100 Books Like Memoirs

I found it very interesting how this book provides the background of the development of Soviet nuclear science and the creation of the atomic and hydrogen bombs in the Soviet Union.

It is written by a historian; the narrative is accurate yet accessible. It helped me understand how a country having suffered terrible losses in a devastating war and obsolete infrastructure could become one of the two mightiest superpowers due to its ruthless concentration of resources to a chosen goal and a group of scientists among the world’s best. 

I find it fascinating how rich a source Russia has been for talent and how poorly it has utilized them or ejected them. I liked Gamow’s personality and his informal style. Most of all, I find it amazing how multifaceted his talent was and that he was not afraid to come up with ideas—some fruitful, some mistaken, but always original—in any area of science, regardless of whether he had the proper training in it or not.

The only disappointment was that the autobiography stopped at one point. To me, Gamow symbolizes one of the most important characteristics of scientists: curiosity. In addition, I learned a great deal about the conditions for science in the early period of the Soviet Union.

From this book, I learned about a most tragic figure in twentieth-century science and a ruthless political system willing to annihilate its best resources to isolate itself from even the slightest Western democratic influence.

I find it improbable how scientists in the early development of the Stalin regime believed in the power of truth and were willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. I find it sadly relevant how many scientists were willing to close their eyes on injustice or become accomplices.

I find Petr Kapitza a hero, and this book provides both his personal and societal background and his science and actions. I am fascinated by a scientist who, amid conditions of the Soviet system, remained indifferent to titles and positions but was not afraid to use his international recognition to protest the actions of one of the world’s worst dictators.

I also found the book's message about Kapitza to be most convincing in the contribution of one of the editors, David Shoenberg, who had a close relationship with Kapitza and was a significant scientist and discoverer.

The emergence of a dissident movement and the KGB’s efforts to control it were one of the dramas of the Brezhnev era. What better way to read the history than through the agency’s reports on the period’s premier dissident? Andrei Sakharov, nuclear physicist and “Domestic Enemy Number One,” survived the mind games and isolation, emerging to lead the campaign for memory in the late 1980s as Gorbachev loosened up. The book is fascinating on the fumbling efforts of Politburo gerontocrats, who often seem confused and outplayed, as well as on the circumlocutions and ideological distortions of a security agency determined to blur the true character of its operations.  

There are two kinds of patriots: those who insist that allegiance to flag and country means keeping things the way they are, and those who want their country to live up to its ideals and do better by all its citizens. (Which side are you on?) In Dissent (2015), history professor Ralph Young shows how the foundational protest of the American Revolution lives on in the Occupy demonstrators and Women’s Marchers, Black Lives Matter groups, and climate change activists.

One of those rare pieces of political writing that outlive their moment of birth to become classics, Havel’s grippingly written essay invites us to rethink the meaning of power. The radical idea is that the powerful are never as powerful as they, or we, might imagine.

Since within any institution or political order, the lines of organized power pass like low-current electricity through all its subjects, the downtrodden always have within themselves the power to short-circuit the system and to remedy their own powerlessness by refusing the power of rulers bent on running and ruining their everyday lives. 

This book hit me like a thunderclap as an early-career faculty member studying Plato. Ober trained a sociological lens on Greek philosophers, showing how the democratic constitution of ancient Athens was the backdrop against which many of them were reacting and responding in very different ways.

The book charts the difference between criticism that is constructively offered by those who identify with a given constitutional type and criticism that is far-reaching in rejecting the existing terms of constitutional debate.

I love how this contrast illuminates political debate today. 

Coyote is a habitable moon orbiting Bear, a gas giant forty light years away. Earth’s first interstellar ship is hijacked by a group of engineers and scientists, usurping the post-US government loyalists who intend to make Coyote their home.

This book speaks to the aspirational me, the part that wants to evolve beyond Earth and build a new future, a better future, but inevitably the hubris of modern man threatens to destroy paradise. It’s a conceptually magnificent colonisation book built on plausible science, yet its success lies in the characters’ need to work together to conquer a seemingly benign world. I frequently revisit Coyote because it’s a great story, brilliantly told, and it makes me gaze at the stars.

It was a toss-up here between this book and The Scar, set in a different part of the same world. One of Miéville’s acknowledged influences is the wonderful Mervyn Peake, and like Peake, he’s never in a hurry to get a story underway.

I’d have probably tossed Perdido Street Station aside after 100-200 pages except for a friend’s fervent recommendation—and I’d have missed out big time if I had! Because the story as it develops is truly grand, truly epic. Like Peake, Miéville has a gift for raising action to a mythical status. I love, love, love a novel that builds up to a long, rolling, thunderous climax!