But there is a lot of life left in the old dog. Venerable areas such as
quantum theory are positively bursting with life: quantum dots, quantum wires,
quantum cryptography, quantum teleportation and quantum computers. Brand-new
physical concepts are being spun out at a frenzied rate. Detractors claim these
are oversold: the ageing star is trying to keep its public interested. But
supporters believe that a new age of quantum technology really is on its way.
Time will tell.

Still, up to its ankles in metaphysics and now with a toe in Silicon Valley,
this New Wave quantum research is generating a diverse literature to match. My
favourite new book is Quantum Challenge by George Greenstein and Arthur
Zajonc. Much of the New Wave work on interpretations and the measurement problem
is driven by new experimental possibilities. Many early and paradoxical “thought
experiments” are actually being realised in quantum optics and cold-atom labs
around the world. A great strength of this book is the authors’ close contact
with these experiments. They can describe them and extract the philosophical
implications with amazing clarity and conciseness.

Their book targets the empty ground between popular science and technical
graduate texts, easily accessible to undergraduates. Certainly for physicists in
other areas it will be an agreeable cover-to-cover read. It introduces important
ideas, for example, the Kochen-Specker theorem, the quantum Zeno effect and
decoherence, without the eye-watering rigour that can make the faint-hearted
give up. It is, however, not fully comprehensive. Topics such as consistent
histories and quantum teleportation are not included.

These are covered by Dipankar Home in Conceptual Foundations of Quantum
Physics, a much deeper and broader text. This is an excellent and
substantial book, but it is a graduate-level text. Home surveys current models
and their shortcomings, and places more emphasis on formal ideas than on
experimental results. Physicists in other areas prepared to put in some time and
effort will also find it quite accessible. Its usefulness as a reference text or
for casual grazing is a bit impaired by the lack of a decent index. The index
lists mainly authors, not concepts.

One striking feature of quantum theory books is that the authors repeatedly
go back to the source: they quote extensively from correspondence and writings
from the 1920s and 1930s by the quantum greats: Erwin SchrĂśdinger, Werner
Heisenberg, Paul Dirac and so on. The discoverers of quantum theory argued
intensely and wrote eloquently about interpretations and the measurement
problem.

Perhaps because of the relative silence of the intervening 50 years, their
writings don’t seem to date. David Bohm’s work was a bright flare in a dark age
when practically everyone stuck to the Copenhagen interpretation. Now the
Bohmian view has many admirers as a “realist” physical model. And apart from one
hard-to-swallow pill—a very odd quantum field—his interpretation
seems to be the most in keeping with basic human prejudice about how the world
ought to be.

So the reprinting of David Bohm’s Causality and Chance in Modern
Physics three years after his death is timely. It is entirely
nonmathematical and accessible to undergraduates. Here, you’ll find Bohm’s
thoughts on issues such as causality versus correlation, leading up to his
alternative interpretation.

Another high-level text for researchers working near the new quantum-optics
frontline of research is Measuring the Quantum State of Light by Ulf
Leonhardt. This specialist text focuses mainly on recent advances in measuring
the behaviour of light in a sort of phase space, in so far, that is, as is
allowed by the uncertainty principle. In other words, Leonhardt uses quantum
tomography to determine such things as Wigner functions. It is also a compact
quantum-optics primer, including experimental detail of the workings of
instruments used in quantum-optics experiments. Readable and interesting despite
its narrow focus.

An even more technical graduate text is Methods in Theoretical Quantum
Optics by Stephen Barnett and Paul Radmore. This is definitely for people
in that line of business. Still, the authors are well known for their work on
topics such as the quantum-phase operator and quasi-probability distributions so
theory PhD students will be able to learn these subjects direct from the horse’s
mouth. The authors have also included, for pedagogic purposes, extra detail of
the mathematical workings that a PhD student would not be able to find in the
research literature.

Perhaps the most down-to-earth facet of the new quantum world is appearing in
ever-shrinking electronic devices such as quantum wells, quantum wires and
quantum dots. Within fields such as mesoscopic physics and nanotechnology, the
wave-like character of the electron is becoming hard to ignore. Phenomena
involving single or few electrons are also being observed. This has implications
for future generations of electronic devices.

The Physics of Low-Dimensional Semiconductors by John Davies has
managed to bring this extremely active research field within the grasp of
undergraduate students. The emphasis is on the physics, rather than the devices.
There is also introductory material on quantum theory and band structure, a
fairly careful treatment of tunnelling and of heterostructures—including
quantum dots and wires. There are plenty of problems and exercises (but no
solutions).

For professional physicists crossing over from nearby fields or for PhD
students in the area, Transport in Nanostructures by David Ferry and
Stephen Goodnick occupies similar terrain, but with much more depth and breadth.
It covers hot theoretical mesoscopic topics in depth: single electron effects,
electron-electron interactions and superlattices. It also includes plenty of
material on experimental results and the details of devices. It is not an
undergraduate text but is a marvellous book for researchers in mesoscopic
physics.

For the more traditional course on the theory and its applications, try
Essential Quantum Physics by Peter Landshoff, Allen Metherell and Gareth
Rees. They provide a concise quantum primer. The course itself has a bias
towards condensed matter, rather than atomic physics. After introducing the
basics, the book concentrates on lasers, band-structure theory, electron motion
in crystals and transistors.

Finally, even if I do not happen to use Quantum Mechanics by Richard
Robinett as a textbook in the quantum course that I teach, I am absolutely sure
that I will plunder it greedily for many a year to come. I have never seen such
a profusion of variations on simple analytic models. Robinett does not just deal
with square quantum wells, he has asymmetric wells, triangular wells and, what’s
more, two-dimensional circular quantum wells and circular parabolic quantum
wells.

The author’s tactic is to promote physical understanding through
visualisation: line graphs of the basic form of the wave function accompany the
models. The book is strong on wave packets and connections with classical
dynamics, a topic back in vogue now that the quantum-classical boundary is under
intense scrutiny. There are plenty of modern topics including
scanning-tunnelling microscopy, above threshold ionisation and quantum
chaos.

LATE in his life Ernest Rutherford observed: “I’ve just been rereading some
of my early papers . . . you know, when I’d finished I said to myself:
Rutherford, my boy, you used to be a damned clever fellow.” Similar thoughts can
assail former students as they leaf through old essays and papers a couple of
decades later, surveying work written long before their wide-angled view of
physics decays through disuse or is collimated into a specialism.

Robert Resnick recalled this quote when asked if he could have guessed in
1960 that his comprehensive introductory physics text would be such a success:
it became arguably one of the most successful university physics texts ever
produced. That book, Fundamentals of Physics jointly written by with
David Halliday and Jearl Walker, continues as one of the favourites for
introductory physics courses in the US and across the world. It is now in its
fifth edition.

