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Book Review: Quantum Supremacy: How the Quantum Computer Revolution Will Change Everything by Michio Kaku

I was greatly impressed by the last Michio Kaku book I read, The God Equation: The Quest for a Theory of Everything, because it evoked an overwhelming sense of wonder, delving into such fascinating subjects as the theory of gravitation, the theory of relativity, quantum theory, and string theory and then taking off from these ideas into a look at black holes, wormholes, dark matter, time travel, and the creation of the universe. In my review, I conclude that “the book ends in uncertainty. Unfortunately, the God equation has not yet been discovered and experimentally proved.” I did not mind the enigmatic conclusion, though, because I had such an entertainingly wild ride along the way. However, Quantum Supremacy I have mixed feelings about.

The book’s focus is the quantum computer and how it could possibly help solve some of the most pressing problems facing humankind, but the uncertainty factor is even more pronounced than in The God Equation. Perhaps this is because in this one Kaku intends to offer practical solutions to real world dilemmas, whereas in The God Equation the premise is more philosophical, or even metaphysical.

As in the previous book, I admit that I do not understand much of the detailed explanations, as I have never studied mathematics or physics or any other advanced science in depth. That’s not a deal-breaker, though, concerning my interest in and grasp of Kaku’s broader explanations. It is intriguing, for instance, that while he is giving a brief history of the basics of quantum physics he explains the background behind the concept of parallel universes and how they relate to the entanglement of particles that makes quantum computers possible. The ultimate takeaway, however, is that although intensive research is going on by governments and high-powered tech companies, quantum computers, which Kaku feels will eventually render digital computers obsolete, are still in the early stages of their growth.

The second part of the book delves into the possible uses to which fully functioning quantum computers, with their incredibly rapid calculating abilities, could be put. To accomplish this, Kaku delves in detail into the overwhelming difficulties facing researchers attempting, for instance, to create fertilizers capable of growing a sufficient amount of crops to feed the growing human population; find cures for baffling diseases such as cancer, AIDS, Covid-19, sickle cell anemia, cystic fibrosis, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, ALS, and others; arrest and even reverse aging itself, leading to a drastic lengthening of the human lifespan and maybe even immortality; mitigate global warming; and harness fusion power. These are all complex dilemmas that have been baffling and frustrating researchers for decades, even centuries. Unfortunately, Kaku offers no possible solutions to any of them. After elaborate explanations about the present state of research, his only conclusion in each case is that quantum computers might be able to help solve this. His rationale is that the ability of quantum computers to calculate at presently-impossible speeds will make the tedious process of laboratory research redundant. This all sounds like an elegant solution to some of our age-old problems, but remember that the summary of every conclusion he comes to includes the words “maybe” or “might.”

At its heart, then, this book is mainly speculative. But it is important to keep in mind that the speculation is based on a solid background of quantum physics, at least as much as is known of it as of 2023 when the book came out. The fact is that much uncertainty remains in these cutting-edge frontiers of science, and I am thankful to Kaku for giving me an overview of what’s currently happening in these exciting endeavors.

The Ongoing Relevancy of Travel

This week in my newsletter The Perennial Nomad: For Those Who Wander with Intent I discuss the relevancy of travel in these dark times:

Among the many sad topics that have hit the news recently are accounts of distrust of international travelers, both of travelers entering the United States and Americans traveling abroad. Travel should be celebrated as the acceptance and blending and coming together of diverse cultures, not excoriated and misinterpreted as unwelcome invasion. It is as important as it ever has been to remind us that we are all members of the same family of humankind.

