#ReadUP at the Brooklyn Book Festival

The Brooklyn Book Festival is the largest free literary event in New York City. Every year, national and international literary stars, publishers, booksellers, and many others gather to celebrate books and literature, attracting thousands of book lovers of all ages. This year, it takes place on Sunday, September 16, 2018 from 10am to 6pm. In honor of the festival, we are excited to announce a university press scavenger hunt in collaboration with some of our fellow UP’s in New York and New Jersey. Enter to win a book from each participating UP (listed below), a tote bag, and more! 

How It Works

Stop by the booth of any of the participating UPs to pick up your scavenger hunt worksheet. Make your way to all of the booths on the form, obtaining a stamp at each one. When you have collected all of your stamps and filled out the worksheet, turn it in at the Princeton University Press booth (217) to submit your entry for a chance to win! Winners will be selected and notified by 5pm on the day of the festival. When you’re finished, be sure to check out our map of our favorite independent bookstores in Brooklyn. And don’t forget to mark your calendar for University Press Week 2018—November 12th to November 17th—in celebration of the many ways university presses amplify the voices of scholars and communities, hosted by the Association of University Presses.

Sentimental Tales
Mikhail Zoshchenko
Columbia University Press
Booth #503

Walking Harlem: The Ultimate Guide to the Cultural Capital of Black America
Karen Taborn
Rutgers University Press
Booth #144

Boss of Black Brooklyn: The Life and Times of Bertram L. Baker
Ron Howell 
Fordham University Press
Booth #302

Brooklyn By Name: How the Neighborhoods, Streets, Parks, Bridges and More Got Their Names
Leonard Benardo and Jennifer Weiss
New York University Press 
Booth #303

Dagger John: Archbishop John Hughes and the Making of Irish America
John Loughery
Cornell University Press
Booth #624

The Beautifull Cassandra
Jane Austen
Princeton University Press
Booth #217

Amy Stewart: International Medieval Congress 2018

International Medieval CongressAlthough I have been helping with the behind-the-scenes organisation of conferences for 6 months now, this month I got to experience an academic conference front and centre selling books at the Princeton University Press booth for the first time.

From the 2 – 5 July, the University of Leeds opened its doors to medievalists from over 60 different countries for the annual International Medieval Congress – the largest annual humanities gathering in Europe! The IMC is a unique gathering that breathed with a deep enthusiasm for all things medieval, including an historical craft fair, live medieval music, costumes and even live medieval combat displays.

2018 was Princeton University Press’s fifth year in a row to exhibit at the IMC’s Bookfair in the university’s Parkinson Building alongside academic publishers from all over Europe. This was a good chance for us to catch up with our contacts at other academic presses, as well as meet new contacts and learn more about their medieval lists and what they’re working on at the moment.

For our UK Humanities Editor, Ben Tate, the IMC is a good chance to meet up with current and prospective authors. It’s also an opportunity to attend some of the many seminars the conference organises to stay up to date with the current trends in medieval research.

From a publicity and marketing perspective, it was great to see Princeton University Press’s medieval list in its context, with academics browsing the stand between seminars. We had several academics asking after one of our latest books, John Blair’s Building Anglo-Saxon England, mentioning that they had seen it advertised, read an article about it or heard about it on the grape vine. It’s really rewarding to know that our efforts to bring new titles to their audiences really do work – we completely sold out Building Anglo-Saxon England! It was also good to see a lot of attention for our most recent medieval history monograph, Trustworthy Men by Ian Forrest and to spot the author browsing the Princeton stand too.

We will see you next year Leeds.

Announcing PUP Audio

PUP Audio

Princeton University Press (PUP) is pleased to announce the launch of PUP Audio. Overseen by Digital and Audio Publisher Kim Williams, PUP Audio will work closely with the UK-based production company Sound Understanding, which specializes in nonfiction. PUP Audio books will be available globally across a variety of platforms and libraries, with no exclusive deal for distribution.

The goal for the inaugural season is the publication of six front list titles in simultaneous print, electronic, and audio editions, as well as a selection of recent backlist. PUP Audio will increase its production of audio titles in future seasons.

According to Princeton University Press Director Christie Henry, “Recognizing the importance of listening as a fundamental component of learning, and with a mission to contribute to the growth of knowledge, we believe audio publishing offers an exciting opportunity to engage listeners and animate book-based conversations the world over. We are keen to adapt to ever-evolving new technologies to ensure that PUP content reaches a diverse and dynamic community, and audiobooks speak to this commitment.”

Digital and Audio Publisher Kim Williams also cites clear market growth in audio books as an important factor in the launch of PUP Audio: “The growth of the audio market for nonfiction has been dramatic in recent years, and alongside the many people trying the format for the first time, there is a growing cohort of loyal audio consumers for whom audio is the first choice of format. PUP has benefitted from the expertise of audio consultants and the many listeners among our staff in developing PUP Audio, and we look forward to publishing audio editions of the highest production and narration standards, and promoting them alongside our print and e-book editions.”

A report from the Association of American Publishers indicates audiobook revenue was up 29.5 percent in 2017, from the year before. In the UK, audiobook downloads were up 22 percent in 2017, according to data released by the Publishers Association in June.

The PUP Audio front list list titles set for fall publication include: On the Future: Prospects for Humanity by Martin Rees, Britain’s Astronomer Royal; Gods and Robots: Myths, Machines, and Ancient Dreams of Technology by National Book Award Finalist Adrienne Mayor; Making Up Your Own Mind: Thinking Effectively through Creative Puzzle Solving by Ed Burger, a mathematician and President of Southwestern University; and Workers’ Tales: Socialist Fairy Tales, Fables, and Allegories from Great Britain, edited by the prolific children’s book author Michael Rosen.

North American & Australian Contact:

Julia Haav
(609) 258-2831
julia_haav@press.princeton.edu                     

European Contact:

Caroline Priday
011-44-1993-814503
caroline_priday@press.princeton.edu

Matthias Doepke & Fabrizio Zilibotti: The economics of motherhood

EconomicsIn times of heightened economic anxiety, for many American families the celebration of Mother’s Day this weekend will provide a welcome respite from the stress of everyday life. At least for this one day, love and the close bond between mothers and their children take center stage, and worries about money, careers, and other economic concerns are put on hold. Indeed, one reason that there is a special celebration for mothers is precisely that motherhood lacks the formal recognition that the market economy bestows on other activities: mothers do not draw official salaries, acquire fancy job titles, or advance within a corporate hierarchy. Instead, motherhood is an unpaid “labor of love,” and hence a phenomenon where the laws of economics seemingly do not apply.

Yet on closer inspection, even motherhood does have an undeniable economic dimension. To start, there is the economic impact of the celebration of Mother’s Day itself. Florists, greeting card companies, and restaurants serving brunch will do brisk business, and many consider the holiday at risk of becoming overly commercialized.

But the economic roots of motherhood go much deeper than that. Economic forces helped shape the role of motherhood in society, and are in large part responsible for two major transformations in how Western society conceives of the meaning and importance of motherhood.

The first of these transformations started with the Industrial Revolution, and continued throughout the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Mothers always had a special role in nurturing children, particularly so for the infants who needed to be breastfed. However, in earlier times the separation between the roles of mothers and fathers was less sharp than later on. Work and home life played out in the same place, say, the family’s farm or artisanal workshop, and children grew up in close proximity to both parents and other family members. Children also started to work from a young age, so that especially boys soon spent more time with their fathers than their mothers.