A conference has even been held as a tribute to Resnick’s work and the
proceedings are published this year. The Conference on the Introductory
Physics Course edited by Jack Wilson is a collection of articles on aspects
of physics teaching. Very readable and the issues addressed are of wide
interest. Lecturing quality is currently high up on the agenda in Britain: the
national Teaching Quality Assessment exercise looms over many a head of
department. This book might be more at home on the shelf of the lecturer,
however, rather than the student. Resnick himself contributes an article
chronicling the educational demands that shaped his books, such as the
post-Sputnik rise in mass physics education combined with a need to cater for
students from less traditional groups, including women and ethnic
minorities.

And the new Fundamentals of Physics now feels almost traditional,
rather than radical, compared to other examples of the US-produced introductory
physics tome. It has been substantially slimmed down since the previous edition.
It is easy to forget how revolutionary these friendly-format all-inclusive
physics books once seemed to those raised on physics texts that consisted of
little more than a set of lecture notes with a few words separating the
equations. Integral textbooks have been suffering from middle-age spread:
nowadays they are groaning with glossy colour and pedagogic features, such as
puzzlers, special essays and “checkpoints”. They do aid self-study and reduce
the student’s dependence on the lecturer—not a bad thing for the neglected
student in this age of mass education. But readers picking them off the shelf
risked a slipped disc.

Perhaps in keeping with Resnick’s original notion that less is more,
Fundamentals in Physics has opted for portability, shedding the bulkier
pedagogic features such as essays. Special relativity and entropy are nicely
done but, by and large, those wanting modern physics topics—quantum
mechanics and cosmology, for example—will have to buy the extended
edition.

How Things Work: The Physics of Everyday Life by Louis Bloomfield is
a different sort of introductory physics text, approaching the physics upside
down. Bloomfield begins with an everyday object, then proceeds to explain the
underlying physics. His book is aimed at liberal arts students, so the approach
is nonmathematical—and not too quantitative. He contends that natural
phenomena are best approached by studying objects associated with them.

For certain students, this may well be a pedagogic approach whose time has
come, even if the thread connecting a particular widget with the underlying
physics may seem a little tenuous at times. The Pauli exclusion principle, for
example, is invoked to explain the Xerox copier. And the emphasis is almost
exclusively on technological objects—CD players, engines, vacuum cleaners,
rather than a star or ball lightning— to explain physical principles. So
it is not ideal for technophobes who would rather keep the lid of the household
black boxes firmly screwed down. They might be more receptive to a
straightforward “physics for poets” course.

Comprehensive textbooks become even rarer at the advanced level and
user-friendly texts scarcely exist. The Princeton Guide to Advanced
Physics by Alan Tribble covers an enormous range of topics in theoretical
physics, but in a laconic, very mathematical style. Unless you are destined to
occupy Einstein’s old office in Princeton, it will be appropriate mainly as an
aide-mĂŠmoire or reference text for the trained physicist.

For students beyond the first year, the Manchester Physics series of
textbooks provides reasonably small but perfectly formed specialised pieces on
core subjects such as quantum mechanics and statistical physics.Particle
Physics by Brian Martin and G. Shaw is a good introduction to the Standard
Model for advanced undergraduates, with similar emphasis on fundamental concepts
and interpretations of experiment. It has now been updated to include sections
on recent topics like the dark matter problem and the Higgs boson.

Classical mechanics still seems like a Cinderella course: dreary but useful,
a bit like learning to play musical scales before going on to the pretty tunes.
Some lecturers motivate students by pointing the material towards its more
glamorous successors, relativity and quantum theory. The recent rise of
nonlinear dynamics—including chaotic behaviour—has, however, lent
classical dynamics a glamour of its own. This has led to chapters on chaos
replacing other topics in texts this year.

Elements of Mechanics by David Williams begins with the premise that
the subject owes more to the observations of Galileo and Tycho Brahe than to the
philosophy and elegant mathematics of Newton. It is perhaps more suited to
engineers and applied physicists. A lot of space is given to the mathematics,
with early chapters introducing vectors, so this should suit students with
little prior training in mathematics.

On the other hand,Classical Mechanics by T. Kibble and F. Berkshire
is tailor-made for budding theoreticians. It lays the groundwork for relativity
and quantum theory, quickly progressing beyond Newtonian mechanics to the
alternative formulations of Joseph Lagrange (non-Euclidean geometry) and William
Hamilton (noncommutative algebra). The book also exploits some of this material
in the final chapters, applying it to nonlinear Hamiltonian dynamics and
chaos.

For a course with modern nonlinear dynamics and chaos centre stage, there
isClassical Mechanics by Joseph McCauley. For fourth-year students or
above, this is an advanced text in every respect. It contains a mix that lies
between dissipative and Hamiltonian dynamics to fulfil the author’s aim of
emphasising the integrability of the material.

Elements of Newtonian Mechanics by Jess Knudsen and Paul Hjorth has been
revised to include an extra chapter on chaos. It covers the usual ground at a
good mathematical level with many worked examples. Knudson and Hjorth are also
strong on historical and philosophical material. For example, they explain the
arguments around reference frames as derived from Newton’s idea of an absolute
time and space which is “without reference to anything else”—a precursor
of relativity.

To follow the ideas of special relativity, The Special Theory of
Relativity has the distinction that its author, David Bohm, discussed the
subject extensively with Einstein himself. It is a reissue of a book by the
philosopher-physicist Bohm, who died in 1992. But this book won’t date. It
complements his well-known quantum text, and contains extensive discussion of
the ideas and history of the subject. It should endure as a classic for
deep-thinking students of special relativity.

By contrast, phenomenology rules Michael de Podesta’s Understanding the
Properties of Matter. This is a very user-friendly and accessible guide to
the study of the different phases of matter. De Podesta’s approach to teaching
is semi-empirical: presenting tables or graphs of data on specific aspects of
real solids, gases and liquids. This leads on to physical principles, explained
diagrammatically with relatively little mathematics.

In Search of the Ultimate Building Blocks by Gerard ‘t Hooft,
Cambridge University Press, ÂŁ9.95, ISBN 0 521 57883 3

AN INSIDER’s account of the development of the Standard Theory of the
subatomic world, Gerard ‘t Hooft’s In Search of the Ultimate Building
Blocks tells of the efforts to build a unified description of all the known
forces of nature. As a comprehensive and compact review of the taxonomy of the
particle world, it should come in handy for physicists of other disciplines who
are a little rusty on their particle physics.

But the book is liveliest as a story of the fate of the ideas generated by
the atom-smashing community. Models and hypotheses are born, contend with each
other, and finally are annihilated or decay into longer-lived theories by
absorption or the emission of a couple of mathematical terms. They become
weightier as adherents condense about them, or are stabilised by experiment.

The story is told with a confidence that comes only from deep
understanding—’t Hooft is an illustrious Dutch theoretical physicist. He
worked on some of the most important breakthroughs of the past 30 years,
especially those that contributed to the unification of electromagnetism and the
weak force.