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Book Review: Trail of the Lost: The Relentless Search to Bring Home the Missing Hikers of the Pacific Crest Trail by Andrea Lankford

This book, written by a former member of the National Park Service’s law enforcement team, focuses on the years-long search for three through-hikers on the Pacific Crest Trail who disappeared without a trace, two in California and one in Washington. It reminded me, of course, of Cheryl Strayed’s memoir Wild, which Lankford says was responsible for a huge burst of popularity for the PCT, but also of Lost in the Valley of Death, an account of the search for a hiker lost in the Himalayas (my three-part review is here and here and here) and The Adventurer’s Son, about the search for a hiker lost in Costa Rica. The difference between these two books and Trail of the Lost is that the searchers eventually found evidence of what had happened to the hikers in the Himalayas and in Costa Rica, but in Trail of the Lost the cases remain unresolved. I suppose that’s a bit of a spoiler, but not really. As one of the searchers says, “The best final chapter would be these hikers being found, but I guess the reality that sometimes they aren’t found is equally important.” What is fascinating is the quest for answers, the commitment of the searchers, and the descriptions of the many dangers that face hikers on long-distance treks such as the PCT.

A hike from the trailhead near the Mexican border to the far side of the PCT near the Canadian border goes through some of the most gorgeous scenery in the world. It can be the experience of a lifetime, and most people manage to walk it without life-threatening mishaps. However, the dangers to be aware of include mountain lions, swarming bees, feral dogs, wanted criminals, farming cults that recruit new members along the PCT, and trigger-happy illegal marijuana growers. Lankford’s account of the dope farmers reminded me of a time long ago, back in the mid-1970s, when I was hitchhiking in the hills between Interstate 5 and the Lost Coast in Northern California and I was picked up by a pot farmer. I’d heard that there were numerous plantations in those hills but I’d never expected to come across any growers. In this instance, at least, the man who gave me the ride was a true gentleman and a paragon of hospitality. He put me up for the night at his mansion in the forest, fed me, and offered me some samples of his product. Times have changed, I guess, in the ensuing decades, and illegal growers now are more on the defensive.

Lankford’s description of the use of cell phones and social media in tracking down clues and support made me recall a hike I took into the mountains of Nepal near the town of Pokhara. This was also back in the mid-70s. Back then there were no cell phones. The only way my parents and friends had any idea of my whereabouts was when I would post an aerogram, a folded up bit of paper, every week or two. When I walked into the mountains of Nepal, I went alone on an unmarked trail and told no one where I was going. If I had got lost in those mountains there would have been no way anyone would have had the faintest clue where to look. When I think of some of the chances I took back then… It’s good that now hikers can carry their phones and tracking devices and so on in case they run into trouble. But as this book points out, the wild places of the world are still fraught with danger, and people disappear, and their loved ones grieve and try to find them. It is heartbreaking when they search for years and never find closure.

What shines through in this account is the self-sacrificial kindness of those who dedicate their time and strength to finding their own lost loved ones and the loved ones of others. Yes, there is great evil seeking to waylay the unwary; however, there is also great good. Many people are willing to undergo personal sacrifices to assist others. As the story progresses, the network of searchers Lankford becomes a part of grows and grows and expands its priorities to attempt to locate other lost people besides the missing ones they had originally focused on.

This book delves deep into the subculture of PCT hiking enthusiasts, their solidarity, and the dangers that face them from nature and from other humans. It’s a story of the detection and analysis of clues, of determination and perseverance, of loss, of disappointment, and of shared grief. Recommended.

I’m a professional writer; I make my living by my words.  I’m happy to share these essays with you, but at the same time, financial support makes the words possible.  If you’d like to become a patron of the arts and support my work, buy a few of my available books or available stories. To send a one-time or recurring donation, click here. You can also donate via my Patreon account. Thanks!

On the Hippie Trail

Usually I post book reviews on this website/blog, but because of its focus on travel, for the past two weeks I have posted a two-part review of On the Hippie Trail: Istanbul to Kathmandu and the Making of a Travel Writer by Rick Steves in my newsletter The Perennial Nomad: For Those Who Wander with Intent. Here’s an excerpt:

I began to travel in earnest in the mid-1970s. When I did, it was not as a tourist who goes for a pre-designated amount of time and then returns home, or as a “there and back again” adventure such as Bilbo Baggins undertook in The Hobbit. I left with an open mind and with a view to discover my destiny, which I knew would include writing, but other than that I had no idea what to expect. I didn’t know if I would ever return to the land of my birth, and that was fine with me.

