Conversations on Science, Culture and Time

Language, Pints, and the Eternal "Why?"
Now, given that yours truly has started spending a considerable amount of time writing - or at least contemplating ideas, spinning narratives, crafting dialogue, and occasionally questioning their own life choices - it was only fitting that the question of how language itself formed would pique my interest. It’s not a new obsession, mind you. Ever since childhood, I’ve found myself drawn to the idea that words don’t just describe the world - they shape it, build it, define it.
Sverker Johansson understands this well. He opens The Dawn of Language with a scene that is both painfully familiar and strangely profound: a conversation with his five-year-old son. It follows a pattern any parent, teacher, or unsuspecting adult in the vicinity of a curious child will recognise:
"Why?"
"Because X."
"But why?"
"Because Y."
"But why?"
…long pause, shoulders raised in existential surrender.
At this point, most parents wave a vague hand at “science” or “because that’s how it is,” but Johansson, being made of sterner stuff (and by ‘stern’ we mean former particle physicist at CERN turned linguist, because apparently some people need two intimidatingly complex careers), took a different route. He wrote a book. And what a book it is.

The Enigmatic Inspirations Behind Ambrose and His Universe
[…] Athanasius Kircher was, to put it bluntly, a man who never met a subject he didn’t want to master. Born in 1602, at a time when science and mysticism still held hands in polite society, he became one of the most prolific, eccentric, and insatiably curious scholars of his era. He wasn’t just dabbling in a field or two—he was attempting to connect all human knowledge into a single, coherent system. The sheer audacity of it is almost endearing.
The book written by John Glassie dives deep into Kircher’s astonishingly broad range of studies. He was a… […]

Windswept Reflections: The Edge of the World
[…] Books I couldn’t fit into my luggage sit patiently in the shelves of my mental library, their beautifully designed covers captured in quick photos, their intriguing titles jotted in the margins of my travel notes. […] Among these is Michael Pye’s The Edge of the World, a book I first spotted in Edinburgh but only recently revisited while scrolling through my photo archives. Now holding it in my hands, I see how perfectly it aligns with what that journey left me with: a fascination with the unlikely connections, invisible influences, and untamed forces that have shaped British history (and far beyond).