Charlottesville Words

CvilleWords: My first question is sparked by this quote from page 113: “The English word firmament boxes up the tradition of the sky as a sphere so tidily that it invites an etymological unpacking.” The book as a whole seems an almost endless unpacking of words, stories, myths, taken-for-granted experiences — did you ever find yourself overwhelmed by your material? As I read I imagined you at your desk surrounded by teetering stacks of index cards. What were your methods for researching and organizing so much material from so many diverse sources?

Michael Sims: Some of my favorite books “close read” (as academics say) a topic or scene; I think especially of Alberto Manguel’s delicious Reading Pictures. I wanted to close read the story that’s so close it’s invisible: a day. It’s common as a penny and just as undervalued, counted mostly by sevens and thirties but occurring one a time, parceled out like an allowance. What day could possibly be more valuable, more ancient and immediate, than today?I had been moving toward this topic for years if not decades, as I made notes, read about light and air and astronomical rhythms, jotted down interesting points from museum trips, children’s books, old movies. I own many books because a library can’t do all I want; I have to live with books and read and re-read, making notes over years, breathing them in as part of my life. That’s how The Phantom Tollbooth and The Time Machine became part of the story of the day for me, along with Darwin’s plant experiments and Galileo’s telescope aimed at the moon, and found their way into my own little book.So I wrote and wrote, threw away a lot, consulted articles and books for detailed explanations of phenomena, and then ran pieces of the manuscript by astronomers, climatologists, photographers. Then I tried to distill everything down to images and specifics and join them in what I hoped would be resonant juxtaposition.

CvilleWords: Other books of science or natural history retain an aspect of memoir — for instance, The Anatomist by Bill Hayes tells the story of the publication of Gray’s Anatomy, but is organized around Hayes’ experiences in anatomy classes, his personal reflections, and the loss of his partner. In contrast, the “I” who opens Apollo’s Fire with reminiscences of childhood quickly steps aside and lets Phaethon take over. Did you ever consider making the book more personal?

Michael Sims: I’ve thought a good bit about this point, because a gratifying number of readers (which for me means five or six) have said that they would have enjoyed my remaining onstage, as if hosting the book on-camera rather than in the invisible voice-over I chose.

I write little in autobiographical mode, partly because I always doubt that I have anything useful to add, but partly also because I feel like I can range further, be less predictable, if I’m not anchored to my own point-of-view. For this book, I felt that a first-person voice would not only limit my options but would also risk immediate fictionalizing. To bring together all the topics I had in mind, I would have to construct an ideal, “typical” day; to do so in first-person felt like turning a nonfiction narrative into a novel. Nicholson Baker could do that, but I’m no Nicholson Baker.

CvilleWords: Near the end of Apollo’s Fire you express some regret that Galileo’s great treatises are relegated to “the dusty shelves of mere science.” I’m sure “mere science” is meant ironically, but what do you see as your book’s genre? Are you comfortable with the “science writing” label for a book that incorporates so much literature, poetry, and history?

Michael Sims: Well, yes, I mean that particular adjective ironically; and an astronomer I know pointed out that science classics are now being read more and more as historical and cultural artifacts as well as milestones in our attempt to see the real world more clearly.

I try to resist adjectives appended to the simple term “writer.” But when I must, I use that lovely old term “nature writer.” My books all circle around our imaginative response to nature. When I’m writing about evolution, King Kong, air pollution, Arbor Day, or the Virgin Mary’s incarnation as sky goddess, I’m simply writing about nature. How our imagination responds to nature is just as much a part of the story, from our point of view, as what existed before we evolved an imagination to aim.

So for me, aside from taxonomic decisions by publishers and bookstores and the Library of Congress, my book’s genre is “nature writing.”

CvilleWords: You begin the book with the question, “Why is the sky blue?” and end it with “Why is the sky dark at night?” I was surprised to learn that Edgar Allan Poe had a hand in answering the latter question. I’m curious — Will you be combining your interests in science and monsters by visiting Poe’s former living quarters at the University of Virginia while you’re in Charlottesville?

Michael Sims: I like your phrase very much: “science and monsters.” Great book title there.

I have to confess that when I received the Charlottesville festival’s invitation to attend, I didn’t think of Poe’s connection with the university. But now it’s firmly on our list, thanks to you. Poe is a fascinating character, and I enjoyed looking at him from a different angle in order to write about his little-known contributions to astronomy. On our sole previous visit to Charlottesville, my wife and I concentrated on Thomas Jefferson (another splendid character who comes up in the book) and used book stores.

The most important part of this festival-oriented visit, for me, is the opportunity to meet three writers I admire, all of whom are associated with the science panel — Jennifer Ackerman, whom I’ve been reading for more than a decade because I consider her one of the finest science writers alive; and two recent discoveries, science writer Susan Freinkel and cultural historian Susan Tyler Hitchcock. I know I’m going to learn a lot and have a great time.