The Industrial Revolution sharpened the division between mothers’ and fathers’ roles in the family. The introduction of factories and the rise of commuting that followed the spread of railways and streetcars separated the work and home spheres. While men were pushed into the role of exclusive economic provider, women were expected to focus on the home. In addition, as the industrial economy created demand for workers who could read and write, providing children with a proper education became an important aim for most families, and the responsibility for this fell squarely on the mothers. The result was what historians term the “Cult of Domesticity,” a new value system that emphasized the role of women as mothers and educators and discouraged working outside the home.

While motherhood was idolized, mothers were also pushed out of the labor force. In addition to the new cultural norms against working mothers, outright discrimination such as the “marriage bars” that excluded married women from many professions also contributed to defining women more exclusively through their role as mothers. By the early twentieth century, it had become rare for married women with children to be working. It was in this era of idealized motherhood but also strictly separated roles for women and men that the current incarnation of the Mother’s Day holiday in the United States was created.

The second economic transformation of motherhood started with World War II and is still ongoing today. During the war, millions of mothers joined the labor force to support the war effort while the men were fighting overseas. The women of this “Rosie the Riveter” generation demonstrated that women’s contributions do not have to be limited to the home, and many of them found enjoyment and fulfillment in being in the labor force and gaining more independence.

After the war, the traditional division of labor was reestablished to some extent. But over time, more and more women decided to continue working even after marrying and having children, and by today most women, and most mothers, are in the labor force.

In large part, this transformation in the labor market was driven by technological change. Over time, the economy shifted from agriculture and manufacturing to services, eroding men’s traditional advantage in work that rewarded physical strength. Technological change also transformed the household: modern household appliances and market alternatives to home-produced goods such as day care centers and restaurants have reduced the time required to run the household and freed up time for work.

Today, motherhood is no longer defined exclusively through caring for children, but much more so through the “having it all” challenge of combining careers and family life. Nevertheless, the impact of the older role models and cultural norms can still be felt. Notably, time use data show that women continue to bear a disproportionate share of child care work and household chores.

Hence, despite the transformed meaning of motherhood in society, there are still good reasons for a special celebration of mothers. In addition to buying flowers and chocolates, men could do even better by expressing their gratitude through putting in equal time in child care and household chores, and not just on holidays.

By familiarizing themselves with the dishwasher, diapers, and their children’s clothing needs, men could prove to be truly ahead of their time. Economic trends will continue to shape the meaning of motherhood, and fatherhood, for the next generation. Women now graduate in much larger numbers from college than men do, and in today’s knowledge economy that gives them an advantage. Women will soon be the main earners in a large fraction of families. Over time, cultural norms will adjust to this change. The current model of mothers doing most of the household work in exchange for a once-a-year celebration will gradually fade into memory, which is something to look forward to this Mother’s Day.

Matthias Doepke is professor of economics at Northwestern University. He lives in Evanston, Illinois. Fabrizio Zilibotti is the Tuntex Professor of International and Development Economics at Yale University. He lives in New Haven, Connecticut. Their new book, Love, Money, and Parenting: How Economics Explains the Way We Raise Our Kids is forthcoming from Princeton University Press in February 2019. 

Emma Morgan on the London Book Fair 2018

by PUP International Rights Assistant Emma Morgan

LBF2018 was my first year attending the three-day London Book Fair on the Princeton University Press team, and it was also our biggest book fair yet, with 19 members of staff in attendance. Our team at the fair this year included staff from all three of our offices—in Princeton, Woodstock, and Beijing. We were excited to have the opportunity to meet with partners from around the world.

If you attended the book fair, you likely walked past our stand; we were located this year directly in front of a main entrance in the good company of publishers such as Taylor & Francis and Wiley. We hope that you visited the stand to say hello, though with our Rights team heavily booked-up with meetings across the three days of the fair, there was little time to stop!

The book fair represented an opportunity to meet with our key partners, sub-agents, and publishers who regularly license and translate our titles, but also gave us the chance to meet with new potential partners. We held around 85 meetings over the three days, and built on the relationships which are so important to us throughout the year. New partnerships included markets such as Turkey, Russia, and Spain. For me personally, it was also my first opportunity to meet with several members of the Princeton team from the US.

Our Rights Guide was carefully curated for the book fair to highlight some titles which we felt were well-suited to translation, although we still regularly see publishers attend having found titles we never expected in our seasonal catalogues. Some of the titles we saw considerable interest for at the book fair included Sir Martin Rees’s On the Future and Edward B. Burger’s Making Up Your Own Mind. Many publishers were intrigued by the prospect of the mirror-image and upside-down chapters in the latter, and to hear of another strong list of science titles from Princeton.

While there is usually lots of news from the London Book Fair about big deals signed and rights sold, we typically see the majority of our deals done in the weeks and months after the fair. It’s always interesting to see how some markets will decide within a few days that they want a book, and others take until the next book fair, or even longer, to decide. Several of our partners commented on the range of titles we had to show on the stand, and there were lots of compliments for the covers, in particular Anthony Zee’s On Gravity, Jerry Z. Muller’s The Tyranny of Metrics and Vladimir Nabokov’s Insomniac Dreams.

Away from the PUP stand, there were seminars and talks on a variety of subjects, as well LBFas the opportunity to be photographed at the U.S. President’s desk as part of the promotion for the Bill Clinton and James Patterson title, The President is Missing. The Book Fair selected for the Market Focus the publishing industries of Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia, and we were interested to gather some information on these markets.

The Book Fairs represent an opportunity to hear from our agents and publishing partners about their markets, both the positive and the negative. While many territories continue to struggle with financial and political issues, there is also broadly cause for optimism, with reports in the UK that the sale of print books is up for the second year in a row. Also, we were interested to gather information from our partners on the rise in audio books, which have seen great increases in the UK and which the International Rights team have been working on since June last year.

After attending the Book Fair in 2017 as a student, I had some idea of what was involved, but being able to sit in on meetings with past and future partners of PUP from around the world emphasised the international recognition of our scholarship and its value. The range of titles which publishers were interested in, both in our upcoming titles and far back in our catalogues, is something I see every day in answering queries from publishers and agents, but the enthusiasm and the value that is placed on our scholarship by publishers from around the world was something I was very glad to see first-hand.

Stephanie Rojas: Getting to know Blackwell’s Oxford

Blackwell'sWalking down the stairs to the basement level of Blackwell’s Oxford, I did not immediately notice the cavernous room I had entered. As Sales Manager David Kelly described the history of the store to PUP Publicist Katie Lewis and me, I was engrossed in taking notes on my phone for a potential blog post. Typing as I walked, I finally looked up just as David was telling us that there is a total of three miles of shelving crammed into that one floor of the multi-level store!   

This year, I was privileged to have the opportunity to travel to the UK to attend the London Book Fair and to visit the Princeton University Press office in Woodstock, Oxfordshire in my role as Marketing & Social Media Associate. Thanks to my colleague Katie, I was excited to also be able to take a tour of Blackwell’s, PUP’s largest UK account, while I was in the area. Blackwell’s flagship location was not always as physically arresting as it is today. Opening its doors in 1879, the bookshop was about the size of a decent walk-in closet. Standing in the space, I imagined books piled high, partially blocking out the sunlight from the front windows, with floorboards creaking beneath my feet. The Blackwell family’s aim was to open a book store that catered not only to the many students who make their temporary home in and around Oxford, but also to the town residents. Today, that original space serves as an inviting entryway to rooms lined floor to ceiling with books. 

Blackwell's

The Atlas of Ancient Rome by Andrea Carandini. It’s always exciting to see a PUP book out in the wild!