My first journey took me to Mexico and Central America. On my next trip I flew to Europe and hitchhiked around; however, as winter approached I caught rumors that dedicated young travelers were taking the Overland Trail, also known as the Hippie Trail, across the Middle East to the Indian Subcontinent. That appealed to me. It was exciting and dangerous, a true leap from a relatively safe place into a void of uncertainty. When I made the decision to go east I was in Greece, so I hitched back north to a friend’s village in Holland, worked in factories for a couple of weeks to get a little pocket money, and then traveled through Germany, Austria, Yugoslavia, and Bulgaria to the Turkish border. From there I began hitchhiking rides on long-haul trucks, accosting European drivers stopped at borders and persuading them to let me ride shotgun. In this way I managed to make it all the way to Kandahar in Afghanistan before switching to cheap local transportation. I crossed Pakistan into India, spent Christmas on the idyllic beaches of Goa, continued south to Sri Lanka and then north to Nepal, where I hiked alone into the Himalayas on unmarked trails. I ran out of money and almost starved to death in Delhi until my father rescued me with one hundred dollars wired to the United States embassy. With that I managed to get back to Europe.

On my second journey on the Hippie Trail, I was penniless and returning to India for metaphysical reasons. I hitchhiked with private cars all the way through Turkey and Iran to the Pakistan border; I had to circle south of Afghanistan because I didn’t have seven dollars for a visa. Hitching through Pakistan to India was damned dangerous and I had several close calls. Once I managed to get to India, I continued hitchhiking with the friendly local truckers until I made it back to my destination: Calangute Beach in Goa.

All that to say that I am familiar with the Hippie Trail and have memories of many adventures while traversing west to east, east to west, and west to east again on it. So when I heard about Rick Steves’ new book about the Hippie Trail, I was very excited to obtain a copy as soon as possible.

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Book Review: Aflame: Learning from Silence by Pico Iyer

Aflame is a celebration of Iyer’s decades-long infatuation with a Benedictine retreat in an isolated spot in the hills above the ocean at Big Sur. In his recent book The Half-Known Life: In Search of Paradise, Iyer searches the world for locations with unique spiritual significance, but in Aflame, he offers readers a glimpse of his own special place, the place he prefers to escape to when he is in need of spiritual renewal. Although the retreat is run by a Catholic order of brothers, all who seek stillness and silence are welcome. Iyer emphasizes that he does not believe in God but approaches the spirituality he finds there from a secular perspective. His observations, which are presented in short, succinct sections, remind me of the insights offered by Erling Kagge in his meditative book Silence: In the Age of Noise.

Iyer has a very busy, globetrotting life conducting research for his books and the magazines he writes for, and alternating his time between his home with his wife in Japan and his mother’s home in California. As he tells it, sometimes it all becomes too much, and when he needs to slow down he invariably opts for the small hermitage at Big Sur. His thoughts caused me to remember times in my life during which I had been rushing to get from place to place and felt the need to pause, step back, take a few quiet breaths, and get refilled with inner peace and fortitude. For instance, on my first trip from Europe across the Middle East on the Hippie Trail, when I finally arrived in India, the first thing I did was to retire to a Buddhist ashram north of Bombay where I spent a couple of weeks learning to meditate. Later, while in Nepal, when I was unsure of my next step amidst my travels, I found an isolated spot on an unmarked trail high in the Himalayas where I could stop and ponder my life’s path. On my next trip to India, I’d been traveling hard to make it to a certain location in Goa, India, but just before I arrived I paused, found a tiny beachside village, and rested for a few days in silence and stillness. We all need this from time to time, only many of us do not recognize the need and allow the stress to build up to the breaking point.