In many popular books written by science grandees, some of the best bits are
in the last few chapters. Here, liberated from the purdah of peer review, the
authors can speculate imaginatively and sometimes eccentrically about The Answer
to the Universe and All That. ‘t Hooft gives his views on the way to the Theory
of Everything, and the role of mini black holes. But all this is done with
considerable restraint, including an all too brief glimpse of the Universe as a
giant cellular automaton.

The book is really about ideas. People only appear as the source of aphorisms
or the odd lightweight observation.

But the book also gives the reader a sense of the exemplary, century-long
cooperative effort that created the modern science of particle physics. Progress
has fed on interaction and collaboration, as well as competition and flashpoints
at scientific conferences and by relying on the self-renewing “life-cycle” of
the generations as students pick up the torch from their mentors.

The book is mainly organised by idea, with chapters entitled “supergravity”,
“anomalies”, “magnetic monopoles”, “Grand Unification”, “the Great Desert” and
so forth. Nevertheless, it is easily accessible to the nonphysicist.

They will be carrying out project work on an advanced topic, or perhaps
tackling an advancing field still undomesticated by student-friendly texts. Any
area in which research is booming is like a noisy bazaar: both in the research
literature and at meetings, the cacophony of old hands selling their work and
haggling with rivals over its relative merits can leave a newcomer struggling to
separate old rope from new finds. Any underlying order may prove
unfathomable.

But there are a few insiders who have taken time off to explain the rules. So
fourth-year students will find texts now on offer which, while not impossibly
advanced, are written by some of the most original and thought-provoking
thinkers in modern theoretical physics.

This quality is evident in the areas related to quantum measurement. New
experimental work in quantum cryptography, atom optics and quantum computers
mean that the quantum puzzles and paradoxes usually relegated to the
philosophical fringe are now lapping at the shores of technology. It is an area
of intense activity.

For example, Quantum Theory: Concepts and Methods by the physicist
and philosopher Asher Peres could become a classic. The new paperback version
has knocked down the student-busting cost of the previous edition. Its
centrepiece is the conceptual foundations of quantum theory. This is accompanied
by a detailed and accessible exposition of new developments in information
theory, quantum chaos and measurement, which would be hard to find elsewhere so
handily and coherently put together. The field loosely dealing with
interpretations, or reformulations, of quantum theory is unique within physics
in that it gives scope for a personal perspective. Peres makes a virtue of this,
unapologetically giving short shrift to what I thought were fairly respectable
positions. You sense that here is an author who has his teeth sunk deep into the
current arguments making the book irresistible to physicists minding
Schrödinger’s cat and all that.

Another book that stresses concepts, rather than applications, is
Lectures on Quantum Theory: Mathematical and Structural Foundations, also
written by a physics star, in this case Chris Isham. The formal
sections—not really for the maths phobic—are interspersed with some
readable essay sections that give balance to the variegated and proliferating
philosophical positions. In between learning about the mathematical foundations
of quantum theory, the student will also discover, for example, how to
differentiate intrumentalists from antirealists or receive a lesson in ontology
with the aid of quotes from Jung and Borges. The set of fully worked answers to
problems is a bonus.

The Physical Origins of Time Asymmetry, edited by Jonathan
Halliwell, Juan Perez-Mercader and Woyciech Zurek, is a collection of articles
by many leading physicists presenting their views on the “arrow of time”
problem. Although most physical laws cannot distinguish the past from the
future, the irreversibility of so much of our daily lives makes it clear that
there is such a directional “arrow”. It may simply be a statistical effect, or
it may be something deeper. There are, in fact, several “arrows”, although not
quite as many as there are writers in this book. Disentangling these riveting
thoughts should keep a student ticking for that fourth year.

Deep in the bear pit of research monographs and conference books, where
little of use to teaching lurks, two books merit a brief mention in the context
of undergraduate projects primarily because they review current knowledge of two
of physics’s hottest areas. Bose-Einstein Condensation, edited by Allan
Griffin, David Snoke and Sandro Stringari, and Atom Optics with Laser
Light by V. I. Balykin and V. S. Letokhov, summarise knowledge in two areas
where a spate of recent experiments have brought out matter’s complementary wave
nature to a previously unseen extent, blurring the distinction between the
properties of matter and light. However, Atom Optics would have
benefited greatly from a more thorough reading at proof stage: its Anglo-Russian
syntax makes it a difficult read, not to mention what looks like the odd mishap
with the spellchecker—for example, the reference to the “Heidelberg
Uncertainty Principle”.

On a broader front, there are new additions to the shelves that house
lumbering general physics textbooks. Advanced University Physics by
Stuart Palmer and Mircea Rogalski is extremely unusual in being an advanced
compendium text. It covers a terrific range of territory in 50 chapters. This is
achieved at a cost: the text is terse, there are no exercises and almost no
worked examples. It should, nevertheless, prove invaluable as a work of
reference for the mathematically fluent who need to plug a gap in knowledge
quickly.

If you want to look up, for example, Maxwell’s second equation but, alas,
“div B equals zero” means absolutely nothing to you, then turn to The
Physical Sciences: An Integrated Approach by Robert Hazen and James Trefil.
There you can find it translated into lay form as “magnetic monopoles don’t
exist”. Many other such translations are presented and elaborated in this book,
which employs no maths other than orders of magnitude. Its stated aim is to
achieve “scientific literacy for all Americans”. It also ventures beyond physics
to take in basic chemistry, biology, geology and astronomy. Hazen and Trefil
emphasise science with a high social impact— in other words, issues such
as the ozone hole and nuclear power—but give equal weighting to what they
term “physics for poets”, the weirder and philosophically puzzling science,
ranging from black holes to quantum uncertainty.

Undergraduates usually learn about lasers piecemeal, encountering snippets in
courses covering subjects as diverse as optics, semiconductors, electromagnetism
and atomic physics. Laser Fundamentals by William Silfvast offers a
guide to all you ever wanted to know about lasers. The multidisciplinary
background physics that underpins the workings of different lasers takes up
almost the first half of the book. It is an advanced undergraduate book, but in
a large, easy-to-read format. The formal sections are reassuringly diluted and
disguised by lots of text and diagrams. Much space is given to the workings of a
wide range of specific laser systems.

Wolfgang Pauli said, “God made solids, but surfaces are the work of the
devil.” The torture is apparently usually inflicted in the form of Green’s
functions. Basic Theory of Surface States by Sydney Davison and Maria
Steslicka, which is now out in paperback, keeps these in reasonable check.

It is an accessible, and already well-liked, monograph on an area of growing
importance in physics. And a special feature in the book is the historical
development of the field.

Finally, a book that is bound to bring a warm glow of familiarity to physics
lecturers: Quantum Physics by Stephen Gasiorowicz. Many lecturers were
raised on this quantum mechanics primer—and may well inflict it anew on
the present generation of students.

