As reported elsewhere in this journal, I just finished reading Edison's Eve by Gaby Wood, which I enjoyed immensely. Hardly surprising, since it deals with magicians and robots, weird science, and strange histories.
It's a thin book, really -- 304 pages; five chapters, an introduction and an epilogue account for 266; there's a list of illustrations, an extensive bibliography, acknowledgments, and an index.
We begin in Switzerland, where two little boys sit at a table by a lakeside. One is writing -- "I think, therefore I am" -- the other is drawing portraits of kings: George III, Louis XV. People gather nearby, watching as someone obviously known to the children approaches the table, lifts the shirt of each in turn and opens a small hatch to reveal the clockworks inside.
The little boys have been writing and drawing together for a long time; they are the work of Pierre and Henri-Louis Jaquet-Droz, and they were built in 1774. Then, as now, people come from far away just to see them work.
Meanwhile, at the MIT robotics lab, we have Kismet, a robot with moods, that gets lonely; and Cog, which as been taught to recognize human faces and has learned to differentiate between an animate and inanimate object. There are rumors of a flute-playing robot, at Waseda University, in Tokyo. The second flute-playing robot, apparently that has been built.
The first was built in 1739.
The narrative does not wander; in fact, it's very dense, and in several sections, I would have welcomed more information -- especially about the construction of the automata -- or even more air. At times there was an almost...claustrophobic feel to the text.
Part of what fascinates me is the notion of a culture where science was taken on tour, like magic acts; people came to theaters -- paid money! -- to see them. For a long time, it seems as if magic and science were interchangeable in the public's heart and mind; then, slowly, science retreated to the laboratory, donned a white coat, became serious, while magic remained an extrovert, and none-too-nice in its methodology: The Effect was the Thing.
It's funny how often magic and science intersect. Thomas Edison's moving picture device, the kinetoscope, was used by stage magician Georges Melies to record -- routines of stage magic, but with a twist. In essence, he invented stop-action, and on film his magic acts were able to transcend what was possible on stage.
Walt Disney was a fan of Melies work; was The Sorcerer's Apprentice a tribute film?
I did get somewhat annoyed with the author's tendency to throw mild Feminist Hissy Fits in the middle of what was otherwise a fascinating description of a particular piece of stage magic. I felt too much time was given to Thomas Edison (winner of several FHF). I'm not certain that the bridge the author attempts to build between the automata -- machines built to be human-like -- and the Doll Family (who were for years a staple of Ringling Brothers' Circus, and appeared in several movies, including as munchkins in the Wizard of Oz) -- humans whom other humans objectify -- is sturdy enough to bear weight.
The book is also extraordinary in the sort and number of ideas it sparks out of the brain -- or, at least, out of my brain. I'm really grateful to the author for that service.
So -- a fascinating, worthwhile book. Highly recommended.
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