Inevitably, Brian Cox introduces his sparring partner's book: "There are two categories of idiot: the curious idiot – a category that includes all scientists – and the idiot – a category that includes all who are certain. Robin is a category one idiot, and that's why he's an engaging and wise guide". This is exactly the sort of line you can imagine coming across much better spoken, with a faint edge of awareness of its own paradox, than in writing. And at first I got some of the same sense from Ince's own writing here. Which is only to be expected; sure, he's written a couple of books before, but that's dwarfed by the amount of time he's spent honing his talents as a performer, so no wonder if he can't modulate his effects quite so perfectly on the page, especially when this particular book seems to have been less a thing he specifically wanted to do as a book, than a way to stop himself from going entirely potty in lockdown after live performance ceased to exist. Even aside from that, though, the book's early sections can sometimes feel a little limp, a bit too 'why can't we all just get along'. Yes, it's valuable to point out that the memes and shirts which suggest science is wholly objective are bullshit (Ince gives the solid example of Fred Hoyle, an astronomical pioneer in some respects but one doggedly unwilling to accept the big bang theory*), or that just telling people they're idiots is unlikely to shift beliefs - but when does politeness lapse into appeasement? I can veer fairly centrist dad myself at times, but I absolutely understand why people bridle at this. Though hell, you can see why someone who's previously put on the likes of Richard Dawkins, and then watched as, like pretty much everything else, atheism has become more annoying over the past decade, might feel the need to reformulate his position. Especially when you contrast Dawkins' gift for putting backs up with the example of Carl Sagan, one of Ince's scientific saints, whose humility and charm even managed to convert a 'creation scientist' he initially met while they were testifying against each other in one of those ludicrous US trials.
In a sense, that searching for connection and common ground is one of the main threads running through the book. Often, I loved it, as when Ince tweaks the nose of human exceptionalism by not only detailing but relishing our demonstrably close kinship not just to apes, or even other higher life, but with organisms right down to the level of yeast. Elsewhere, though, it can occasionally lapse into a false and cloying universalism. I adore the idea of an archaeologist proposing in front of a picture of a pharaoh and his bride, because these were people who had pledged to be together for eternity, and she wanted that same commitment. And maybe Egyptian love poetry really is impressively sexy, though we're told rather than shown as much. But then we get the point this is used to illustrate: "Just as the laws of the universe lead to the principle of uniformitarianism, so the principles of human lust and jealousy show that being human throughout time has not been so very different, simply because we didn't have smartphones and sandwich toasters."
Really? Even today, within a given country, let alone around the world, lust and jealousy, never mind the structures around them, can vary an awful lot. Would an Egyptian marriage be so very recognisable to us, or ours to them, when our own relationships are strange enough to each other to keep Channels 4 and 5 in large chunks of regular programming?
Still, I forgive a lot for the idea that of all the behaviours we've been told are uniquely human over the years, the relevant interviewee (and the book has many, including a few fairly big names) suggests that the only one really particular to us is the ability to contemplate multiple meanings of a single thing. Though even aside from my own example, which I would have liked to ask her about (not using tools directly, but using tools to make better tools), this does suggest depressing corollaries regarding the many people incapable of doing that, the regrettably numerous types who always take depiction for endorsement and assume all creators support their protagonists' actions.
When the book is at its best, though, there are some wonderful sections where Ince is using his academic contacts as supporting evidence rather than skeleton, and where his undoubted way both with concepts and words leads to some very smart and moving sections. Most impressively, the book is often at its most winning precisely when it's on the scariest ground. I don't recall ever before entirely putting together the pieces that if you're overwhelmed by the vastness of the universe today, just think - tomorrow it's going to be even bigger! Above all, towards the end there are absolutely gorgeous chapters on the end – both of ourselves, and of everything – which manage to address the biggest, most unappetising concepts there are, and yet still offer not just wisdom, but laughs: "If you think that Lost had a disappointing series finale, wait until you hear about the cosmos." So how does someone who can't abide being bored deal with the notion that "One day all of this will end and, before it ends, for billions, perhaps trillions of years, it may be very, very dull. You would end up praying for it to end with something as spectacular as a whimper"? By delighting in the fact that it's not that boring yet, of course. And as per the title, that sense of delight, and delighting in the delight of others, seems to be a big part of what keeps Ince going, and what makes him such an engaging guide. In particular, I enjoy his emphasis – and his disagreement even with the likes of Brian Eno – on the notion that it's possible to find entirely the same sort of joy and imagination and sense of wonder at what humans can do in science as it is in art. Even if that can't help but feel like its own futile gesture in the face of entropy for those of us living in a country where an awful yet apparently unshakable regime is determined to render the former as Gradgrindian as possible while altogether defunding the latter.
*No, not as in the TV show. Refusing to accept that vile thing is entirely right and proper.
(Netgalley ARC)