The new edition has been updated, adding special topics such as atom cooling
and quantum jumps, but its basic user-friendly introduction to the standard
problems of quantum physics still holds strong.

Opposite they may have been, but not equal. Hahn was Meitner’s reflection in a mirror of privilege: male, affable, affluent and standard-issue German. Meitner, rare as a positron in a sea of electrons, was a female physicist in 1907 Berlin, when women’s access to higher education was barred. She was a Jew; she was also a timid Austrian emigre’. Her fate was to be known best as the woman who did not get a share of Hahn’s Nobel prize for the discovery of nuclear fission.

Most physicists hanker, at least secretly, for a distinct scientific identity, a piece of the physical universe with their name carved on it. But in a collaboration as close as Meitner and Hahn’s, it would be easier to draw lines on water than say who was responsible for what.

This is the price of the scientific objectivity physicists value so much. A Ce´zanne canvas hardly needs a signature; the physicist’s work can all too easily blend anonymously into the common pool. The once harmonious scientific team, happily contemplating the shiny drop of eternal truth on the laboratory bench, must begin the credit carve-up: the order of names on papers, acknowledgments, citations of friends and rivals, who will present results at meeting. The rules are unwritten and open to abuse.

In Lise Meitner: A Life in Physics Ruth Sime has produced a magnificent biography that should help to rescue Meitner from undeserved oblivion, drawing on her plentiful correspondence. When away from the lab she and Hahn at times wrote to each other almost daily. The letters to Hahn and others show that she was aggrieved by his behaviour after the controversial Nobel award ceremony in 1946, but she never allowed that to destroy their friendship.

Meitner was astonishingly devoted to physics. In the early days, her desperate efforts to continue to do research would appal even the most downtrodden postdoc. Not until her mid-thirties was she paid even a pittance for her work, and at the age of 40 she was still living in a single student room. When she began her work with Hahn, she was banished to a basement carpentry workshop with a separate street entrance because the rest of the institute was out of bounds to women apparently on the grounds that they might set fire to their hair. Even Hahn’s main laboratory upstairs was out of bounds. She survived all such humiliating sights in spite of her painful shyness.

Those were the heroic days of nuclear physics. All it took to do front-line work was school-lab equipment such as a gold-leaf electroscope and a couple of radioactive sources. Unable to change her gender, she seems to have done what she could to fit in: she converted to the Lutheran faith and rushed lemming- like to enlist as a nurse in the First World War. Unlike her male colleagues, she was free to walk away from the trenches in 1916 when she became disillusioned – one of the few occasions when her gender was an asset.

Einstein, who was an acquaintance and very briefly a collaborator of Meitner’s, emerges in Sime’s account as a shining star of politcal prescience. He was almost alone in opposing the First World War, and afterwards one of the first to recognise and react to the Nazi threat. Meitner the shy conformist mouse lagged behind him politically but gradually grew in stature. Over the years, she came to be accepted by her fellow scientists, and as her generation rose through the ranks she managed to burrow into the conservative physics establishment.

One of the book’s strengths is the authoritative account it gives of the physics of the time. For those who are not radioactivity aficionados there may be the odd longueur in descriptions linking various decay chains. But the story, especially in the lead-up to the discovery of fission by Hahn, Meitner and Fritz Strassmann, is absolutely gripping; full of twists and false dawns.

What’s more, it took place from 1934 to 1938 in an institute increasingly besieged and terrorised by Nazism. In 1933, Meitner had achieved the status of a respected and reasonably powerful professor. But over the succeeding years – the most important in her research career – as a Jew she once again became the object of slights and humiliation. Her teaching rights were revoked, and research assistants joined the Nazi party and wore brown shirts in her lab. One even brought charges against her. After the war, she was sent snivelling requests for help from these treacherous mitarbeiter. With startling generosity she vouched for them.

Meitner fled to Sweden in June 1938 – once more destitute and consigned to the bottom of the academic pile by her reluctant Swedish hosts. She remained in close contact with Hahn, exchanging a real flurry of letters. But when, six months later, the crucial publications that led to the Nobel prize appeared, she and Hahn (whose position was precarious in Nazi Germany) could not be coauthors.

From this book emerges one of the most dramatic and meaningful lives any human being could aspire to. But this is no film script – though apparently the Hollywood treatment was at one stage on the cards – when Meitner was briefly feted by a confused American press, after Hiroshima as the Jewish mother of the Atom bomb.

Meitner and Hahn never sailed into the sunset together. After a few years of joint work, Hahn opted to marry a “pretty art student”; Meitner settled down to become everybody’s favourite auntie and godmother. Though never a campaigning feminist, she presents an unusual role model because her life defies assessment by the usual yardsticks: motherhood, marriage – the sort of relationships by which even distinguished women are still scrutinised.

The physics community provided an extended family of sorts. Mountains were moved rescue Meitner from Germany in 1938. Colleagues petitioned governments, travelled to and fro, collected money and even placed their safety at risk.

The background of two world wars, Hiroshima and the development of modern physics means that this book adds up to more than just the biography of a woman physicist. No one who reads it is likely to require any further convincing that the record needed to be straightened out. After the second World War, Hahn appears to have suffered a bad case of amnesia and tunnel vision. He was penned by the British for a period in Farm Hall, among a group of suspected Nazi scientists, their every conversation bugged by intelligence officers. Perhaps humiliated and shocked by the experience he burst forth with an intense craving for respectability for himself and German science.

Meitner never begrudged him the Nobel prize, which was, after all, for chemistry and Hahn was responsible for the chemical work in the fission project. He carried out a persistent campaign to write Meitner out of the story, a gratuitous betrayal of a collaborator. The third member of the fission team, Strassmann, seems to have taken Meitner’s side. But Meitner and Hahn’s friendship endured. I hope they will remain enshrined in the periodic table. Hahnium is element 105; four places up meitnerium, element 109, is just that little bit heavier.

There are now a number of texts, often aimed at students with little school mathematics or physics, which provide something of the physicists’ mental map of the Universe – without the equations. They could be dismissed as the content of a popular science book decanted into the structure of a college course. And colourful analogies and metaphors are not unique or unambiguous in the way that the formal mathematical description of physical laws are. But they do allow theories emanating up from the darker depths of physics quickly to tinge the wider perspective of the world.

In The Force of Symmetry, Vincent Icke has devised many analogies to convey some of the stranger facets of modern physics, especially particle physics. For example, superpositions of quantum states are represented by a chimera (a mythical beast which is part goat, part lion, part snake). An experimental measurement leading to collapse to an eigenstate is carried out by offering the chimera a cabbage and a zebra steak and observing which it prefers. Thanks to this approach, the author is free to skip the dowdy, prosaic 19th-century physics – the likes of mechanics and electromagnetism – that stand between the new physics undergraduate and the more glamorous and exotic advanced physics. To be fair, The Force of Symmetry is intended as a supplementary text, rather than a course in its own right.

