"A Short History of Nearly Everything" by Bill Bryson

Hi Friends,
If you have least bit of interest in Space, Universe, Evolution, Life of Great Scientists or Volcanoes, then this book won’t disappoint you.
Bill has split the entire title in 6 parts, starting from Creation of Milkyway then to Size and structure of the Earth then various Theories regarding its origin.
After this he describes the Volcanoes and then to Evolution and finally Evolution of Man-kind.
In the very beginning book feels like “A Brief History Of Time”, and explains the very concept of “How our galaxy came into Picture”, with almost all the theories presently available.
Next section “The Size of the Earth” deals with the discoveries of asteroids, Newton, Rutherford, Lord Kelvin and various other achievements in the field of astronomy.
Third section covers Einstein and his Relativity Theory, Quantum Physics and different methods for calculating the Earth’s age or more precisely Age of our Galaxy.
After this comes the really interesting section about Volcanoes and Earthquakes and it gives you the fact that you will really feel lucky that you are still alive at this very point of time.
Next one deals with evolution of life on the earth, which I skipped a lot, as it tells you each and every organism which has existed on earth any time during our 4.7 billion years of existence. Last one tells you that How we became what we are. From amoeba to Homo sapiens.

Finally I will write some interesting facts which Bill found out and really amazing ones.

--Australia has been tilting and sinking. Over the past 100 million years it has drifted north toward Asia, its leading edge has sunk by some six hundred feet. It appears that Indonesia is very slowly drowning, and dragging Australia down with it. Nothing in the theories of tectonics can explain any of this.
--Bosons (named for the Indian physicist S. N. Bose) are particles that produce and carry forces, and include photons and gluons.
--In 1965 Arno Penzias and Robert Wilson found out that the edge of the universe, or at least the visible part of it, is 90 billion trillion miles away.
Pluto: Nobody is quite sure how big it is, or what it is made of, what kind of atmosphere it has, or even what it really is. A lot of astronomers believe it isn’t a planet at all, but merely the largest object so far found in a zone of galactic debris known as the Kuiper belt. The Kuiper belt is the source of what are known as short-period comets—those that come past pretty regularly—of which the most famous is Halley’s comet. It is certainly true that Pluto doesn’t act much like the other planets. Not only is it runty and obscure, but it is so variable in its motions that no one can tell you exactly where Pluto will be a century hence. Whereas the other planets orbit on more or less the same plane, Pluto’s orbital path is tipped (as it were) out of alignment at an angle of seventeen degrees, like the brim of a hat tilted rakishly on someone’s head. Its orbit is so irregular that for substantial periods on each of its lonely circuits around the Sun it is closer to us than Neptune is. For most of the 1980s and 1990s, Neptune was in fact the solar system’s most far-flung planet. Only on February 11, 1999, did Pluto return to the outside lane, there to remain for the next 228 years.

Supernovae occur when a giant star, one much bigger than our own Sun, collapses and then spectacularly explodes, releasing in an instant the energy of a hundred billion suns, burning for a time brighter than all the stars in its galaxy. “It’s like a trillion hydrogen bombs going off at once,” says Evans. If a supernova explosion happened within five hundred light-years of us, we would be goners. The reason we can be reasonably confident that such an event won’t happen in our corner of the galaxy, Thorstensen said, is that it takes a particular kind of star to make a supernova in the first place. A candidate star must be ten to twenty times as massive as our own Sun and “we don’t have anything of the requisite size that’s that close.

Story of Earth: About 4.6 billion years ago, a great swirl of gas and dust some 15 billion miles across accumulated in space where we are now and began to aggregate. Virtually all of it—99.9 percent of the mass of the solar system—went to make the Sun. Out of the floating material that was left over, two microscopic grains floated close enough together to be joined by electrostatic forces. This was the moment of conception for our planet. All over the inchoate solar system, the same was happening. Colliding dust grains formed larger and larger clumps. Eventually the clumps grew large enough to be called planetesimals. As these endlessly bumped and collided, they fractured or split or recombined in endless random permutations, but in every encounter there was a winner, and some of the winners grew big enough to dominate the orbit around which they traveled.
It all happened remarkably quickly. To grow from a tiny cluster of grains to a baby planet some hundreds of miles across is thought to have taken only a few tens of thousands of years. In just 200 million years, possibly less, the Earth was essentially formed, though still molten and subject to constant bombardment from all the debris that remained floating about.
At this point, about 4.5 billion years ago, an object the size of Mars crashed into Earth, blowing out enough material to form a companion sphere, the Moon. Within weeks, it is thought, the flung material had reassembled itself into a single clump, and within a year it had formed into the spherical rock that companions us yet. Most of the lunar material, it is thought, came from the Earth’s crust, not its core, which is why the Moon has so little iron while we have a lot.

