Monday, May 11, 2026

Covering your floor with tilings (tessellations)


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We could find a speech topic just by looking down at the floor of a room. Our bathrooms have a grid consisting of brown 20“ square tiles. (Back when I was growing up we had much smaller white hexagonal tiles). You also could use triangles. There are Wikipedia pages for a Triangular tiling, a Square tiling, and a Hexagonal tiling. The mathematical term is Tessellation, for which Wikipedia says:

 

“A tessellation or tiling is the covering of a surface, often a plane, using one or more geometric shapes, called tiles, with no overlaps and no gaps." 

 

Tiling can have translational symmetry (be periodic) or not (be aperiodic). There is a Wikipedia page for Penrose tiling that begins:

 

“A Penrose tiling is an example of an aperiodic tiling. Here, a tiling is a covering of the plane by non-overlapping polygons or other shapes, and a tiling is aperiodic if it does not contain arbitrarily large periodic regions or patches. However, despite their lack of translational symmetry, Penrose tilings may have both reflection symmetry and fivefold rotational symmetry. Penrose tilings are named after mathematician and physicist Roger Penrose, who investigated them in the 1970s.

 

There are several variants of Penrose tilings with different tile shapes. The original form of Penrose tiling used tiles of four different shapes, but this was later reduced to only two shapes: either two different rhombi, or two different quadrilaterals called kites and darts. The Penrose tilings are obtained by constraining the ways in which these shapes are allowed to fit together in a way that avoids periodic tiling.”

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

More recently single aperiodic tiles (monotile or ein stein for one stone) were found, like the hat shown above. The hat got mentioned at the beginning of a monologue at Jimmy Kimmel Live on March 29, 2023 For more detail, watch this 5-1/ 2 minute YouTube video by Aylien on June 2, 2023 titled Finally, a true Aperiodic Monotile. There also is an 18 minute video from Up and Atom on September 3, 2023 titled How a Hobbyist Solved a 50-Year-Old Math Problem (Einstein Tile).

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There also are a Turtle, and a Spectre. 

 

If you want to see the math, there is one 91-page pdf article by David Smith et al. at Combinatorial Theory in 2024, (Volume 4, Number 1) titled An Aperiodic Monotile. A second 25-page pdf article (also by David Smith et al.) in Combinatorial Theory for 2024, Volume 4, Number 2 is titled A Chiral Aperiodic Monotile.

 

How did I find this topic? I read about it in Matt Parker’s 2024 book Love Triangle: How trigonometry shapes the world. In his chapter five, Well Fit, the final section is titled Don’t Make Me Repeat Myself:

 

“For a long time, the holy grail for mathematical tiling patterns was a polygon that could perfectly cover a surface but in a way that never repeats. One thing all the tiling patterns we’ve seen so far have in common is that they repeat periodically. I only had to give the builders a small diagram of snub-square tiling because once they got the pattern correct it could be repeated forever. Easy.

 

Mathematicians dreamed of a shape that sat right on the cusp between order and chaos. Some polygons are able to cover a surface with no gaps in a neat pattern, and others cannot fit together without gaps. But imagine a shape that brings both sides together; it cannot form a repeating pattern yet it still can cover a surface.

 

This mystical tiling pattern is called ‘aperiodic.’ A lot of tiles can form a ‘non periodic’ pattern: square tiles can be arranged with each row offset a different, irrational amount from the previous. Technically, this is a pattern that never repeats. But an aperiodic pattern involves the stronger condition that it is impossible to arrange the tiles in a periodic fashion. Square tiles could be knocked back into a periodic pattern and so they don’t count.

 

The first set of aperiodic tiles was found in 1964, but it involved combining 20,426 different shapes of tiles together. By 1974 this had been reduced to a set of two shapes, called Penrose tiles, which were aperiodic as a team, but the search was still on for a monotile that could be aperiodic all on its own. This mysterious, hypothetical shape was often called the ‘einstein’ as a hilarious German-language pun on ‘one stone.’

 

Even though mathematicians had yet to find an Einstein tile, they did know some things about what it must be like (if it did exist). Recall Rao’s proof from 2017 showing that all the convex pentagons that could tile had been found. This completed the search for all convex polygons, and every single one that could cover a surface did so in a nice periodic fashion. If there was an aperiodic monotile out there, it was not convex. It must have concave, sticking-in bits.

 

In 2010 an Einstein was discovered! But it was a terrible shape. The Socolar-Taylor tile, named after its discoverers, was an aperiodic monotile but it wasn’t contiguous. Several little disjointed pieces all made up, technically, ‘one tile.’ Having tiles each made from a collection of disparate parts did feel unsatisfactory. In a follow-up publication the discoverers described it as ‘an Einstein according to a reasonable definition’ Which is absolutely true. But both mathematicians and builders agreed that each tile being a solid piece was an even more reasonable definition.

 

Then in March 2023 it was found. The first ever aperiodic monotile. See if you can guess if it was someone messing around on their kitchen table at home or an advanced computer search! Answer to follow. I remember the release vividly: the news broke on March 21 and on March 22 I was due to give a public lecture at the Royal Society in London called ‘Every Interesting Bit of Maths Ever.’ A swift rewrite ensued.

