For about fifty
years, I have been a mystery addict. It began with spending long evenings in
the public library in Evanston, Illinois, which had a vast collection of Agatha
Christies and John Dickson Carrs. I read through them in short order. Though a
few mystery writers are more than lightweight—Dorothy Sayers especially
comes to mind—in most cases I read the books more as puzzles than as
literature. I relish watching for important clues, making hypotheses about
whodunit, and piecing together the answer before Ellery Queen or Lord Peter
Wimsey announces it.
As many
scientists have pointed out, their work is often detective-like. They make many
observations, watch for facts that don’t fit expected patterns, make and test
hypotheses. Over time and many experiments, a broad theory may emerge. Much of
my own science writing (mainly for middle- and high school students) emphasizes
the mystery-solving aspects of science. One of my favorite—and unfortunately
unpublished—books was called Who Killed the Neanderthals?
There is an
important difference between detective fiction and science, though: In a
well-written whodunit, all the clues are wrapped up neatly by the last page. There
is no mystery left to solve. In science, the “detectives” can reach a tentative
conclusion as the result of experimentation, but their conclusion is subject to
further testing by other scientists, and it may be disproved. In fact, that is
the exciting thing about science. New observations and experimental results can
lead to new hypotheses. The Neanderthals are a good example: Seen at one time
as brutish creatures having no relation to modern humans, they have gone
through several reassessments as new fossil evidence and DNA studies have
emerged. They may still not be completely understood. And so, I will go on
reading about the Neanderthals—sharing the excitement about new clues,
wondering whether that particular mystery has finally been solved.