Blackwell’s has an excellent reputation for stocking academic books; indeed, it is part of the philosophy of the store to stock every important book within a given field—rather than the one or two that might be bestsellers—because it is vital for readers to have access to the selection of different viewpoints and ideas. Blackwell’s is able to maintain that standard due to their online presence; in fact, they were the first bookshop to sell online (even though they readily admit that it was not executed as well as it could have been—they have come a long way in the intervening years!). But I was surprised to learn that Blackwell’s is also a leader in fiction—their sales in fiction have actually grown at double the rate of the industry for the past four years.

Blackwell’s is more than a bookstore; it is also a community hub. When I was there, they were in the middle of a sold out run of Dracula put on by Creation Theatre. They host an event nearly every Saturday, including a monthly series called Philosophy in the Bookshop in collaboration with British  philosopher and host of the Philosophy Bytes podcast Nigel Warburton. It seemed to me that there is always something interesting going on. 

My trip to Blackwell’s was certainly a highlight in a great week in the UK, and I hope I have the opportunity to visit again!

Christie Henry on the Ecosystem of University Presses

 

Adapted from a presentation given at UGA by Christie Henry, Director, Princeton University Press

I have had the incredible fortune of living in the university press ecosystem for several decades, having moved in the fall of ‘17 to Princeton University Press, after twenty-four years with inspiring colleagues at the University of Chicago Press. University presses and the universities with which we partner are part of what I would describe as a metacommunity of ideas and knowledge—that is, a set of interacting communities linked by the dispersal of multiple, potentially interacting species.

Publishers do like to interact with species of students and academics; in fact we depend on these interactions. And it’s quite well known that each of our ecosystems draws resilience and sustainability from one another; most often our relationships are mutualisms.

As within ecosystems, there are vital nutrients that flow through our systems, among the most important of which is knowledge. Universities are the deep-sea thermal vents of knowledge, pumping it out in amazing quantities at highly concentrated sites. And university presses help create a pelagic zone for this knowledge, putting it into circulation across the globe.

Like organic nutrients, knowledge is created, consumed, processed, recycled. And we must be aware of its potential to get stuck in dead zones, or in massive clumps of plastic debris. As a vital nutrient, knowledge is also essential for us to conserve, ideally to grow.

Currently our ecosystems are facing unprecedented climate change—we can consider it our own Anthropocene. How we define “anthro” in this case varies. But we certainly don’t want to be having conversations years from now about how to clone an extinct idea or population of knowledge, much as we are now having conversations about cloning mammoths and other extinct fauna.

Strategic plans for conservation depend on an understanding of threats and challenges, and especially the climate disrupters. Those inhabiting our ecosystems will find this overview familiar terrain, I suspect, but I think it’s important to trace the contours of our current stressed landscape.

The worlds of research and knowledge are experiencing fluctuations in funding that are as erratic as global temperatures, though not trending on an increase as global temperatures are. Just as increased snowfall doesn’t negate the reality of global warming, we know that increases in the population in higher education don’t mean our system is showing signs of health and well-being. Reductions in funding, and university budgets, have run like a rhizome through our communities, have disrupted library budgets, and in the university press world have resulted in events such as the recent University Press of Kentucky battle for survival under proposed state government cuts.

We have seen massive influxes of what I could call invasive species—those that disrupt or harm our systems, the economy, and even human health. Email, many say, is one of these species. So is fake news. So too is the volume of information, which is impacting attention span, and certainly causing some concern among book publishers of all species.  Some of these influxes are leading to an extinction of time, and this has a ripple effect, with impacts on critical system operations like peer review. And even if altruism has been recognized in dolphins and scrub jays, we know there are limits. There is less time for writing, and for reading. Though some positive trends outside of the academy point to growth of reading time, it’s not necessarily time spent with books, or with long-form writing.

There are also arguably more predatory species in our communities, from rapacious journals to those attempting to extract nutrients from our systems: the tyrannical form of the assault on higher ed. And some of these predators are known to live in the Amazon, but this verdant jungle is also important to visit from time to time for all that it harbors.

We know that species diversity drives ecosystem health and stability, and another threat is the lack of diversity in our ecosystems. We are at risk of genetic bottlenecks, those major events that decrease diversity and the gene pool—immigration legislation is among the most acute recent examples.

There are pressures to grow the reach of our ecosystems, our nutrient output, while at the same time reducing incoming nutrients. Open access expectations in the book world pose one of these pressures for university presses. So does the tenure and credentialing process in those disciplines that quantify book output as a key metric.

Okay, enough of the gloom and doom. Many historical moments of massive disruption are followed by a burst of evolutionary adaptations that lead to greater diversity. And I think there is a chance we are now in our own Cambrian Explosion, amidst great radiations of knowledge and books. We will need to be intentional about supporting and preserving these ecosystems.

A recent article in the Chicago Tribunewas titled “University Presses Deserve Protection,” much as ecosystems around the world need conservation and management.

Another recent publication from the science literature shifted the foci of biodiversity from mass of species to the diversity of functional traits of species in an ecosystem as a measure of resilience. This study focused on pufferfish, and one could argue we have some of these swimming in our collective waters. But universities are growing innumerable new functional traits, as are university presses. I’d argue we in the AUP world were preadapted to this need for an array of functional traits, as our lists of book species are diverse—we publish course books, textbooks, popular books, reference works, regional works, and monographs. And we as a community function much like a honeybee democracy, which in the face of threats takes the form of an incredible superorganism—without needing to sting.

New modes of communication have also increased outlets for knowledge sharing, and we just need to learn the best ways to research and curate these. Blogs have become a flagship species in our ecosystems, inspiring books, and have provided new platforms. There was a great article in Natureyesterday about the first science conference proceedings published in graphic form, a genre we all know could benefit from evolutionary change.

Libraries and publishers are working to coevolve, crafting aggregations of content, and partnering on joint publications and initiatives.

Some evolution is at a slower pace, in the best of ways. The price of university press books in real dollars, accounting for inflation, has not increased in measurable ways at all. The nonprofit mission and ethos have been in a state of equilibrium, only rarely punctuated.

Technology is leading not just to artificial intelligence, but to new and real knowledge. Open peer review is using technology to bring in a wider range of reviewers, particularly more global ones. A recent great example is Bit by Bit: Social Science Research in the Digital Age:author and sociologist Matt Salganik worked with the Sloan Foundation to create the Open Review Toolkit. This platform facilitated feedback from around the world, at various scales, and generated a database of interested readers.

Technology has also helped to grow our landscapes, to aid in bringing our content to readers the world over on new platforms. New digital initiatives, from digital humanities, sciences, and social sciences, are animating scholarship, and the book.

And publishers are also focusing on the diversity of species—of readers, of authors, of reviewers—and that will ultimately drive our resilience, as it will the university’s ecosystem.

There are many compelling reasons to be part of the circulation and exchange between our linked metacommunities.