 

The excitement was instant. It swept through the maths world very quickly, and the mainstream media was not far behind. Th mathematicians who had found the shape had dubbed it ‘the Hat’ because thy thought it looked like a hat. It has also been claimed to look a lot like a shirt. The point is, it was a nice, tidy, public-friendly shape. Before long people were 3D printing them, baking cookies shaped like them. My friend, Aliean MacDonald showed up for my Royal Society lecture in a Hat-covered dress she had made herself.

 

There was something about the Hat that made it popular with the public and mathematicians alike: it was surprisingly simple. Given this shape had been eluding the entire mathematics community for over half a century, nobody expected it to be so straightforward. It’s a 13-sided polygon, far fewer sides than I would have predicted. It’s concave, as expected, but it doesn’t have any detached, fragmented bits or any holes. When I look at it, I see a slightly modified equilateral triangle. Even in the research paper announcing its discovery says, ‘The shape is almost mundane in its simplicity.

 

None of this is to devalue the incredible feat of finding the Hat. It was discovered by a retired print technician, David Smith, doing some recreational maths at home on his kitchen table. He had been designing shapes in a tiling software package when he outlined the Hat and realized there was no obvious way to arrange it in a tiling pattern But it looked like it should fit together nicely. David cut 30 of them out of cardboard and found they did fit together but with no obvious pattern Another 30 copies were cut out and added to the tiling; still no pattern.

 

He contacted mathematician Craig Kaplan, who used some adopted software to explore how far the Hat could tile. It tiled further than any other known non-tiling shape, which strongly suggested the Hat could indeed cover any infinite surface. Yet the patterns it formed were not periodic. More mathematicians were recruited, and soon they managed to prove that the Hat was indeed an aperiodic monotile. For completeness they even proved it two different ways. The first proof was done using a computer, which worked but didn’t offer any insight into why the shape was aperiodic. As they said in the paper, ‘These calculations are necessarily ad hoc, and are essentially unenlightening.’ So they proved it again in a much more satisfactory way. There was now no doubt this was the Einstein shape everyone had been looking for.

 

Then David found another one.

 

Dubbed ‘the Turtle’, it was a second example of an Einstein. It felt wildly unlikely that two unrelated einsteins would be found so close together by the same person. And, after a bit of digging, the tile team found that the Hat and the Turtle were in fact two members of the same ‘family’ of tiles. This is the same as how we consider all rectangles part of the same family of shapes, each member of the family having a different ratio between the two edge lengths. Actually, since the ratio in a rectangle can be anything, the family of rectangles is infinite. The same is true of the Hat family, but it’s a less straightforward ratio. The original Hat is made from two different side-lengths ( 1 and Ö3) and those lengths can be varied to produce other einsteins.  

 

When the side-lengths are the other way around, Ö3 and 1, the resulting shape is the Turtle. All the other ratios work as well, with three exceptions. If the entire infinite family of Hat tiles was put in a line, and labeled with their distinguishing two side-lengths, it would start with tile 0, 1 and end with tile 1, 0. Both of these end tiles are not technically aperiodic. They can be arranged to be nonperiodic but also have alternate periodic arrangements.

 

Strangely, the very middle 1, 1 tile is also not aperiodic. For a shape to be aperiodic it needs to walk a very fine line between order and chaos; too much order and it becomes periodic; too much chaos and it ceases to completely cover a surface. Having the two edge lengths the same tips this middle class into having just enough order to be periodic. But, on the plus side, we are still left with infinitely many other shapes that do work.

 

Classic maths. You wait half a century for one aperiodic monotile and then infinitely many of them show up at once. The only slight disappointment was that all of these tilings use the reflection of the tile within the tiling. Which is something the mathematicians are OK with, but actual bathroom tiles and paving blocks come with a front and a back. So, annoyingly, the Hat would not make a good bathroom tile. For that a new Einstein will need to be found that tiles without using its reflection. We can only hope.

 

And that hope has already paid off! In May 2023 the same team came back with a chiral aperiodic monotile – one that tiles without using reflections – just over two months after the first Einstein had been announced. I will add that two months was the perfect amount of time for the mathematics-communication community to have just finished work on all manner of podcasts, videos, blog posts, and magazine articles telling the ‘definitive’ story of the Einstein before bam: all obsolete. (Goodness knows what will be announced the second this book gets published.)

 

This new shape was named ‘the Specter’ [sic], and it was also hiding in plain sight. David found it right in the middle of the Hat family: it’s the shape with 1, 1 edges that we had previously discounted! All of the Hat tilings that were aperiodic needed to use their reflections, but it was the reflection of the 1, 1 tile that stopped it from being aperiodic. If reflections were banned then it would become aperiodic. David and the team realized that by curving the edges in a special way they could remove the ability for the reflected version to fit at all, turning the Specter [sic] into a ‘strictly chiral aperiodic monotile.’ Mission accomplished!

