100 Books Like The Mathematician's Mind

I first became acquainted with this 20th-century classic when it was turned into a popular miniseries, and I felt compelled to read the novel for myself.

Although the narrative traverses settings from London and a great English country house to Europe and even the Americas, the inception of the story is grounded in post-WWI Oxford, where the narrator introduces us to Waugh’s memorably charming but doomed character, Lord Sebastian Flyte.

Waugh’s portrayal of the exuberance of youthful college high-jinx juxtaposed against the perils of dissipation powerfully depicts the inner struggle of his narrator’s search for love, meaning, and ultimately faith.

I greatly admire Waugh’s hauntingly lyrical prose, which vividly captures the aching beauty and mystique of Oxford.

Academic institutions are competitive environments governed not only by the zest to enrich and transmit knowledge, but also by politics, vanity, and caprices. In many respects, they resemble life at a royal court as described by the seventeenth-century Spanish Jesuit philosopher Baltasar Gracián. His Pocket Oracle is chock-full of advice, in the form of maximally compact yet hauntingly beautifully written maxims, on how to penetrate through the appearance of things. Imbued in the art of discernment of St. Ignatius of Loyola, he repeatedly singles out the essential qualities that make possible successful choices in academic life as well, such as taste, judgment, and an eye for talent. One of his aphorisms (no. 4) is particularly dear to me: scholarship and courage make immortal, because that is what they themselves are.

For half a century, this classic has introduced students to the ways and circumstances in which Greek and Latin texts, often seen as the pillars of any literate education, were transmitted from Antiquity throughout the Middle Ages into the Renaissance. While it is, despite its crisp and lucid presentation, a highly technical manual, it singles out, based on robust empirical evidence, the importance of tradition and unassuming daily labor in the formation and preservation of knowledge. The effects of unconscious or intentional changes in the manual transmission of ancient texts also constitute the core matter of my own field, philology. On a more personal note, I cherish fond memories of a class on Greek textual criticism by Nigel Wilson when I was an undergraduate at Oxford some thirty years ago.

Many ideas and concepts still common in the more traditional branches of Humanities belong to the intellectual heritage of the nineteenth century. This is also the time when my own field, Semitic Philology, emerged as a professionalized discipline. Fritz Ringer, himself a German-born emigree to the US, provides a rigorous analysis of the social background and self-understanding of German academic elites during that formative period until the collapse of their natural habitat in the catastrophe of the Second World War. His work is a demanding yet rewarding read because it brings to the fore the institutional underpinnings of scholarship. It shows how great an impact societal context has on scholarly achievements, and thus contributes to a better, historically sensitive, understanding of the specific environment in which academic life generally takes place.

This might be the most important picture book biography I’d never heard of. Why do all of us know Albert Einstein but not Emmy Noether, who sewed up a hole in his theory of relativity and went on to a discovery that transformed physics? Three guesses why. Like every account of the many brilliant women of STEM who were barred from classrooms, denied degrees, refused fair pay, and robbed of credit for accomplishments, Emmy’s story is often enraging. Add a narrow escape from the Nazis followed by a tragically early death, and you might not expect a fun read. But Becker and Rust manage to inject plenty of kid-friendly humor, and the scientific explanations were so clear and colorful that even I could (almost) understand. 

Like discovering the hidden process for generating ideas, discovering the hidden power of curiosity unleashed my capabilities and improved my efforts.

Leslie explains that curiosity declines as we grow older and as technology increases. Both work against a sustained quest for understanding that leads to insight, innovations, and ideas. If you know this, you can nurture your desire to know and stay curious in a modern world where we can seemingly answer any question almost instantly.

This book opened my eyes to new possibilities illuminating new ways to become a more engaging brand storyteller. 

Using Einstein's most famous equation as his organizational theme, Bodanis offers a fresh and exciting approach to Einstein's life and work. Energy, mass, and the speed of light become characters of their own as Bodanis traces our evolving understanding of the nature of the universe. The book is all about context—delightfully so—giving Bodanis an excuse to introduce a kaleidoscope of colorful personalities who either influenced Einstein, or were influenced by him, all connected by their relationship to this most powerful of all equations.     

Albert Einstein was, for a very good reason or three, Time magazine’s “Person of the Twentieth Century.”

Unfortunately, very few people are knowledgeable about his contributions to modern science, which are enormous and complex, and even fewer seem to know about his thinking on politics, war, and peace in particular, and the world in general.

In this book, readers have the opportunity to learn more about Einstein’s thoughts about the world of the 20th century, which are usually presented in a clear, accessible fashion.

Of all the books I've read about Einstein, this one was, perhaps, the most eye-opening for me. For years, the prevailing opinion was that while Einstein was (of course) brilliant, and his special and general theories of relativity were seismically important, he was on the wrong side of history with his views on quantum theory. Stone sets the record straight: Einstein was indeed skeptical of many aspects of quantum theory (particularly with his refusal to accept quantum entanglement and inherent randomness), but his challenges to the theory were so intelligent and so piercing, that the entire scientific community had to respond to him. Stone argues convincingly that Einstein's concerns were often the driving force propelling the theory forward.

This book has haunted me for years. For what is it, exactly, that gives it such enduring popularity? After all, it was first published in 1936, yet is still in print today. In his autobiography, Hogben remarks on the importance of eye-catching illustrations but speculates that its success may instead be because the book contains – most unusually for a 'popular' work – exercises and answers, making it more suitable for self-teaching. Whatever the real answer, his book must surely have something to teach anyone – like myself – who aspires to bring mainstream mathematics to life for the general public.