As I think about a field guide for those of you coming new to the AUP land, there are a number of entries in the field guide index I would point you to:

  1. Find your niche. Know your audience, especially the difference between a dissertation committee and a book readership.
  2. Look for conspecifics. Identify those species of books that are like yours, as there is strength in being part of a family. And then see where those species tend to gather, under which imprints.
  3. Think about your plumage. This includes your proposal, a vital signaling tool, but also your platform. What type of author species are you? What are the novel traits you contribute to the ecosystem? We look for functional diversity on our lists. But we are increasingly looking for how well your plumage works in the world—what we call your platform. Social media, while causing a lot of information overflow, has also become a vital signaling tool in the world of publishing—for scholarly and trade alike. Many of the signaling forms of earlier geologic eras, like print advertising, are not resonating—they are being replaced with Altmetric badges and Twitter followers, and these new efforts depend on partnerships between presses and authors.
  4. Think like bowerbird. Look for the houses that are constructed and decorated in ways that sing to you. Each publisher has its own niche, and we usually do a pretty good job of signaling that ourselves. Visit websites; visit booths in exhibit halls. And your journey should explore not just the construct of our houses, but how we get our birdsong out into the world—are we visible? are our prices reasonable? do we appear on syllabi? are our books translated widely?
  5. Sensory ecology is a wonderfully exciting field. Embrace the ways in which you can adapt this to publishing. Listen to your peers; listen to yourselves as you teach, and the books you use. Listen for the authors and books that are being mentioned in your own niche.
  6. Circulate like plankton. Find ways to share your ideas. If at conferences, be sure to test them out with publishers on-site. Though also be mindful of the conservation of energy rule for publishers—try to make sure the engagement is focused and meaningful.
  7. Be active foragers—do your research. There is so much information on press websites about their own DNA. Their priorities, strengths, weaknesses. The more you can align your approach to these strengths, the better.
  8. Be clear signaler, not stealth like anglerfish. Communicate with publishers with clarity and transparency, from the proposal to the project’s main hook, to your aspirations as an author, to the way to engage your readers with story.
  9. Prepare to be challenged by your conspecifics and your competitors. Peer review is critical by nature, but it also evolves stronger life-forms of books.
  10. Be a patient species—we know the book world sometimes seems to move at geologic time scales, but the results can be structures as magnificent and multilayered as the Grand Canyon.
  11. You may also occasionally need the tenacity of a bulldog.
  12. And nothing ignites the senses better than reading or listening to books—please make time to do so. It’s the best way to find models for different forms of writing, and to support the ecosystem with which you are now coevolving as academics.

Another reference to a recent article in Nature:

“Ecological theory suggests that large-scale patterns such as community stability can be influenced by changes in interspecific interactions that arise from the behavioral and/or physiological responses of individual species varying over time.“ Please be those individual species that respond and behave in ways that will stabilize knowledge, and so too the evolution of the book.

 

The Royal Institution: Science Lives Here

by Katie Lewis and Keira Andrews

RIThe Royal Institution is a scientific gem in the heart of London. It was founded in 1799 by leading British scientists of the age with the aim of bringing technology and science to the general public. On nearly any day of the year, a member of the public can take part in live events with the world’s leading thinkers, experiment in a research laboratory, and take part in hands-on masterclasses with specially trained experts. The lecture theatre at the Royal Institution is infamous; some truly remarkable scientific breakthroughs have occurred within its walls as a result of the Friday Evening Discourses where top scientists of the time would show off their research. It was here that Thomas Young established the wave theory of light; John Tyndall discovered the greenhouse effect; Humphry Davy discovered nine chemical elements; and Michael Faraday developed the electric motor and electric generator.

Ri

The Royal Institution has left—and continues to leave—a lasting legacy upon the scientific community. One of the more publically-recognised services is the Christmas Lectures that were started by Michael Faraday in 1825 and continue to this day. In today’s world these lectures come in the form of a televised Christmas broadcast aimed at children with a changing theme each year and guest speakers that range from David Attenborough to Richard Dawkins. Originally, however, the lectures are thought to have come to fruition after adults began bringing their children along to the adult afternoon courses in the early 1800s, and someone had the idea of a yearly lecture to inspire a new generation of scientists. These lectures have continued to run every year since 1825—only being put on hold between 1939 and 1942 when the majority of London children had been sent away as evacuees. The Royal Institution also holds over one hundred other events each year on a wide variety of subjects.

It is at these events that many of our Princeton University Press authors have spoken. On average, five of our authors step the boards of this famous lecture theatre each year, and talk animatedly to an audience that ranges from the curious layperson to the science graduate and above. In this, the Royal Institution has never changed; science is for everyone. In recent years, the Royal Institution, colloquially known as the Ri to mimic an element on the periodic table, has hosted Princeton University Press authors across a wide range of scientific subjects from astronomy and the evolution of the human mind, to first impressions and how to clone a mammoth. Last week, it was the turn of Professor Peter Ungar, Distinguished Professor and director of the Environmental Dynamics Program at the University of Arkansas, and author of the Ungarrecently published Princeton book Evolution’s Bite: A Story of Teeth, Diet, and Human Origins (May 2017).

In his fascinating talk, Ungar illustrated how important teeth are for understanding the story of human evolution. Ungar described how a tooth’s “foodprints”—distinctive patterns of microscopic wear and tear—provide telltale details about what an animal actually ate in the past. These clues, combined with groundbreaking research in paleoclimatology, demonstrate how a changing climate altered the food options available to our ancestors—what Ungar calls the biospheric buffet. When diets change, species change, and Ungar traced how diet and an unpredictable climate determined who among our ancestors was winnowed out and who survived, as well as why we transitioned from the role of forager to farmer. By showing us the scars on ancient teeth, Ungar made the important case for what might or might not be the most natural diet for humans.

Ungar also revealed some fascinating facts about teeth in modern humans. Orthodontic issues such as crooked teeth, overbites, and impacted wisdom teeth did not affect our distant ancestors. The reason our mouths are overcrowded lies in the modern diet: our ancestors would have had to chew hard to break up tough foods. Bone responds to strain by growing, and our tooth size evolved to fit perfectly into a jaw exposed to a hard or tough diet. Our modern diet of pizza and burgers does not provide the same challenge for our jaws, and so they are not put under the strain required to reach optimum jaw size. In some tribes around the world, there are groups of people who still eat a similar diet to our ancestors, and it is no coincidence that these people tend to, on the whole, have beautiful straight teeth.

It is amazing what you can learn from teeth; Ungar explained how toothwear shows us how dinosaur jaws moved, allowing us to build muscle onto the bones of the face, to see what they would have looked like. In this way, teeth play an important role in the reconstruction of prehistoric animals, and also the face shapes of our ancestors. Ungar’s talk was a fascinating addition to the Royal Institute’s line-up this year.

Keeping in tone with the idea behind the Christmas Lectures series, it is fascinating to see the number of young children—usually one in ten—in the audience at these adult-level general lectures. It is a benchmark of the accessibility of the Ri that it is not uncommon to see a nine year old articulating her ideas about ecosystems or an eleven year old asking for more details about CRISPR. The Institution, the lecture hall, and the people that encompass it continue to be a point of inspiration for anybody who chooses to listen.

Martin Rees: Stephen Hawking — An Appreciation

Soon after I enrolled as a graduate student at Cambridge University in 1964, I encountered a fellow student, two years ahead of me in his studies; he was unsteady on his feet and spoke with great difficulty. This was Stephen Hawking. He had recently been diagnosed with a degenerative disease, and it was thought that he might not survive long enough even to finish his PhD. But, amazingly, he lived on to the age of 76. Even mere survival would have been a medical marvel, but of course he didn’t just survive. He become one of the most famous scientists  in the world—acclaimed  as a world-leading researcher in mathematical physics, for his best-selling books about space, time, and the cosmos, and for his astonishing triumph over adversity.

Astronomers are used to large numbers. But few numbers could be as large as the odds I’d have given, back in 1964 when Stephen received his ‘death sentence,’ against witnessing this uniquely inspiring crescendo of achievement sustained for more than 50 years. Few, if any, of Einstein’s successors have done more to deepen our insights into gravity, space, and time.

Stephen went to school in St Albans, near London, and then to Oxford University. He was, by all accounts, a ‘laid back’ undergraduate, but his brilliance nonetheless earned him a first class degree in physics, and an ‘entry ticket’ to a research career in Cambridge. Within a few years of the onset of his disease he was wheelchair-bound, and his speech was an indistinct croak that could only be interpreted by those who knew him. But in other respects fortune had favored him. He married a family friend, Jane Wilde, who provided a supportive home life for him and their three children, Robert, Lucy, and Tim.

