal is revealed.

It’s a powerful update on Noble’s book, zooming in on the workings of the biomolecular circuits surrounding the DNA.

Some of the circuits are studied in great detail, looking closely at how they work, and at how they evolve in response to mutations in the DNA. A disadvantageous mutation is eliminated by natural selection. But as well as advantageous mutations it turns out that ‘neutral’ mutations, conferring no immediate advantage, are important and indeed crucial. That resolved one of the dichotomized disputes noted in Wills’ book.

Yew is packed with fascinating information about these mysterious, exceptionally long-lived trees.

Fred Hageneder has spent years studying every aspect of the yew and his book presents that knowledge in a compact, highly readable form. The botany, ecological interactions, and extraordinary longevity of yew trees are examined, as well as their unique uses, past and present, including the historic supply of timber for longbows and, more recently alkaloids for modern medicine. The tree's symbolism, sacred status, and spiritual significance to people since the prehistoric past are also described.

Richly illustrated throughout and meticulously referenced, this book is essential reading for anyone interested in the cultural and natural history of the yew tree.

While you will learn much about the nature and management of weeds from this book, you will also find yourself painlessly learning the basics of botany-- the parts of plants, how they live, how seeds evolved, how ecosystems evolve. While she keeps weeds at bay, Stein favors a garden, as do I, in which the desirable plants may self-sow a bit. It is a gardening philosophy that is current and can produce lovely, serendipitous gardens. 

I love this book because it teaches plant science. How do the trees actually grow so high? 

There aren’t a lot of picture books that include how photosynthesis works or how water is transported within a tree’s trunk. This book explains the plant physiology behind tree growth. Trees are, after all, the tallest things on Earth, but I have found that few books explain how they get to be so tall. We sort of take it for granted that tall things were always tall, didn’t we?

This book compares some of the world’s tallest animals and landmarks to the tallest tree species in the world: the coast redwood, giant sequoia, and Sitka spruce. While this text repeats some of the same information as Redwoods by Jason Chin, this book has more explanation on the biology of plant growth. 

Surprisingly enough, our planet has been home to horse-shoe crabs for longer than it has had fire. After all, you cannot have fire without atmospheric oxygen (a product of photosynthesis), and until the evolution of land plants, there was no fuel for lightning sparks to ignite. As Stephen J. Pyne eloquently describes, humanity’s exceptional relationship to fire has literally shaped our world, from the development of small guts and big heads through cooking food, to climbing the food chain by cooking landscapes, to harnessing the world-changing fire-power of fossil fuels. This insightful overview of human history puts forward the compelling idea that human actions (including prehistoric actions) have moved our planet from an ice age to a fire age.

This gorgeous book by microbiologist Dr. Beronda L. Montgomery is as beautiful to read as it is to hold—in your hands, in your heart. We can’t stop thinking about Montgomery’s key lesson: if you have a plant that is struggling, you figure out what environmental changes it needs to thrive—more or less water or sunlight, better soil. When people fail to flourish, we’re quick to blame the individual. As an African American woman, Montgomery makes us think about society and how we approach problems (do we compete or do we build a collaborative effort for a holistic solution?). Humans have much to discover from our photosynthesizing world: how plants learn—from their own kin, their friends, and their foes—and Montgomery helps us to understand the nature (literally) of teaching and learning.