Nature and Nature’s laws lay hid in night;
God said, Let Newton be! And all was light. -Alexander Pope (Remember the clue used in Da Vinci Code)

Newton was a decidedly odd figure—brilliant beyond measure, but solitary, joyless, prickly to the point of paranoia, famously distracted (upon swinging his feet out of bed in the morning he would reportedly sometimes sit for hours, immobilized by the sudden rush of thoughts to his head), and capable of the most riveting strangeness. He built his own laboratory, the first at Cambridge, but then engaged in the most bizarre experiments. Once he inserted a bodkin—a long needle of the sort used for sewing leather—into his eye socket and rubbed it around “betwixt my eye and the bone as near to the backside of my eye as I could” just to see what would happen. What happened, miraculously, was nothing—at least nothing lasting. On another occasion, he stared at the Sun for as long as he could bear, to determine what effect it would have upon his vision. Again he escaped lasting damage, though he had to spend some days in a darkened room before his eyes forgave him.
As a student, frustrated by the limitations of conventional mathematics, he invented an entirely new form, the calculus, but then told no one about it for twenty-seven years. In like manner, he did work in optics that transformed our understanding of light and laid the foundation for the science of spectroscopy, and again chose not to share the results for three decades.
At least half his working life was given over to alchemy and wayward religious pursuits. These were not mere babblings but wholehearted devotions. He was a secret adherent of a dangerously heretical sect called Arianism, whose principal tenet was the belief that there had been no Holy Trinity (slightly ironic since Newton’s college at Cambridge was Trinity),. He spent endless hours studying the floor plan of the lost Temple of King Solomon in Jerusalem (teaching himself Hebrew in the process, the better to scan original texts) in the belief that it held mathematical clues to the dates of the second coming of Christ and the end of the world. His attachment to alchemy was no less ardent. In 1936, the economist John Maynard Keynes bought a trunk of Newton’s papers at auction and discovered with astonishment that they were overwhelmingly preoccupied not with optics or planetary motions, but with a single-minded quest to turn base metals into precious ones. An analysis of a strand of Newton’s hair in the 1970’s found it contained mercury—an element of interest to alchemists, hatters, and thermometer-makers but almost no one else—at a concentration some forty times the natural level. It is perhaps little wonder that he had trouble remembering to rise in the morning.
In 1684 Dr Halley came to visit at Cambridge [and] after they had some time together the Dr. asked him what he thought the curve would be that would be described by the Planets supposing the force of attraction toward the Sun to be reciprocal to the square of their distance from it.
This was a reference to a piece of mathematics known as the inverse square law, which Halley was convinced lay at the heart of the explanation, though he wasn’t sure exactly how. Sir Isaac replied immediately that it would be an [ellipse]. The Doctor, struck with joy & amazement, asked him how he knew it. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘I have calculated it,’ whereupon Dr. Halley asked him for his calculation without farther delay, Sir Isaac looked among his papers but could not find it.
This was astounding—like someone saying he had found a cure for cancer but couldn’t remember where he had put the formula. Newton agreed to redo the calculations and produce a paper. He retired for two years of intensive reflection and scribbling, and produced his masterwork: the Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica or Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy, better known as the Principia .
At Principia’s heart were Newton’s three laws of motion (which state, very baldly, that a thing moves in the direction in which it is pushed; that it will keep moving in a straight line until some other force acts to slow or deflect it; and that every action has an opposite and equal reaction) and his universal law of gravitation.