The 1960s were an exciting period in astronomy and cosmology: this was the decade when evidence began to emerge for black holes and the big bang. In Cambridge, Stephen  joined a lively research group. It was headed by Dennis Sciama, an enthusiastic and effective mentor who urged him to focus on the new mathematical concepts being developed by Roger Penrose, then at London University, which were initiating a renaissance in the study of Einstein’s theory of general relativity. Stephen mastered Penrose’s techniques and quickly came up with a succession of insights into the nature of black holes (then a very new idea),   along with new arguments that our universe had expanded from a ‘big bang.’ The latter work was done jointly with George Ellis, another of Sciama’s students, with whom Stephen wrote a monograph entitled The Large-Scale Structure of Space-Time. Especially important was the realization that the area of a black hole’s horizon (the ‘one-way membranes’ that shroud the interior of black holes, and from within which nothing can escape) could never decrease. The analogy with entropy (a measure of disorder, that likewise can never decrease) was developed further by the late Israeli theorist Jacob Bekenstein. In the subsequent decades, the observational support for these ideas  has strengthened—most spectacularly with the 2016 announcement of the detection of gravitational waves from colliding black holes.

Stephen was elected to the Royal Society, Britain’s main scientific academy, at the exceptionally early age of 32. He was by then so frail that most of us suspected that he could scale no further heights. But, for Stephen, this was still just the beginning. He worked in the same building as I did. I would often push his wheelchair into his office, and he would ask me to open an abstruse book on quantum theory—the science of atoms, not a subject that had hitherto much interested him. He would sit hunched motionless for hours—he couldn’t even to turn the pages without help. I wondered what was going through his mind, and if his powers were failing. But within a year he came up with his best-ever idea—encapsulated in an equation that he said he wanted on his memorial stone.

The great advances in science generally involve  discovering a link between phenomena that seemed hitherto conceptually unconnected: for instance, Isaac Newton famously realized that the force making an apple fall was the same as the force that held the moon and planets in their orbits. Stephen’s ‘eureka moment’ revealed a profound and unexpected  link between gravity and quantum theory: he predicted that black holes would not be completely black, but would radiate in a characteristic way. Bekenstein’s concept that black holes had ‘entropy’ was more than just an analogy. This radiation is only significant for black holes much less massive than stars—and none of these have been found. However, ‘Hawking radiation’ had very deep implications for mathematical physics—indeed one of the main achievements of string theory has been to corroborate his idea. It is still the focus of theoretical interest—a topic of debate and controversy more than 40 years after his discovery. Indeed the Harvard theorist, Andrew Strominger (with whom Stephen recently collaborated) said that this paper had caused ‘more sleepless nights among theoretical physicists than any paper in history.’ The key issue is whether information that is seemingly lost when objects fall into a black hole is in principle recoverable from the radiation when it evaporates. If it is not, this violates a deeply believed general physical principle. In 2013 he was one of the early winners of the Breakthrough Prize, worth 3 million dollars, which was intended to recognize theoretical work.

Cambridge was Stephen’s base throughout his career, and he became a familiar figure navigating his wheelchair around the city’s streets. By the end of the 1970s, he had advanced to one of the most distinguished posts in the University—the Lucasian Professorship of Mathematics, once held by Newton himself. He held this chair with distinction for 30 years; but reached the retiring age in 2009 and thereafter held a special research professorship. He travelled widely: he was an especially frequent visitor at Caltech, in Pasadena, California; and at Texas A&M University. He continued to seek new links between the very large (the cosmos) and the very small (atoms and quantum theory) and to gain deeper insights into the very beginning of our universe—addressing questions like ‘was our big bang the only one?’ He had a remarkable ability to figure things out in his head. But latterly he worked with students and colleagues who would write a formula on a blackboard; he would stare at it, and say whether he agreed with it, and perhaps what should come next.

In 1987, Stephen contracted pneumonia. He had to undergo a tracheotomy, which removed even the limited powers of speech he then possessed. It had been more than 10 years since he could write, or even  use a keyboard. Without speech, the only way he could communicate was by directing his eye towards  one of the letters of the alphabet on a big board in front of him.

But he was saved by technology. He still had the use of one hand; and a computer, controlled by a single lever, allowed him to spell out sentences. These were then declaimed by a speech synthesizer, with the androidal American accent that has since become his trademark. His lectures were, of course, pre-prepared, but conversation remained a struggle. Each word involved several presses of the lever, so even a sentence took several minutes. He learnt to economize with words. His comments were aphoristic or oracular, but often infused with wit. In his later years, he became too weak to control this machine effectively, even via facial muscles or eye movements, and his communication—to his immense frustration—became even slower.

At the time of his tracheotomy operation, he had a rough draft of a book, which he’d hoped would describe his ideas to a wide readership and earn something for his two eldest children, who were then of college age. On his recovery from pneumonia, he resumed work with the help of an editor. When the US edition of   A Brief History of Time appeared, the printers made some errors (a picture was upside down), and the publishers tried to recall the stock. To their amazement, all copies had already been sold. This was the first inkling that the book was destined for runaway success—four years on bestseller lists around the world.

The feature film The Theory of Everything (where he was superbly impersonated by Eddie Redmayne, in an Oscar-winning performance) portrayed  the human story behind his struggle. It surpassed most biopics in  representing the main characters so well that they themselves were happy with the portrayal (even though it understandably omitted and conflated key episodes in his scientific life). Even before this film, his life and work had featured in movies. In  an excellent TV docudrama made in 2004, he was played by Benedict Cumberbatch (In 2012 Cumberbatch spoke his words in a 4-part documentary The Grand Design made for the Discovery TV  Channel).

Why did he become such a ‘cult figure?’ The concept of an imprisoned mind roaming the cosmos plainly grabbed people’s imagination. If he had achieved equal distinction in (say) genetics rather than cosmology, his triumph of intellect against adversity probably wouldn’t have achieved the same resonance with a worldwide public.

The Theory of Everything conveyed with sensitivity how the need for support (first from a succession of students, but later requiring a team of nurses) strained his marriage to breaking point, especially when augmented by the pressure of his growing celebrity. Jane’s book, on which the film is based chronicles the 25 years during which, with amazing dedication, she underpinned his family life and his career.

This is where the film ends. But it left us only half way through Stephen’s adult life. After the split with Jane, Stephen married, in 1995, Elaine Mason, who had been one of his nurses, and whose former husband had designed Stephen’s speech synthesizer. But this partnership broke up within a decade. He was sustained, then and thereafter, by a team of helpers and personal assistants, as well as his family. His daughter Lucy has written books for children with her father as coauthor. His later theories were described, and beautifully illustrated, in other books such as Our Universe in a Nutshell and The Grand Design. These weren’t  bought by quite as many people as his first book—but probably more readers got to the end of them.

The success of A Brief History of Time catapulted Stephen to international stardom. He  featured in numerous TV programs; his lectures filled the Albert Hall, and similar venues in the US and Japan. He  featured in Star Trek and The Simpsons, and in numerous TV documentaries, as well as advertisements. He lectured at Clinton’s White House; he was back there more recently when President Obama presented him with the US Medal of Freedom, a very rare honor for any foreigner—and of course just one of the many awards he accumulated over his career (including Companion of Honor from the UK). In the summer of 2012, he reached perhaps his largest-ever audience when he had a star role at the opening ceremony of the London Paralympics.

