Sacks, Leakey, and Lewin all have
lessons to teach us in this week’s readings, not to mention nostalgic childhood
perspectives to lend us. Although Sacks’
story doubles as a science lesson as well as a life lesson, the Leakey/Lewin
story provides an inside look into the passion that propels excavation and
ancient discovery. From enigmatic unveilers of our ancestry, to
eccentric inspirers of chemistry, the common theme is unconditional admiration
for the universe in both Origins
Reconsidered and Uncle Tungsten.
The narrator of each story idolizes someone
who was inspirational and instrumental in getting them interested (or further
along) in their current field of study.
Sacks displays his idolization for his uncle as childlike wonder, never
questioning, and more importantly never tiring, since not all young boys would
take an interest to their peculiar uncle’s metal ravings. Uncle Dave is the most ideal mentor a kid
could have, someone who is genuinely in awe with their day-to-day work. All knowledge should be inherently
fascinating, because it’s the literal acquisition of something that was
previously unknown. Unfortunately,
conveying that knowledge is an art in itself, and all too often is the
knowledge lost in delivery. However,
when a special teacher like Uncle Dave comes along, knowledge piles itself into
the mind almost without permission, because this isn’t just learning, this is doing. Consequently,
knowledge attained in this manner tends to stick—for life. And why shouldn’t it? When we recall pleasurable experiences, it
feels more like reliving that moment instead of mere remembrance. Sacks gets to relive his childhood hands-on
knowledge about various metals at any point in his now adult chemist career,
instead of looking up his old college chemistry notes. Far more effective and less time consuming
I’m sure, plus with each recollection Sacks gets a little sip of the magic that
he first felt when his eyes were opened to the world of chemistry. The lesson in this story is if you truly love
what you’re doing, others are bound to be infected by your own sense of wonder
and admiration, and this can set a domino effect of knowledge into motion.
In Origins Reconsidered, the idolization
from the narrator is peer to peer.
However, that doesn’t detract from the feeling of youthful awe that the
Sacks piece echoed. Leakey’s co-worker, Kamoya Kimeu, is described as the
absolute fossil finding guru. His
talents are described as “legendary” (191) and seem to exceed human
ability. To sharpen that image even
further, Kamoya is portrayed (at least in this short excerpt) as a man of few
words, with a mind reserved only for treasures in the earth. As the reader, I’m imagining a very spiritual
dude who is literally in touch with the earth, to the point that she’ll whisper
her secrets to him and him alone. Now
obviously that’s my imagination’s interpretation, but even so, the makeup of
this enigmatic character lends an equal sense of mystery to the story as a
whole. This raises an interesting challenge
for me as a writer that I had never considered for science writing. Perhaps when the story by itself is only awe
inspiring for its author, adding in characters (in our case,
scientists/researchers/professors) that embody that sense of awe can ultimately
contribute to relating awesome elements to the reader. This story should have already been awesome
standalone with just the facts and discoveries, but the fact is that without
the human element the story would fall short of entertainment. The lesson in this story lies outside the
text for me, which is that when your work comes across as less than fantastic,
take a step back and rediscover why you found it to be fantastic in the first
place. Maybe it’s the place or people
surrounding the topic, or a particular way it was introduced to you. Chances are if you can remind and re-inspire
yourself, you can inspire your readers too.