It is not as if you will necessarily have a special revelation if you embrace the silence of which Iyer writes. He emphasizes that “the world isn’t erased here; only returned to its proper proportions. It’s not a matter of finding or acquiring anything, only of letting everything extraneous fall away.” And it’s not as if everything Iyer writes is a gem of wisdom. Sometimes his observations are sort of hit and miss, or perhaps it’s that certain parts of the book may speak to some individuals more than others.

The difficult part, according to Iyer, is to carry the peaceful attitude brought on by silence and contemplation back out into the world. In my case, as I read this I wondered how I could reconcile watching Futurama or Family Guy while eating a meal with the need I have for profound silence and deliberate life choices. The answer is moderation. Balance. It is important to enjoy oneself while at the same time maintaining an attitude of waiting and listening. Going to overzealous extremes can easily lead to self-righteousness and snobbery. One thing that Iyer appreciates about the Benedictine brothers at his Big Sur hideaway is their open-mindedness and tolerance. They receive anyone who seeks peace.

The title, Aflame, is mainly metaphysical but also literal, as Iyer explains that one time he was driven to spend time at the monastery after his home burned down in a California wildfire. In fact, the hermitage is frequently in danger of the forest fires that sometimes rage in coastal California and sometimes has to be evacuated during fire season. Iyer writes: “Fire is nature’s agent of rebirth. It replenishes wild places much as I replenish myself by sitting in silence.” The stoical attitude that the monks take toward the occasional fires is drawn from their overall attitude toward existence. Life is a transitory phenomenon.

Near the end of the book, COVID strikes and the world locks down. Iyer takes it as an opportunity to seek whatever beauty he can find where he is. He says, “In a curious way, in the heart of a trembling world, we’re living a little as we might in the silence of the monastery.” And that’s really the message of this book. Not everyone can take off to a retreat as Iyer can. He acknowledges this when he writes: “I’m lucky indeed to have the time and money to go on retreat, I know, a luxury that most might envy.” The point, though, of Iyer’s book, and of Kagge’s book about silence too, is that we must take time to pause and reflect regardless of our situation and location. You can turn any quiet spot into a monastery, a place of rest and renewal.

Where Am I?

This week’s newsletter in The Perennial Nomad: For Those Who Wander with Intent celebrates the irresistible urge to roam.

Sometimes it takes me awhile to remember where I am in the world. No, that’s not right. Let me rephrase it. I know where I am physically, but sometimes I forget where I am in the context of my life’s journey. Physically I am at this moment in Seattle, Washington, United States, on the planet Earth. That much is certain. However, my relationship with Seattle is not the same as it was when I was raised here in the 1950s and 1960s. Back then, Seattle was the world. I couldn’t imagine anywhere else being home. As I gradually made forays, first short and then longer, to other places, I began to realize that though Seattle had great relevance to my own personal background, it was only an interim destination – just as every place I have ever visited or stayed in for any length of time. In intervals during my decades of travel Mumbai was home, as was Kolkata and Chennai and Kathmandu and Bangkok and Auckland and Viterbo and Napoli and Termini Imerese and Athens and Thessaloniki and San Diego and Yakima. These, by the way, are places where I’ve actually lived, not just visited. At intervals I would return to Seattle to visit my parents, siblings, and friends, but during these layovers from one exotic locale to another I knew that I was not staying; I was only passing through.

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Book Review: Memorial Days: A Memoir by Geraldine Brooks

On May 27, 2019, Memorial Day, Australian writer Geraldine Brooks received a phone call telling her that her sixty-year-old husband, Tony Horwitz, who was away on a book tour, suddenly collapsed on a sidewalk in Chevy Chase, Maryland, and died. Years later, in early 2023, she journeyed alone to a remote shack on Flinders Island, between Tasmania and mainland Australia, so that in isolation she could finally deal with her grief.

This slim but profound, emotional, beautiful, and illuminating memoir alternates between her account of dealing with the immediate tragedy and the multitudes of details that inevitably followed, and her time on the island when she had the time to contemplate their marriage and the life they shared. It is a thoughtful, cadenced narrative brimming with insights about death which, despite our awareness of its inevitability, still comes as a shock when it happens. She brings out its universality in sharing brief summaries about how death is reacted to around the world in various cultures and religions, but her main focus is on the singular death that she has to somehow come to grips with.