His 60th birthday celebrations, in January 2002 , were a memorable occasion for all of us. Hundreds of leading scientists came from all over the world to honor and celebrate Stephen’s discoveries, and to spend a week discussing the latest theories on space, time, and the cosmos. But the celebrations weren’t just scientific—that wouldn’t have been Stephen’s style. Stephen was surrounded by his children and grandchildren; there was music and singing; there were ‘celebrities’ in attendance. And when the week’s events were all over, he celebrated with a trip in a hot air balloon.

It was amazing enough that Stephen reached the age of 60; few of us then thought that he would survive 16 more years. His 70th birthday was again marked by an international gathering of scientists in Cambridge, and also with some razzmatazz. So was his 75th birthday, though now shared by several million people via a livestream on the internet. He was in these last years plainly weakening. But he was still able to ‘deliver’ entertaining (and sometimes rather moving) lectures via his speech synthesizer and with the aid of skillfully prepared visuals.

Stephen continued, right until his last decade, to coauthor technical papers, and speak at premier international conferences—doubly remarkable in a subject where even healthy researchers tend to peak at an early age. Specially influential were his contributions to ‘cosmic inflation’—a theory that many believe describes the ultra-early phases of our expanding universe. A key issue is to understand the primordial seeds which eventually develop into galaxies. He proposed (as, independently, did the Russian theorist Viatcheslav Mukhanov) that these were quantum fluctuations—somewhat analogous to those involved in ‘Hawking radiation’ from black holes. He hosted an important meeting in 1982 where such ideas were thoroughly discussed. Subsequently, particularly with James Hartle and Thomas Hertog, he made further steps towards linking the two great theories of 20th century physics: the quantum theory of the microworld and Einstein’s theory of gravity and space-time.

He continued  to be an inveterate traveller—despite attempts to curb this as his respiration weakened. This wasn’t just to lecture. For instance, on a visit to Canada he was undeterred by having to go two miles down a mine-shaft to visit an underground laboratory where famous and delicate experiments had been done. And on a later trip, only a last-minute health setback prevented him from going to the Galapagos. All these travels—and indeed his everyday working life—involved an entourage of assistants and nurses. His fame, and the allure of his public appearances, gave him the resources for  nursing care, and protected him against the ‘does he take sugar?’ type of indignity that the disabled often suffer.

Stephen was far from being the archetype unworldly or nerdish scientist—his personality remained amazingly unwarped by his frustrations and handicaps. As well as his extensive travels, he enjoyed  trips to theatre or opera. He had robust common sense, and was ready to express forceful political opinions. However, a downside of his iconic status was that that his comments attracted exaggerated attention even on topics where he had  no special expertise—for instance philosophy, or the dangers from aliens or from intelligent machines. And he was sometimes involved in media events where his ‘script’ was written by the promoters of causes about which he may have been ambivalent.

But there was absolutely no gainsaying his lifelong commitment to campaigns for the disabled, and (just in the last few months) in support of the NHS—to which he acknowledged he owed so much. He was always, at the personal level, sensitive to the misfortunes of others. He recorded  that, when in hospital soon after his illness was first diagnosed, his depression was lifted when he compared his lot with a boy in the next bed who was dying of leukemia. And he was firmly aligned with other political campaigns and causes. When he visited Israel, he insisted on going also to the West Bank. Newspapers in 2006 showed remarkable pictures of him, in his wheelchair, surrounded  by fascinated and curious crowds in Ramallah.

Even more astonishing are the pictures of him ‘floating’ in the NASA aircraft  (the ‘vomit comet’) that allows passengers to experience weightlessness—he was manifestly overjoyed at escaping, albeit briefly, the clutches of the gravitational force he’d studied for decades and which had so cruelly imprisoned his body.

Tragedy struck Stephen Hawking when he was only 22. He was diagnosed with a deadly disease, and his  expectations dropped to zero. He himself said that everything that happened since then was a bonus. And what a triumph his life has been. His name will live in the annals of science; millions have had their cosmic horizons widened by his best-selling books; and even more, around the world, have been inspired by a unique example of achievement against all the odds—a manifestation of amazing will-power and determination.

Martin Rees is Astronomer Royal of Great Britain, a Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, a former director of the Cambridge Institute of Astronomy and author, most recently, of the bestselling Just Six Numbers: The Deep Forces That Shape the Universe. His forthcoming book, On the Future, will be available in October 2018.

Katrina van Grouw on the difficulty of answering a simple question

Artist/scientist/author/illustrator… To me, names are important, and it’s vital to be described by one that fits. Ironically it seems to be my lot in life to evade classification.

Throughout Women’s History Month, join Princeton University Press as we celebrate scholarship by and about women.

“What do you do for a living?”

It’s a harmless enough question; one that ideally requires a short answer, like “astronaut” or “driving instructor”. And yet, the closest thing to a concise answer that emerges from my ensuing stream of incoherent mumbling are the words: “I produce books.”

I produce books; beautiful books that communicate beautiful science to everyday people. (I’m actually a very good communicator, both in writing and in front of an audience, but the reason why this particular question always throws me off balance will hopefully become clear as you read on.) Each book takes multiple years to create. I work on them full-time, seven days a week; think about them every minute of every day, and dream about them at night. They’re my obsession, my passion, my entire reason to live.

You might be wondering how a single book can take so long, but these are rather original, large, illustrated books with around 400 drawings in each. I am author, illustrator, conceiver and designer. For the anatomical illustrations, the mounted skeletons are invariably drawn from skeletons that we’ve cleaned and articulated at home (Husband does all the preparation work, though we’re both adept at it) as very few museum specimens are sufficiently accurate, or mounted in the required posture. So we need to obtain the specimens and do months of preparation before the illustration work can even begin.

Cattle lined up in a stall, in various stages of undress, seemed the best way to illustrate the result of “double muscling”, most obvious in the hindquarters of beef cattle. Images like this are only of real use as illustrations in a book, with the sole function of clarifying the text.

Although the drawings are, to many people, the main selling point, there’s a difference between “art books”—collections of an artist’s work on a loose theme—and illustrated books that are created to communicate a message, Mine are not art books, despite being very beautiful. My newest book, Unnatural Selection, in particular, is text-led with the illustrations serving purely to elucidate the writing.

The sorts of images necessary to illustrate a book might also be very different from the pictures an artist will produce for their own sake. Many people assume that I produce tightly detailed anatomical drawings out of choice, as works of art in their own right, and some even assume I’m some sort of arty Goth chick who’s “into skeletons”. I’ll never forget the reaction of a lady at an art demonstration (I was using the opportunity to produce illustrations for The Unfeathered Bird) who stormed out in obvious disgust muttering, “The things people draw!”

I’ve only ever produced anatomical drawings as a means to an end—as a way of communicating (though my books’ illustrations), or investigating the underlying structure of animals that I picture, alive, in my personal artwork. In my previous incarnation, as a fine artist, my creations were very, very different—loose and dark and expressive—though also concerned with the underlying structure of things and inspired by similar subjects to my books. I was deeply engrossed in large drawings of towering sea cliffs and geological formations when Princeton University Press offered to publish The Unfeathered Bird, an idea I’d been incubating for nearly 20 years. The book was supposed to be a temporary diversion, but when the time came to return to my previous artwork I found that the moment had passed. I’d moved on.

There’s a difference between artwork produced for its own sake to hang on the wall, and drawings made exclusively as book illustrations to supplement text. My anatomical drawings were only ever intended for illustration, or as a way of understanding the structure of living animals.

People have mourned this departure from the picture-making art world without appreciating that it’s impossible to move backward, even if I’d wanted to. I’ve evolved in a new direction and discovered something that ticks all the boxes for me creatively and intellectually: books.