On the other hand, Seven Ideas That Shook the Universe by Nathan Spielberg and Bryon Anderson is a “cultural course in science”, describing mainly the solid core of physics. The seven ideas are, roughly: heliocentrism, Newtonian dynamics, conservation laws, entropy, electromagnetism, relativity and quantum theory. Actually, much of the subject matter covered would have been well ensconced in the standard physics curriculum by the 1930s. But the book’s strong historical emphasis aims to show that these areas of “establishment” physics represented dramatic revolutions in the past. A highlight is the set of study questions at the end of each chapter, some of which are surprisingly open-ended.

Order Chaos Order by Philip Stehle also explores the transition from classical to quantum physics. The “chaos” in the title refers to the confusion during the interregnums after the collapse of the old classical order but preceding the reign of quantum theory. Stehle tells the story through the writings of Ludwig Boltzmann, Lord Rayleigh, Gustav Kirchhoff and many other relatively minor participants … and, of course, Albert Einstein and Niels Bohr.

For the conventional physics undergraduate, Quantum Mechanics by David Ferry is a book about quantum theory with a difference. The book does not begin with the formal postulates of quantum theory. Although quite mathematical, it is very much a physicists’ book, full of physical insights that are a pleasure to meet – even for the lecturer. For those bored with the usual square well-square barrier problem, here there are wells and tunnelling through barriers of all shapes and forms. They are tackled using the much more physically appealing wave-packet picture rather than the standard plane wave treatment. The book is pitched at semiconductor physicists so budding atomic physicists, for example, may feel a little short-changed. But it is a prime example of how an author’s research experience can be raided to provide an interesting and original perspective.

Another unusual book is Quantum Measurement by Vladimir Braginsky and Farid Khalili. This deals with a “forbidden zone”, forbidden, that is, to undergraduates of quantum theory.

Students will in general be taught Schrödinger’s equation and a range of its applications. But beyond a cursory explanation of the Schrödinger’s cat Paradox, they will learn little of measurement theory, a part of quantum theory that has largely been consigned to philosophy. But recent technological advances in areas such as quantum optics and the burgeoning research literature suggest that Schrödinger cats are stealthily clawing their way back into mainstream physics. I would not be surprised if courses on quantum measurement are not widely on offer to final-year students in a few years’ time. At the moment, however, the undergraduate student has few alternatives but to trawl through research papers and the odd section in quantum optics texts. So I found little with which to compare this book. It is quite accessible in parts, tackling topics such as quantum non-demolition measurements and the quantum Zeno paradox. Although it is not a comprehensive survey of current knowledge and has parts of less general interest, its uniqueness and the fact that it is a compact, reasonably priced paperback should make it an attractive option.

Those lecturers who squandered the summer break on fun and sun will now be feeling the chill wind of the first teaching term blowing through their laboratories and classrooms. But those lucky enough to be assigned a quantum course can rush out and buy an instant set of complete quantum theory notes, Notes on Quantum Mechanics by Enrico Fermi – in his handwriting. Reassuringly, little has changed in forty years: the mathematical notation will be utterly familiar and recognisable to physics lecturers.

Nuclear and Particle Physics by Burcham and Jobes, on the other hand, has been described by a colleague as “two books in one cover”. The first part is on nuclear physics, covering standard undergraduate material thoroughly with many illustrations emphasising experimental results. It may be a successor to a well-known earlier text written by Burcham. The second part is on particle physics and is at a higher mathematical level, some approaching early postgraduate level for a theoretical physicist.

While a couple of decades ago it would have been possible to place almost every physicist either in the experimental or in the theoretical camp, the computer age now supports a third species: the computational physicist. Although they need never go near a laboratory, their work, which often involves simulations of complex and realistic systems, is a sort of numerical experiment. Computational Physics by Paul L. de Vries covers many of the algorithms needed in numerical analysis for the physical sciences.

The struggle between scientist and the unruly machine will be familiar to those who have attempted to implement even quite simple numerical algorithms. The book is full of practical and very readable advice for those enduring an adversarial relationship with their machine. For example, de Vries says that “the Newton-Raphson method is a high-risk offence, capable of aggressively finding a root, but offence wins games, while defence wins championships”. Right at the outset the book is armed with a persuasive defence of physics, and a long and atavistic attachment to Fortran.

A world away from computer models and ivory towers, Contemporary Health Physics by Joseph Bevelacqua deals with the assessment of radiation hazards in sites such as hospitals, nuclear power plants and even universities. At the core of the book are 130 possible scenarios a health physicist might encounter. Despite the drama, this is a dispassionate and pragmatic book. The responses have a pragmatic eye for detail by an author who has spent decades in the front-line of radiation assessment.

Environmental Physics by Egbert Boeker and Rienk van Grondelle, on the other hand, has a far more academic approach. It covers a broad range of environmental hazards and introduces fundamental physics subjects that are related, including spectroscopy and diffusion. The authors embrace the holistic approach wholeheartedly with whole chapters devoted to the “Context of society”.

But now the burgeoning field that embraces chaos and complex systems
purportedly aims to describe the worldly face of nature, freckles and all.
It addresses mundane matters such as the stock market, the weather and biological
systems. Physics undergraduates are meeting it even in previously tame disciplines.

At the heart of a standard physics degree is a course on waves and oscillations,
dealing essentially with the harmonious and cyclic side of nature. But now
a little chaos has crept in even there. Iain Main and H. J. Pain have over
the years each produced and updated their own classic and widely used texts
on the subject. In the new fourth edition of his The Physics of Vibrations
and Waves, Pain has added a chapter on nonlinear oscillations and chaos
that provides a concise introduction to the subject for physicists. And
in the third edition of Vibrations and Waves in Physics, Main has included
a new somewhat briefer section on chaotic oscillations; there is also a
chapter on nonlinear oscillations and solitons dating back to the previous
edition. These are both interesting texts that have gone beyond the diet
of springs and strings that dominates the traditional, unimaginative waves-and-oscillations
course. They both bring in plenty of real-world applications such as transmission
of electromagnetic waves, and lead the reader to quantum theory in a mainly
painless introduction.

But this small taste is unlikely to sate undergraduate interest. Chaos
has not yet lost its allure and still manages to charm even diehard nonscientists
– probably one of the few scientific topics which is not out of bounds at
parties. So is it not now time for undergraduate physicists to learn more
widely about it in a course on ‘Chaos for physicists’? The perfect text
has not yet, as far as I’m aware, been written, but a couple of this year’s
books could be rewardingly raided by prospective lecturers.

Chaotic and Fractal Dynamics by Francis Moon is an introductory text
which expands on an earlier book published in 1987 by the same author under
the title Chaotic Vibrations. Like its predecessor it also concentrates
on physical systems and experiments, covering a vast range of problems from
nonlinear dynamics through to engineering applications, some a little skimpily.
There is a good selection of problems at the end of each chapter, which
should also prove quite valuable to lecturers. It should help to overcome
one problem with teaching undergraduates about chaos: the subject is largely
the product of the computer age and so it can be difficult to invent exercises
that are suitable for pen and paper. Perhaps one solution is to teach the
subject as part of a course with a computational element.