Her story reminds us that death can come to anyone at any time. Shortly before Horwitz died, he was diagnosed with high cholesterol and hypertension, two factors that contributed to his heart failing. It inevitably struck me that not long ago I was diagnosed with these maladies as well, and now they are held in check through lifestyle changes and medications. I think it’s human nature that we shove death out of our conscious thoughts as something that befalls other people but not us – until something happens that provides us with a stark reminder. For me, reading this memoir was in the nature of a wakeup call. After all, I’m over a decade older than Horwitz was when he died. During the period I was reading this book, I stumbled and fell on the steps of my apartment building while heading out for a walk; although I managed to catch myself and the only injury was a skinned knee, it got me in a somber mood as I strolled through the neighborhood. If there is any inevitability in all of our lives, it is death.

At the same time, Brooks avoids taking a despairing, maudlin approach to her subject matter. Memorial Days is not a depressing read. To the opposite, it is empowering. Of course Brooks mourns the loss of her husband and had a very difficult time in the weeks following his death, but at the same time she celebrates the wonderful life they shared. In fact, it was a kind of fairy tale, larger-than-life existence. After all, they were both highly acclaimed, award-winning, world-traveling writers. Their income was substantial. They had a home on Martha’s Vineyard, an elite, affluent island off the coast of Massachusetts, and a multitude of high-profile friends and acquaintances. After her husband died, and Brooks dealt with things at Martha’s Vineyard, she flew to Australia and lived in Sydney for awhile, and then flew to France and lived in Paris for awhile before returning to the States at the outbreak of COVID. It is not a reality that most people would be able to relate to. I became somewhat envious of her ability to cut loose from all her obligations and take extended time off in a remote location; I would love to be able to do that. This is not to diminish or minimize at all the loss she suffered, though; one thing that this book brings out is that not only death comes to all, but the grief that follows death is also ubiquitous. Grief is grief, no matter who it happens to, and we all have to acknowledge it and handle it in our own ways.

This is a slim book, as I mentioned, and for some reason the publisher decided to leave a space between each paragraph. At first this annoyed me, as it felt like extra padding. But as I got used to it, I came to appreciate that it created a slower, more contemplative reading rhythm. All in all, it is a wonderful, thoughtful book on a subject that, like it or not, is relevant to all of us. Highly recommended.

Time Traveling for Nomads

This week in my newsletter The Perennial Nomad: For Those Who Wander with Intent I discuss the value of visiting historical sites while traveling.

The concept of time travel has intrigued humankind for centuries. H.G. Wells popularized a device that could travel through time in his classic novella The Time Machine, and since then storytellers have come up with all sorts of permutations of the idea. Recently Marvel Studios has even gotten into the act with a number of films drawing on the multiverse theory of quantum physics. However, that’s not the type of time travel I’m referring to here. For a perennial nomad, time travel is a much simpler but no less intriguing process. It involves journeying to and becoming absorbed in museums and monuments and suchlike places. A sign I encountered at the Burke Museum in Seattle explains it thusly: “Objects speak to us and for us. We often think of them as living beings – their lives shape our own. With the help of objects, we can imagine the lives of people who lived before us. And, if we listen closely, our relationships with objects tell us something about ourselves.” Many museums highlight objects and artifacts from the past, and some even foretell the future, such as the exhibit called “Space: Exploring the New Frontier” at the Museum of Flight in south Seattle.