--In 1812, at Lyme Regis on the Dorset coast, an extraordinary child named Mary Anning—aged eleven, twelve, or thirteen, depending on whose account you read—found a strange fossilized sea monster, seventeen feet long and now known as the ichthyosaurus, embedded in the steep and dangerous cliffs along the English Channel. It was the start of a remarkable career. Anning would spend the next thirty-five years gathering fossils, which she sold to visitors. She is commonly held to be the source for the famous tongue twister “She sells seashells on the seashore.”

--In the early 1800s there arose in England a fashion for inhaling nitrous oxide, or laughing gas, after it was discovered that its use “was attended by a highly pleasurable thrilling.” For the next half century it would be the drug of choice for young people. One learned body, the Askesian Society, was for a time devoted to little else. Theaters put on “laughing gas evenings” where volunteers could refresh themselves with a robust inhalation and then entertain the audience with their comical staggering. It wasn’t until 1846 that anyone got around to finding a practical use for nitrous oxide, as an anesthetic. Goodness knows how many tens of thousands of people suffered unnecessary agonies under the surgeon’s knife because no one thought of the gas’s most obvious practical application.

Einstein: In 1900, Planck unveiled a new “quantum theory,” which posited that energy is not a continuous thing like flowing water but comes in individualized packets, which he called quanta. This was a novel concept, and a good one. In the short term it demonstrated that light needn’t be a wave after all. In the longer term it would lay the foundation for the whole of modern physics. It was, at all events, the first clue that the world was about to change.
But the landmark event—the dawn of a new age—came in 1905, when there appeared in the German physics journal Annalen der Physik a series of papers by a young Swiss bureaucrat who had no university affiliation, no access to a laboratory, and the regular use of no library greater than that of the national patent office in Bern, where he was employed as a technical examiner third class. (An application to be promoted to technical examiner second class had recently been rejected.)
His name was Albert Einstein, and in that one eventful year he submitted to Annalen der Physik five papers, of which three, according to C. P. Snow, “were among the greatest in the history of physics”—one examining the photoelectric effect by means of Planck’s new quantum theory, one on the behavior of small particles in suspension (what is known as Brownian motion), and one outlining a special theory of relativity.
The first won its author a Nobel Prize and explained the nature of light (and also helped to make television possible, among other things).3 The second provided proof that atoms do indeed exist—a fact that had, surprisingly, been in some dispute. The third merely changed the world.
Einstein was honored, somewhat vaguely, "for services to theoretical physics." He had to wait sixteen years, till 1921, to receive the award-quite a long time, all things considered, but nothing at all compared with Frederick Reines, who detected the neutrino in 1957 but wasn't honored with a Nobel until 1995, thirty-eight years later, or the German Ernst Ruska, who invented the electron microscope in 1932 and received his Nobel Prize in 1986, more than half a century after the fact. Since Nobel Prizes are never awarded posthumously, longevity can be as important a factor as ingenuity for prizewinners.
Having just solved several of the deepest mysteries of the universe, Einstein applied for a job as a university lecturer and was rejected, and then as a high school teacher and was rejected there as well. So he went back to his job as an examiner third class, but of course he kept thinking. He hadn’t even come close to finishing yet.
When the poet Paul Valéry once asked Einstein if he kept a notebook to record his ideas, Einstein looked at him with mild but genuine surprise. “Oh, that’s not necessary,” he replied. “It’s so seldom I have one.” I need hardly point out that when he did get one it tended to be good. Einstein’s next idea was one of the greatest that anyone has ever had—indeed, the very greatest, according to Boorse, Motz, and Weaver in their thoughtful history of atomic science.” As the creation of a single mind,” they write, “it is undoubtedly the highest intellectual achievement of humanity,” which is of course as good as a compliment can get.
In 1907, or so it has sometimes been written, Albert Einstein saw a workman fall off a roof and began to think about gravity. Alas, like many good stories this one appears to be apocryphal. According to Einstein himself, he was simply sitting in a chair when the problem of gravity occurred to him. It was a question that would occupy his thoughts for most of the next decade and lead to the publication in early 1917 of a paper entitled “Cosmological Considerations on the General Theory of Relativity.”
When a journalist asked the British astronomer Sir Arthur Eddington if it was true that he was one of only three people in the world who could understand Einstein’s relativity theories, Eddington considered deeply for a moment and replied: “I am trying to think who the third person is.”
The most challenging and nonintuitive of all the concepts in the general theory of relativity is the idea that time is part of space. Our instinct is to regard time as eternal, absolute, immutable—nothing can disturb its steady tick. In fact, according to Einstein, time is variable and ever changing. It even has shape. It is bound up—“inextricably interconnected,” in Stephen Hawking’s expression—with the three dimensions of space in a curious dimension known as spacetime.