The Nature of Chaos, edited by Tom Mullin, is a wonderfully readable
survey of the field by half a dozen of its leading researchers. It derives
from a graduate lecture course, but has none of the ferocious formalism
that turns a full course in nonlinear dynamics into an abattoir for nonmathematicians.
After a comprehensive introduction, it reviews applications to physical
systems in engineering, meteorology, quantum chaology and population dynamics.

Another issue for the chaos-for-physicists teacher is that physics does
not have a monopoly on chaos applications. Far from it, the subject is still
mainly considered to be the domain of mathematicians, so the course might
have a tendency to stray far from familiar physics territory. The Physics
of Chance by Charles Ruhle ranges even wider. It is a ‘horizontal’ text
that uses a central unifying theme to carve a horizontal slice through several
disciplines. Here he addresses the question of whether chance is an expression
of ignorance – in the sense that statistics deals with collective behaviour
when detailed individual knowledge is absent. Or is chance an inherent characteristic
of nature, as in the inherent indeterminacy of standard quantum theory?
Through this problem he threads a line joining probability theory, statistical
physics, chaos and quantum theory. Surprisingly for a book counterposing
the unpredict-ability of chaos with the indeterminacy of quantum theory,
there is no mention of quantum chaology. But it is an interesting book that
addresses one of the most important philosophical questions around. It is
technical and probably only suitable for advanced undergraduates or beyond.

At the other end of the spectrum is an extremely untechnical ‘horizontal’
textbook. Newton to Einstein: The Trail of Light by Ralph Baierlein aims
to teach physics to nonscientists. He traces the history of our conception
of light as it bounced from particle to wave and back for hundreds of years
until its strange synthesis this century into something with a dual nature.
In the process he moves the spotlight past much of physics, including optics,
electromagnetic waves, relativity and quantum theory.

Amid the current hand-wringing about the declining numbers of science
A-level students and shrinking scientific literacy, I think these sort of
texts bear looking at. They suggest that students who have not specialised
in science at A level need not be completely lost to science. According
to the author, the course drew a huge audience when offered to American
students. Perhaps this approach of teaching just the interesting concepts
of modern science without the hard bits – all sugar-coating and no medicine
– is cheating. But by raising general scientific literacy levels, it may
well create a less hostile climate for science.

A more rigorous but still thickly sugar-coated text is the latest version
of David Halliday and Robert Resnick’s classic Funda-mentals of Physics.
It is one of the family of American physics mega-books, an all-in-one introduction
to the subject. In Britain, with the trend towards reduced content in A
level and in the usual three-year physics degree, these books are becoming
increasingly popular. By the standards of British undergraduate texts, it
is a beautiful book, luxuriously glossy and colourful. Modern topics are
introduced in the form of guest essays by working scientists on, for example,
the physics of dance, superconductivity and the greenhouse effect. I enjoyed
the teasers at the start of each chapter – for example, how can an electric
eel kill prey without shocking itself? Or why do people in very hot climates
wear black rather than white as one might expect? They induce some understanding
of the material before the answer becomes apparent.

For the traditional British degree, Quantum Mechanics by F. Mandl is
part of the staple diet. Unusually, it includes fully worked out solutions
to problems, which should gladden the heart of the revising student. It
is a standard, fairly rigorous text suitable for the most ad-vanced undergraduate,
with a little atomic physics thrown in. For those who prefer instead atomic
physics with a little quantum theory thrown in, The Physics of Atoms and
Quanta by Hermann Haken and Hans Wolf combines a fairly traditional approach
with some up-to-date experimental and theoretical topics in laser physics
and spectroscopy. I liked the large reader-friendly format.

Finally, classical electromagnetism courses either begin or end with
Maxwell’s equations, since the subject largely reduces to applications of
those four small but perfectly formed equations. Lecturers in the subject
tend to have definite ideas on which order is pedagogically superior. While
texts tend to build up to Maxwell’s equations as a climax of the course,
Essentials of Electromagnetism by David Dugdale has the rarer format: he
presents the equations near the beginning and then proceeds to apply them.
This should please those colleagues who have in the past had to read their
electromagnetism textbooks backwards.

Tania Monteiro is a senior fellow at the Royal Holloway College, London.

* * *

The Physics of Vibrations and Waves by H. J. Pain, Wiley, pp 479, ÂŁ15.95

Vibrations and Waves in Physics by Iain Main, Cambridge University
Press, pp 359, ÂŁ40 hbk, ÂŁ14.95 pbk

Chaotic and Fractal Dynamics by Francis C. Moon, Wiley, pp 528, ÂŁ51

The Nature of Chaos edited by Tom Mullin, Oxford University Press, pp
314, ÂŁ35 hbk, ÂŁ16.50 pbk

The Physics of Chance by Charles Ruhle, Oxford University Press, pp
222, ÂŁ14.95

Newton to Einstein: The Trail of Light by Ralph Baierlein, Cambridge
University Press, pp 329, ÂŁ24.95

Fundamentals of Physics by David Halliday, Robert Resnick and Jearl
Walker, Wiley, pp 1216, ÂŁ64

Quantum Mechanics by F. Mandl, Wiley, pp 301, ÂŁ17.95 The Physics
of Atoms and Quanta by Hermann Haken and Hans Wolf, Springer-Verlag, pp
462, ÂŁ29

Essentials of Electromagnetism by David Dugdale, Macmillan Press, pp
363, ÂŁ14.99 pbk

According to Samuel Coleridge: ‘Poetry is not the proper antithesis
to prose, but to science. Poetry is opposed to science.’ Poets since 1818
have not found science much less antithetical. Some may also hold science
responsible for dirtying the skies, the seas, obliterating innumerable darling
buds of May and other things cherished by poets.

Books with titles like Physics for Poets, such as this one by Robert
March, should be legitimate occupants of the well-rounded 20th-century bookcase.
But this text comes at a time when esteem for physics is at a low and receding
ebb. Physics seems to many to be peripheral and too hard to bother with:
it takes years of dreary graft to discover any beauty in a quark. Physicists
in Britain now have the social cachet of train spotters, except for the
occasional star, such as Stephen Hawking.

Will this book help? There is no poetry here in the literal sense. March
has not peppered the text with quotations. Nor will you be faced with ‘I
wandered lonely as a neutron . . .’ or the like; the style is strictly prose.
The author has shunned any sort of metaphysical speculation. He also spends
less time than one might expect in the esoteric wilderness of modern physics,
yet carefully elaborates basic, school-level concepts such as momentum and
energy. And by the author’s own admission, while the first edition was written
in the flower-child days of the 1960s, this second one is the child of a
more static time.