Books offer the potential to be far more than the sum of their parts. For me it’s the entire book —the interaction of text with images, the design, the way I choose to express myself, and most of all the concept —that’s the final work of art. I love the challenge of making decisions about the best arrangement of content, or the angle of approach, confident that the answer exists but having to reach it through months of independent thought. Producing books encompasses not just my drawing skills, but writing, research, communication and my intellect most of all, and tests me to my limits. I can think of nothing finer.

The line between art and illustration is a fine one. Many works of fine art can function superbly well as illustrations, and many illustrations are sublime works of art in their own right. The distinction is not in the creations but in the professions. Being an illustrator usually involves working to someone else’s brief and taking instructions from a non-illustrator about how the illustration should be done. Just the thought of it fills me with contempt! I have no imagination when it comes to commissioned work, no passion for other people’s projects, and no inclination to subject myself to other people’s will. The purpose of illustration is to illuminate text, so it’s something of an oxymoron to describe someone primarily as an illustrator when it’s their own text they’re illustrating. For these reasons, and because I’m exceedingly proud of my written work, I dislike being described as a natural history illustrator, preferring to think of myself as an author or as an author/illustrator.

One of the challenges I enjoy most is clarifying a scientific idea through cleverly conceived illustrations. These four Budgerigars (or is it just one?) are showing how pigment layers combine to produce colors.

Even this invites preconceptions, however. When people hear the word “author” they immediately think of fiction. And when the author is a woman, and also illustrates her own books, people think of children’s fiction. After that, explaining that you actually produce books about evolution and morphology for adults is just a confirmation of their automatic expectation that your books are dull, super-specialised, and only of interest to a very limited niche market. Their response is always the same, and if I had a pound for every time someone said this, I’d be very rich indeed:

“You’re not exactly J K Rowling, then.”

To be honest, there are actually very few full time non-fiction authors. Most other authors of evolution books are university professors or researchers who would definitely describe themselves as biologists first and foremost. For many, writing books is something that’s expected of them, as part of their job.

I’d dearly love to have been able to call myself a biologist. I am, however, entirely self-taught so don’t believe I deserve that title (and certainly not the title “anatomist” which I have been called on occasion). Ironically, there are plenty of self-taught artists who claim the title “artist” as their own almost as readily as they pick up a pencil, but anyone without a relevant university degree is considered a fraud if they call themselves a scientist. Names are important, and it’s vital to be described by one that fits, although ironically it seems to be my lot in life to evade classification.

My desire for an academic education was held back – not by any lack of ability, but by a prodigious talent for drawing. The school I attended was a veritable nest of sirens – mesmerising, charismatic teachers who would lure talented and unsuspecting children into their inner sanctum and set about re-creating them in their own image. I’ll never forget the intoxicating evenings at the home of my art teacher, a particularly alluring and manipulative siren named Jill; mesmerized by her beauty, the way her long hair, released from its schoolroom bun, caught the glow of the firelight as we sat listening to Bob Dylan; enraptured by the music of her voice as she languidly spoke of art and poetry and literature, of all the things I must learn to love, and all the things I mustn’t waste my time on. When I finally awoke from the dream and remembered my passion for biology it was too late. It was only after every attempt to scrape in to an academic science education had failed that I at last, very reluctantly, committed myself to a future as a fine artist.

Being self-taught isn’t necessarily a bad thing, however. It’s by having to read and reason alone that you learn to question and think, and to draw conclusions from first hand observation. Also, by struggling to learn scientific concepts for yourself you appreciate the parts that are difficult to grasp so you become naturally better able to communicate them to other people. I’m very proud of what I’ve achieved on my own and have absolutely no doubt that my books contain a far better scientific message as a result of taking this difficult path than they ever would have otherwise.

So much for “What do you do…” but now we get on to the second part of the question— “for a living?”

Most people judge success purely in terms of whether not you make enough money to live on and, if so, how affluently you manage to live. Producing books is more of a life than a living. It’s not about making money; it’s about bringing something into the world that deserves to exist. Realistically, no-one can honestly claim to earn a sustained income from projects that take so long to complete, so you’re faced with the dilemma of whether to do other paid work—in which case the task will take even longer—or to accept the lack of income and all the feelings of worthlessness that come with it, for the sake of devoting yourself exclusively to that project. I now do the latter, though it wasn’t out of choice.

In fact my personal preference is to have a day job with nice people who say good morning and ask how my weekend was. I’ve endured my share of poverty over the years; I’ve burned the furniture to keep warm and once even masqueraded as a waitress in a busy pub so that I could eat the leftovers from people’s plates. However, it’s not for the money that I like to have a job; it’s mostly because I find I need the company and routine. Neither option is better or more worthy than the other; it’s simply a question of how you prefer to live.

I’ve tried various day jobs. At first I purposely selected the most menial jobs I could in a deliberate effort to keep “job” and “career” separate. The first was plucking chickens on an assembly line at an abattoir. This was followed by a succession of soul-destroying occupations: as a bird bander on a nature reserve for £90/week (that one even came with accommodation: a rat-infested caravan); data entry; photocopying; and, worst of all, being forgotten about altogether and paid to do nothing. Trust me—it’s not as good as it sounds.

Eventually my skills as a self-taught ornithologist and specimen preparator came to my rescue when a job arose as curator of the bird research collections at the British Natural History Museum. At the interview I talked enthusiastically about The Unfeathered Bird (still in its embryonic form) and showed photographs of skins and skeletons I’d prepared. Getting that job made me feel like the Ugly Duckling when it discovered it was a swan. You never saw anyone so happy. The job, I considered, was worth moving back south for, where properties are more expensive; worth downsizing to a tiny house and sacrificing my art studio and etching press. A few years later bad news followed good news on the same day like two barrels of a shotgun. I was invited to write a book (independently from the museum) about the history of bird art. And I was forbidden, by the head of department, from ever producing books in my spare time.

My husband now has “my” job. We’d job-shared in my final year, before I sacrificed the museum for my right to produce books, and fortunately he was able to take over my hours, so as a couple we suffered no loss of earnings. After the head of department had retired, I tried, and failed to get another post at the museum, and had similar fortune elsewhere too, leaving me utterly broken.

By now you might be starting to understand why “What do you do for a living?” is such a difficult question for me. Book royalties come but once a year and as a modern hard-working woman there’s a stigma to having to admit that our household income is virtually all provided by my husband’s job. No-one’s interested in hearing that that job used to be my own. They fill in the gaps with preconceptions: “successful scientist husband (he must be a scientist as he works at the Natural History Museum) generously supporting his (artist) wife’s hobby.”

Many people mourn the fact that I no longer do pictures like this large seascape. But artistic development is a one way trip. For me now, producing books ticks all the creative and intellectual boxes.

I love writing for an audience, so when Princeton University Press asked me to write a blog post for International Women’s Day I agreed instantly, even though I didn’t know what on Earth I’d have to say. I’ve never had a proper career, and never had a family, so I wasn’t able to talk about equal pay, or maternity leave, or sexual harassment at work. So I started writing about myself instead, and discovered that I do have something to say.

Labels, judgements, and stereotypes; pink/blue; dolls/action men; art/science; it’s one thing to loathe preconceptions from others, but how many of us are aware of them in our own behaviour? Equality isn’t just in the hands of employers; it’s the responsibility of every single one of us—women as much as men. Once we start to accept that each and every one of us has a very unique story to tell, we might be less inclined to make generalisations. And finally, what about the prejudices we level at ourselves? As a perfectly-balanced author/illustrator with a matching chip on each shoulder, I can see that change won’t happen overnight. But by challenging my own discomfort about gender expectations, what we do, and who earns the wages, I hope to someday manage to proudly look someone in the eye and say, “I produce books.”