--Physicists are notoriously scornful of scientists from other fields. When the wife of the great Austrian physicist Wolfgang Pauli left him for a chemist, he was staggered with disbelief. “Had she taken a bullfighter I would have understood,” he remarked in wonder to a friend. “But a chemist . . .”
It was a feeling Rutherford would have understood. “All science is either physics or stamp collecting,” he once said, in a line that has been used many times since. There is a certain engaging irony therefore that when he won the Nobel Prize in 1908, it was in chemistry, not physics.

-- “Bohr once commented that a person who wasn’t outraged on first hearing about quantum theory didn’t understand what had been said.” Heisenberg, when asked how one could envision an atom, replied: “Don’t try.”

Half-Life: If you have ever wondered how the atoms determine which 50 percent will die and which 50 percent will survive for the next session, the answer is that the half-life is really just a statistical convenience-a kind of actuarial table for elemental things. Imagine you had a sample of material with a half-life of 30 seconds. It isn't that every atom in the sample will exist for exactly 30 seconds or 60 seconds or 90 seconds or some other tidily ordained period. Each atom will in fact survive for an entirely random length of time that has nothing to do with multiples of 30; it might last until two seconds from now or it might oscillate away for years or decades or centuries to come. No one can say. But what we can say is that for the sample as a whole the rate of disappearance will be such that half the atoms will disappear every 30 seconds. It's an average rate, in other words, and you can apply it to any large sampling. Someone once worked out, for instance, that dimes have a half-life of about 30 years.

--One interesting recently suggested theory is that the universe is not nearly as big as we thought, that when we peer into the distance some of the galaxies we see may simply be reflections, ghost images created by rebounded light.
Continent Drift Theory: Holmes was the first scientist to understand that radioactive warming could produce convection currents within the Earth. In theory these could be powerful enough to slide continents around on the surface.

-- There was one other major problem with Earth theories that no one had resolved, or even come close to resolving. That was the question of where all the sediments went. Every year Earth’s rivers carried massive volumes of eroded material—500 million tons of calcium, for instance—to the seas. If you multiplied the rate of deposition by the number of years it had been going on, it produced a disturbing figure: there should be about twelve miles of sediments on the ocean bottoms—or, put another way, the ocean bottoms should by now be well above the ocean tops. Scientists dealt with this paradox in the handiest possible way. They ignored it. But eventually there came a point when they could ignore it no longer.
Then in 1960 core samples showed that the ocean floor was quite young at the mid-Atlantic ridge but grew progressively older as you moved away from it to the east or west. Harry Hess considered the matter and realized that this could mean only one thing: new ocean crust was being formed on either side of the central rift, then being pushed away from it as new crust came along behind. The Atlantic floor was effectively two large conveyor belts, one carrying crust toward North America, the other carrying crust toward Europe. The process became known as seafloor spreading.
When the crust reached the end of its journey at the boundary with continents, it plunged back into the Earth in a process known as subduction. That explained where all the sediment went. It was being returned to the bowels of the Earth. It also explained why ocean floors everywhere were so comparatively youthful. None had ever been found to be older than about 175 million years, which was a puzzle because continental rocks were often billions of years old. Now Hess could see why. Ocean rocks lasted only as long as it took them to travel to shore. It was a beautiful theory that explained a great deal. Hess elaborated his ideas in an important paper, which was almost universally ignored. Sometimes the world just isn’t ready for a good idea.

-- Thanks to Global Positioning Systems we can see that Europe and North America are parting at about the speed a fingernail grows—roughly two yards in a human lifetime. If you were prepared to wait long enough, you could ride from Los Angeles all the way up to San Francisco.

--Every year the Earth accumulates some thirty thousand metric tons of “cosmic spherules”— space dust in plainer language.

--> Mishra