The book is a clear and comprehensive overview of the whole of physics,
written in terms accessible to nonscientists. There is a strong emphasis
on the history and philosophy of physics. March has also unearthed lots
of less well-known anecdotes illustrating the methodology of physics and
its often erratic evolution. So even physicists might get something out
of it.

For example, I found out that Albert Einstein was helped by a lucky
failure. In 1914, not having yet straightened out his theory of curved space-time,
he made an incorrect prediction for the amount by which the Sun bends starlight.
An expedition of German astronomers set off for the Crimea to test his prediction.
Fortunately – for Einstein alone – the First World War began, and the astronomers
were thrown into jail by the Russians as enemy aliens. By the end of the
war, the theory of general relativity was complete, Einstein corrected his
prediction and Arthur Eddington did the experiment in 1919 that established
the theory as one of the foundations of physics.

More unusually for such a book, March also places successive scientific
revolutions in the social context in which they took place – such as the
dismantling of Isaac Newton’s deterministic clockwork universe in the chaos
of the Germany of the 1920s.

On balance, the book is a friendly, down-to-earth introduction to physics
suitable for stockbrokers, estate agents, tax collectors, train spotters
– as well as poets.

Tania Monteiro is a research fellow at the Royal Holloway and Bedford
New College, London.

White European women represent the greatest advance, relative to the
gorilla, along the evolutionary ladder. This was determined by a pair of
English scientists in 1884 on an index of pelvic measurements. The result
caused them some embarrassment because it placed woman above man. Not a
problem for these resourceful scientists: if the measurement doesn’t fit,
change the ruler. ‘Man must appeal to another index,’ they wrote. In this
case it proved to be a tally of cranial measurements, which fortunately
restored European Man to his proper place at the pinnacle of creation. If
woman excels by the pelvis, man excels by the head, they concluded.

A classic example of ‘unscientific’ conduct in the 19th century? Not
especially, the authors of this book might argue. The objectivity of science
is a mirage. Science is coloured by the interests of scientists and their
paymasters, social relations within the scientific community and society
as a whole. The example is one of several instances cited where science
was used to reinforce oppressive social structures, by calling on immutable
laws of nature. As religion had done previously, it could usefully help
to keep the rich man in his castle, the poor man at his gate – and woman
at home.

The book is a collection of essays by a group of historians of science.
The essays look beyond the centre stage of scientific discovery at the wider
interaction between women – or more broadly, gender – and science. They
uncover some little known niches. For instance, one article notes the many
recorded instances of women involved in the scientific instrument trade.
And the Ladies Sanitary Association in the 19th century allowed some affluent
women to become involved in preventive health care under the guise of charitable
work.

A few measly crumbs, allocated to women from the scientific grande-bouffe
of the past few centuries? In fact, according to another article, the question
of whether a decent woman might safely learn science was itself an issue
for scientific debate. Some felt that education beyond certain prescribed
limits might endanger women’s health and morality. But science could equally
be perceived as harmless domestic pasttime. ‘Chemistry is a science particularly
suited to women,’ one woman wrote in 1795, because ‘there is no danger of
inflaming the imagination’. But eventually the professionalisation of science
left little room for contributions that came from domestic amateurs.

Several of the articles go beyond an analysis of gender in science before
1945. They address modern science as well, from a feminist perspective.
So I found it quite surprising to come across phrases such as ‘the scientist
himself’. But perhaps not. The picture that emerges is, at its worst, of
science as a malevolent prop of patriarchy. There is no acknowledgment of
the positive contribution science has made to women’s lives.

At best, science is seen simply as a contingent cultural activity. It
seems to me that this is losing sight of what science is, of what makes
it different from, say, literature or art. Science does place stringent
limits on ideological distortion. This is partly because it is founded on
empirical testing. Associated with this is a crude economic imperative:
technology is based on science and, regardless of their ideological colour,
the paymasters of science want planes that fly and drugs that kill bugs.
This limits the scope for tampering with science and means that the havoc
wreaked by the likes of Trofim Lysenko in the Soviet Union will not be long-lived.
Modern science is also constrained by a need for internal self-consistency
(like the mathematical framework of physics), which sets it apart from alternatives
such as New Age theories with their haphazard assemblage of fragments borrowed
equally well from physics or the occult.

Several articles argue lightly that the scientific community still provides
a difficult environment for women, with much emphasis on competition and
personal aggrandisement. They also suggest that the areas where research
is concentrated are not usually chosen for the benefit of humankind. But
no clear distinction is made between criticisms of the practice of science
and the scientific results themselves. It is here that I found the analysis
most unsatisfying.

The molecular structure of DNA could well have been resolved by either
a Nazi, a Martian or a feminist. On the other hand, in the case of a study
of, for example, the link between eating crisps and longevity, one might
reasonably ask whether the British Snacks Association had provided any funding
for the research. It seems to me that the complex interplay between ideology
and something akin to scientific objectivity eludes those imbued with dogmatic
hostility to science as much as it eludes those with blind faith in scientific
objectivity. Nevertheless, the essays are informative and stimulating and
should be enjoyed by a broad spectrum of those interested in the history
of science.

Tania Monteiro is at the Royal Holloway and New Bedford College, University
of London.

There is every sign that university departments will follow suit, reducing
course content and preparing for a broader intake. The uniformly A-level
standard class of yore could be tossed a desultory collection of textbooks
by an uncoordinated set of lecturers, but a physics class that has a wide
range of ability and is less confident may value the more integrated pedagogic
approach provided by a single text. Perhaps soon the single thud of the
voluminous introductory physics textbook landing on undergraduate desks
may become a part of life in many physics departments. At Brighton Polytechnic,
first-year physics students already rely primarily on just one book.

The ideal introductory text would equip students with basic physical
concepts, probably with a gradual increase in mathematical content. But
– here comes the difficult part – it would also help to sustain the excitement
and interest in physics of the more advanced, A-level standard, students
in the class. And if it does not take a wheelbarrow to transport around
campus, so much the better. Unsurprisingly, this year’s crop of suitable
books are all from the US, where such texts are standard at college level.

Weighing in heavily at several kilograms is the new edition of the impressive
and imaginative General Physics for ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´s and Engineers with Modern
Physics by Raymond Serway. It is an attractive book, using colour throughout
to sustain quitea complicated layout. It is full of unusual features such
as spreadsheet problems and interactive computer exercises (the software
for these is available separately). There are sections dedicated to hints
and strategies for problem-solving.

A welcome point is that more stimulating and topical subjects are not,
as in more traditional books, secreted away in the last sections of the
book, where they are seldom reached during the course. Standard topics such
as mechanics and electromagnetism are interspersed with ‘guest essays’ by
other scientists on for instance, the big bang. Within a few pages of the
beginning there is a ‘fun’ section on the physics of the denizens of Lilliput
and Brobdingnag from Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels.