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Book Review: Three Wild Dogs (and the truth): A Memoir by Markus Zusak

When I saw this book on the library’s Peak Picks shelf (comprised of new books that are in such demand that you can take them out only for two weeks with no renewals) and perused its introductory material, I immediately thought of one of my sons. Not long ago, he decided to get a dog. He had worked with large dogs before as part of a veteran’s program at Stanford University, and when he went to the rescue facility he didn’t go for a sweet, well-mannered lap dog; instead, he chose an adolescent Malinois shepherd. This breed is similar to the German shepherd; they are often used as police dogs, guard dogs, and search and rescue dogs. My son’s dog has behavior issues and needs extensive training, but at the same time, he is handsome (jet-black with a white patch on the stomach), affectionate, and a lot of fun.

Three Wild Dogs tells the stories of three different rescue dogs. Like my son, Zusak’s family has a penchant for adopting large, rowdy dogs with big personalities. He declares that “someone has to take the mongrels, the rejected, the unloved…none of that makes us special; we just can’t seem to help ourselves.” As explanation he says: “After all, what do you get a dog for if not for the chaos itself – to ask anarchy straight to your door? We all seem to covet control of our lives, but we unravel it with reckless abandon.” And: “They were a mirror, I suspect, to my own hidden turmoils – my wilderness within.”

Regardless of their initial motivations, though, the author and his family did not take in these dogs merely out of a sense of obligation; they loved them fiercely and were loved in return. This book is full of funny, touching, and often shocking stories of rambunctious beasts and their often befuddled owners. But what comes through more than anything is a sense of the deep love and affection between dogs and their owners. Often on my twice-daily walks around the suburban neighborhood where I live I see people walking their dogs, which vary from tiny little poodles to a massive Great Dane that makes his owner appear diminutive. At this point in my life, having recently become an empty-nester after raising kids for decades, I’m thankful that I don’t have the responsibility, not to mention the mess, of a pet, and I’ve sometimes wondered how my neighbors manage to put up with taking their walks at their dogs’ pace instead of their own, not to mention the disgusting task of picking up their poops. However, this memoir offers insight into the mindset of pet owners (Zusak also writes of the family’s two cats); as the story progressed, I found myself empathizing more and more with owners who develop profound bonds with their pets. It also made me consider Jack London’s fondness for dogs; his two most famous books, The Call of the Wild and White Fang, are both about relationships between traumatized dogs and the humans who take them in and love and care for them.

The relationships are often complex and perplexing. Zusak writes: “We take these animals in, often grudgingly, and all they do is love us (and, you know, all that other terrible stuff, like destroying book deliveries, attacking people, killing other animals, threatening your friends) – but that’s also why they get under our skin.” He adds that “a pet is totally ours. They stay. Only we knew them best. Only we really understood them. Only we could forgive them.”

I’m still not sure I would want to undertake the responsibility of owning a large rescue dog (especially in my present situation, living in a small apartment), but after reading Three Wild Dogs, I understand the mindset and fully sympathize with those that do. If you have pets, you’ll recognize a kindred spirit in the author; if you don’t, you’ll be more tolerant the next time you hear the seemingly endless barking and bickering coming from your neighbor’s house.

I’m a professional writer; I make my living by my words.  I’m happy to share these essays with you, but at the same time, financial support makes the words possible.  If you’d like to become a patron of the arts and support my work, buy a few of my available books or available stories. To send a one-time or recurring donation, click here. You can also donate via my Patreon account. Thanks!

Travel Communities

This week in my column The Perennial Nomad: For Those Who Wander with Intent I discuss travel communities.

I made my second trip across the United States, Europe, and the Middle East to the Indian Subcontinent in the middle of winter. My first journey had been more relaxed, and although I was on a lean budget I was better supplied with funding. It was the mid-1970s, and I flew from New York to Luxemburg on Icelandic Airlines; it cost one hundred dollars for a round trip ticket. As a result, the plane was filled with young people intending to hitchhike around Europe or take the Hippie Trail to India and Nepal. I made a lot of friends that year, and I filled a small notebook with their contact information. The second time around, I was more broke and more desperate. I had metaphysical reasons for returning to India, and I wanted to get there as soon as possible; as a result, I didn’t stop to work here and there as often as I had in the past. Fortunately, most of the people I had met on the road were happy to put me up as I passed through.

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