For many people, their exposure to science is limited to classes in high school and maybe a couple huge introductory science courses if they went to college. Students often leave these experiences with the impression that science is all about memorizing facts, knowing how to solve equations, and doing “experiments” that literally millions of other people have done before and to which there is a “right” answer.
The essential nature of science is completely lost in experiences like this, which—to be clear—have virtually nothing in common with doing actual science. At its core, science is about playing with stuff to uncover new things about the universe (which, by the way, includes our planet and everything on it) that are brand-new to you—and maybe brand-new to anyone.
Edith Holler is, in part, a love letter to the theatre, and one that gleefully embraces a Tim Burtonesque gothic theatricality. Carey, who has worked in the theatre, apparently began writing the book in lockdown when theatres had closed. It is also, more unusually, a love letter to Norwich. The book is steeped in the city’s history, featuring – among others – King Gurgunt, who sleeps beneath Norwich Castle, ready to rise in battle if needed, and the Grey Lady, a famous Norwich ghost.
Pacino’s account of New York’s postwar mean streets is startlingly cinematic. He introduces us to his gang of little toughs, kids called Cliffy, Bruce and Petey who bunk off school to play in the derelict allotments or fish in open sewers for anything shiny that they can sell for a dime. They can’t afford to join the Scouts so they beat up the kids who can – the lucky ones with two sober parents and a dad who has a job. It is, says Pacino, only thanks to Rose’s care and attention that he doesn’t end up the same way as his friends, all dead by 30 from being “on the needle”.