Another excellent alternative is the more concise and portable University
Physics by Harris Benson. It also uses colour effectively for diagrams as
well as photographs, and includes a fair share of modern features and exciting
topics. A strong point is the emphasis on historical material. There are
essays tracing the historical development of physical concepts, for example,
of the wave/corpuscular nature of light or the controversy on the heliocentric
theories between Galileo Galilei and the Catholic Church.

The new edition of General Physics by Morton Sternheim and Joseph Kane
is also a strong contender in the market for a single basic text. Though
traditional in approach, it provides a profusion of worked examples and
an emphasis on real-world applications – often biological. For instance,
there is a chapter dedicated to the physics of the nervous system.

A useful accompaniment to any of the above texts, as well as a handy
aid for the lecturer working to resuscitate a comatose class of first-years,
would be the entertaining Physics in the Real World by Keith Lockett. It
is a book full of amusing applications of basic physical principles to the
world around us. Apart from brief introductory sections, it consists almost
entirely of problems and questions for discussion on, for example, the relative
merits of pouring boiling oil or water on those attacking your castle, or
why Fijian fire-walkers should favour pumice stone when walking on hot coals.

After the introductory year, the transition from fledgling to fully
feathered physicist requires a course in quantum theory – an essential mainstay
of modern physics. But quantum theory allows two distinct perspectives.
On the one hand, the theory is a powerful computational tool used for obtaining
atomic and molecular data, with wide applications in fields ranging from
electronics to the pharmaceuticals industry. On the other hand, by portraying
a physical reality so alien from ordinary sensory experience it has become
a landmark of 20th-century philosophy. Students who will need to apply the
theory in future careers in industrial or academic research, quantum ‘users’,
will want a different emphasis from those who simply want to enrich their
perception of the physical world.

Introduction to Quantum Mechanics by Henrik Smith does achieve a certain
balance between the two approaches. There is plenty of material on the historical
development of quantum theory; it even derives Bell’s inequalities, which
are relevant to one of the major paradoxes of the theory. Connections with
classical physics are stressed. However, its main strength is as a nice
clear short first course, suitable for future users of quantum mechanics.
Its conciseness necessarily means that the treatment of many topics is not
as extensive as in standard texts.

Quanta by PW Atkins could well be a godsend to a more specialised group
of quantum users within fields such as atomic physics or molecular spectroscopy.
The proliferation of quantum chemical calculations to be found among other
applications may be a reflection of the usefulness of the theory. But the
multitude of terms such as LCAO, Huckel method, STOs, RKR theory are hard
enough for even the longer-standing practitioners to keep track of. This
book is a clear and well illustrated, largely non-mathematical, dictionary
of such terminology and should underpin years of knowledgeable bluffing
for the novice quantum chemist.

For that little added confidence – within all branches of theoretical
physics, not just quantum theory – Introduction to Mathematical Physics
by Chun Wa Wong distils the mathematical vocabulary required for a good
understanding of the subject, covering a lot of ground effectively in a
manageable book.

Quantics by J. M. Levi-Leblond and Francoise Ballibar, however, is not
really a book for quantum ‘users’. It employs a conceptual approach, using
heuristic proofs to derive quantum parameters – such as a sort of dimensional
analysis to tackle the hydrogen atom. The authors attempt a radical approach
to the subject, even when introducing their own terminology. For example,
they suggest the ‘quanton’, defined as an entity with a dual wave/particle
nature. But because a student who is introduced to quantum theory through
this text may end up unable to communicate with other quantum theorists.
The book, although interesting, is probably best left to those who already
know quantum theory.

For ambitious third years, maybe contemplating going on to research
in theoretical physics, A Unified Grand Tour of Theoretical Physics by Ian
Lawrie is de rigeur. The title is inspired by the 18th-century grand tour
of Europe, the culmination of a genteel education. More akin to a modern
American tourist, Lawrie ‘does’ theoretical physics at dizzying speed. One
chapter for quantum theory, one chapter for phase transitions, one chapter
for general relativity and oh, if it’s chapter 13 we must be at the early
Universe . . . Nevertheless, he manages a readable survey for those not
allergic to mathematics at about third-year standard. Definitely, a grand
tour de force.

Finally, one area of physics where textbooks have of late been in danger
of being quite overwhelmed by recent developments is optics. The explosive
growth in electro-optics, fibre optics, Fourier optics and image processing
rendered many standard texts all but obsolete.

Insight into Optics by Oliver Heavens and Robert Ditchburn surveys a
breathtaking range of topics with the greater portion of the book devoted
to modern optics and technological applications. Necessarily though, individual
topics have not been dealt with in great depth. A deeper treatment is found
in Modern Optics by Robert Guenther. This is a formal book, about second
or third year standard. The required mathematical foundations such as Green’s
theorem or Fourier analysis are explained at some length though. Traditional
subjects such as geometrical optics have been cut back. Surprisingly, though,
even that glamorous symbol of modernity, the laser (though not holography),
seems to have been entirely squeezed out. Oversight or a sign of the progress
of physics?

Tania Monteiro lectured in physics at Brighton Polytechnic last year.
She is now an advanced fellow at the University of London.

* * *

General Physics for ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´s and Engineers with Modern Physics (3rd
edition) by Raymond Serway, Academic Press, pp 1320, ÂŁ17.95

University Physics by Harris Benson, Wiley, pp 992, ÂŁ19.95 $35.95
pbk

General Physics (2nd edition) by Morton Sternheim and Joseph Kane, Wiley,
pp 910, ÂŁ53.80 $81.40 hbk, ÂŁ19.95 $35.95 pbk

Physics in the Real World by Keith Lockett, Cambridge University Press,
pp 176, ÂŁ7.95 pbk

Introduction to Quantum Mechanics by Henrik Smith, World Scientific,
pp 330, $58 hbk, $28 pbk

Quanta: A Handbook of Concepts (2nd edition) by P. W. Atkins, Oxford
University Press, pp 440, ÂŁ50 hbk, ÂŁ25 pbk

Introduction to Mathematical Physics: Methods and Concepts by Chun Wa
Wong, Oxford, pp 400, $24.95 pbk

Quantics: Rudiments of Quantum Physics by J. M. Levi-Leblond and Francoise
Ballibar, North-Holland (distributed in Britain by Elsevier), pp 540, ÂŁ69.01
hbk, ÂŁ29.14 pbk

A Unified Grand Tour of Theoretical Physics by Ian Lawrie, Adam Hilger,
pp 392, ÂŁ60 hbk, ÂŁ19.50 pbk

Insight into Optics by Oliver Heavens and Robert Ditchburn, Wiley, pp
328, ÂŁ49.50 $113.85 hbk, ÂŁ17.95 $41.30 pbk

Modern Optics by Robert Guenther, Wiley, pp 712, ÂŁ57.35 $86.75
hbk, ÂŁ19.50 $35.10 pbk