 Katrina van Grouw, author of The Unfeathered Bird and Unnatural Selection (both Princeton), inhabits that no-man’s-land midway between art and science. She holds degrees in fine art and natural history illustration and is a former curator of ornithological collections at a major national museum. She’s a self-taught scientist with a passion for evolutionary biology and its history.

Christie Henry talks with Hanna Gray for International Women’s Day

This post is a transcribed excerpt from a forthcoming Open Stacks podcast interview.

I couldn’t be more fortunate to be in the company of Hanna Gray, Professor Emeritus of History at the University of Chicago and Jeff Deutsch, director of the seminary co-op. As a proud member of the University of Chicago diaspora, I am in awe and admiration of these two individuals, whose integrity and erudition animate the scholarly culture. We meet on the occasion of the imminent publication of Professor Gray’s memoir, An Academic Life. Professor Gray and I overlapped briefly in 1993 as inhabitants of the 5801 Ellis Avenue Building, now Levi Hall. At the time, the University of Chicago Press occupied two floors of the building, and the University Administration was on the fifth floor. Two months after I joined the Press, Professor Gray stepped away from the presidency. But the resonance of her leadership endured for the entire 25 years I was on campus. She was the first European born and woman to lead the University of Chicago. As our paths intersect again, I now have the privilege of being the first woman to Direct Princeton University Press, and in that capacity, also to be the publisher of Professor Gray’s forthcoming memoir. I have savored reading the pages of this work and learning more about the fortitude and intelligence she used to shape experiences for so many of us at USC and throughout the world.

GrayChristie: We could use hours of conversation given that so many themes of our discussion—particularly the investment in thought and the benefits gained from communal thinking—are resonating beautifully. I wanted to ask you about on the privilege and responsibilities of being first. You were the first European born president of the University of Chicago as well as the first female provost at Yale and first female president at Chicago. You talk about these opportunities that you have had as you being in the right place at the right time. And I think that that’s often the way I have described my own narrative, as I too have been lucky to be in the right place at the right time. But if one of the responsibilities we carry is to try to create that right place and right time for others to enjoy these opportunities—and especially now as we’re thinking about how to intentionally diversify the demographics of publishing and of the university—what were some of your experiences of creating those right places and right times? Consider this my plea for advice as to how to be intentional and less serendipitous in creating opportunities for others.

Hanna: I’m the first European born president of the University of Chicago but we haven’t had a lot of presidents. So it’s not the biggest deal right? [laughs] I think my work at Yale was more complicated because it was a very early stage in the coeducation of Yale. Women wanted to be seen so much as integral parts of the university, but there were not a lot of women—to put it mildly—on the faculty.

The women surrounding the university wanted things to happen very quickly. And obviously my role was to be concerned for the whole university not only for those who were women.

And at the same time, I felt that I could understand the situation of women much more than my male colleagues had over the years, and obviously a lot needed to be done at Yale. And so there was always this tension between my knowing that and working to address it. And the sense on the part of many women was that not enough was being done because they hoped for almost overnight change, which is of course impossible. I mean, you know how appointments are made in institutions and obviously as provost or President, as I was briefly, you can only do so much. It’s not you who make the appointments. You could encourage appointments you can allocate appointments, but you shouldn’t have quota systems. Rather you have to wait until those opportunities come up and you have to prioritize and so on and so forth. It was very difficult for women who saw themselves as competent. Why was there not for them a position in the history of art, as an art historian so well-trained and so ready to be a member of a good department? But there were no places. There were no positions in that area. Those kinds of issues were there all the time. And so the question of pace was a very big question and I think I made a difference.

We made a slow difference, but that slow difference obviously was not satisfying to those who didn’t benefit from it. And that is an issue that one confronts as one hopes to make a difference. Institutions that move slowly move slowly in part because that’s their way. They don’t know how to run. But that moves slowly also because process is so important and people need to feel things have been done fairly and appropriately and according to policies and rules that everybody understands and has one hopes been a part of shaping. Now when I came back to the University of Chicago, the situation was very different.

Chicago, of course, has always been a coeducational institution that had women on the faculty from day one. But the extraordinary thing about the University of Chicago, which speaks to the larger history of women in higher education in America, was that the percentage of women on the faculty when I became president was no larger than it had been on the opening day of the university. That was an extraordinary fact and it was something I had seen in my own earlier time at the university where I was, I think, one of the first women to be appointed to her husband’s department.

There were some obstructions to women’s progress within the university. There were some women on the faculty, of course, but none of them were in the sciences except for medicine. But even there, there weren’t so many. And I think I was one of—I forget, how many—five, in the social sciences altogether. And then, one of only two tenured female faculty at some point. We did make steady progress because the institution had made, I think, an institutional determination that these figures were ridiculous and they did not represent “our” institution, which prides itself on going against the tide. Chicago recognizes merit where merit is due, and it should certainly be doing just that. It wasn’t always smooth progress and it certainly did not involve quotas of any kind, but we steadily did increase the number of women. And I think that having a woman president was a help in that respect. And I think once again, my responsibility was for the whole institution and for being sure that the appropriate appointments were made and other policies were followed. There was clearly some weight to the kind of encouragement. And you know, just the fact of being a woman made a difference.

Check this space later this month to listen to the complete interview on Open Stacks.

 

Sarah Caro: University Press Redux Conference

Sarah Caro is the Editorial Director in Social Science at Princeton University Press, based in our UK office. 

Working for university presses most of my career, I have never really questioned their future or indeed the importance of what they do both for the academic communities they serve and the world beyond. I always felt so passionate about what I and my colleagues were doing, so excited by the privilege of working with such a range of fascinating people and ideas, I  assumed everyone else felt the same way too. But perhaps I was being complacent. Perhaps to others outside the world of university press publishing it seems a rarified, mysterious, even irrelevant endeavour.  

There is certainly no doubt that many people have little idea what university presses do, as we were reminded in the opening session of the University Press Redux Conference held at the British Library in London last week. Our own former director Peter Dougherty was quoted as saying, ‘We are a secret. The world needs to know about the great things we do.’ There was much discussion over the two days about the need to communicate all we have to offer more broadly. There may be a tendency to hide our light under a bushel, but the two days of presentations and lively debate could leave no one in any doubt that the UP is not only alive and kicking but also a many varied and splendid thing. Redux indeed.

One striking aspect of the conference is the huge variety in the university press world not only in terms of  output—everything from scholarly monographs, to textbooks, books for a broader audience including cookery books, guide books and natural history, journals, online resources and born digital projects—but also the different ways they reach their audiences and the very different relationships they have with their host institutions. Some UPs are essentially run by their university library services, others are more or less autonomous. Some are run as quasi commercial operations, even returning a surplus to their host institution, while others are dedicated to Open Access. And they are truly global. One of the most interesting sessions I attended included presentations on university presses in Africa and Australia and there were also delegates from presses across the whole of the UK, US, Canada and Europe.

Despite this huge variety, or perhaps because of it, there is a also an incredible sense of community. University presses exist within the world not just of academia but the real world of current events and politics—as was dramatically illustrated by a rather heated debate about the latest OA requirements of the UK government’s main Higher Education funding body. Whatever the differences in how we operate we are all grappling with the same challenges of new technology, diversity, social media, accessibility and simply trying to do what we do better.

I left the BL on the last afternoon, exhausted and full of cold but convinced that the world of the university press is not rarefied (you certainly wouldn’t call it that after some of the more ‘trenchant’ comments during the OA debate), and while occasionally a little bit mysterious, it is always relevant. Relevant because it is about ideas and ideas do not exist without people.