 

I feel like, over time, the general public gradually builds up the capacity to pay attention to a breaking maths story (like a video-game power bar), and the Hat came out at just the right time, depleting the reservoir of excitement. When the Specter [sic] was announced two months later it didn’t even register as a blip on the mainstream media or in the public consciousness. Sure, maths people were super excited – this was arguably the more amazing result – but the general populace had no need for another new shape so soon. Even though this one is ideal for tiling a bathroom.

 

At the time of writing I am wondering what the next startling new shape will be. It could come from anywhere. I have contacted the Hat team to double-check they don’t have some other new tilings to be announced the moment I finalize this manuscript. Because after they found the whole Hat family and saw how nonexotic the shapes were, they wrote, ‘We might therefor hope that a zoo of interesting new monotiles will emerge in its wake,’

 

I also hope it does. But not until the next edition of this book.”    

 

 

Thursday, May 7, 2026

An addition mistake in a recent article from the Idaho Freedom Foundation


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We need to carefully edit what we write, even just a table with a sum of six numbers. There is an article by Fred Birnbaum at the Idaho Freedom Foundation on April 30, 2026 titled Saving money should not be a thankless task for legislators. Fred’s LinkedIn page says has an MBA, so dealing with numbers should not be a thankless task for him. 

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That article contains the table shown above, which I have annotated. The line for Total saved before Governor Veto is listed as $107,576,800 – but is $800 too large; it should be $107,576,000. You can easily spot that the hundreds digit is wrong, since there are two 2s and a 6 which should total to 10 rather than 8. And similarly, the Total saved after Governor Veto is listed as $107,098,200 – but it also should be $800 smaller at $107,097,400.  

 

The adding machine image came from Wikimedia Commons.

 

 

Tuesday, May 5, 2026

A very useful recent book by George Newman about how great ideas happen


 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is a very useful 2026 book by George Newman titled How Great Ideas Happen: The hidden steps behind breakthrough success. An article by George Newman at the NextBigIdeaClub in January 27, 2026 titled The Surprisingly Simple Formula Behind Breakthrough Ideas also discussed it. There are a dozen chapters in the book, three each in four parts:

 

Part 1 - Surveying Where to Search for Ideas

Chapter 1: Burn the Cabin Down

Chapter 2: Originality Ostriches

Chapter 3: Bottoms Up!

 

Part II - Griddings: Organizing Your Search

Chapter 4: The Guiding Question

Chapter 5: Think Inside the Box

Chapter 6: Transplanting

 

Part III - Digging: Unearthing Promising Ideas

Chapter 7: More Is More

Chapter 8: Search Far and Wide

Chapter 9: The Spark

 

Part IV – Sifting: Choosing Which Ideas to Pursue

Chapter 10: Create By Subtracting

Chapter 11: How Ideas Feel

Chapter 12: The Learning Curve

 

On page 63 (as shown above) he says that:

 

“…the most successful creatives I know have a striking thing in common: They have developed a knowledge funnel. They know a lot about one or two things and a little about a lot of things. But more than just that, they are highly adept at relating those foreign ideas back to their own expertise. Great visual artists will take concepts from philosophy or science and translate them into their preferred medium. Great musicians can take ideas from completely different musical genres or totally different arts and connect those ideas back to their own instrument. Great chefs might find inspiration from ideas totally unrelated to food or cooking. And some of the most successful scientists I know can take a concept from some distant field, translate it into the language of their own expertise, and see the implications for a problem they are working on.”

 

In Chapter 4 on page 83 he defines:

 

THE FOUR FEATURES OF A GUIDING QUESTION

 

SPECIFIC: It is phrased in a way that allows you

  to narrow in on a particular niche area.

OPEN-ENDED: It encourages multiple answers

  rather than a single correct one.

MOTIVATING: It engages curiosity and

  motivates you to delve deeper.

MEASURABLE: It has measurable outcomes

  to determine if you’re on the right path.”

 

In his Conclusion: Getting Unstuck on page 243 he describes three roadblocks:

 

Roadblock #1: You haven’t done enough work up front

Roadblock #2: You’ve settled on an idea too early.

Roadblock #3: You’ve fallen in love with an idea, not the process.

 

And on Page 245 he describes The Creative Explorer’s Toolkit:

 

Don’t be an Originality Ostrich.

Expand Your Influences.

Be a Problem Finder.

Embrace the Constraints.

Keep Digging.

Explore the Uncomfortable Ideas.

Think about Floating a Raft (versus Building a Tower).

Invite Others In.

 

My funnel was adapted from a miniature image at Wikimedia Commons.

 

Monday, May 4, 2026

Should we worry about getting cancer from eating burnt toast?


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not really. In 2025 Joe Schwarcz published a book titled Better Not Burn Your Toast: The Science of Food and Health. Although there potentially is an acrylamide hazard there is little risk. (I don’t like the taste so I just take a butter knife and scrape off the thin black burnt top layer). A more recent article by Joe Schwarcz at the McGill Office for Science and Society on April 24, 2026 titled Just How Much Should You Worry About Eating That Burnt Toast? discusses it:

 

“Acrylamide forms when the amino acid asparagine and some sugars, mainly glucose, fructose and galactose are heated together to a high temperature. Since asparagine and these sugars are present in many foods and since roasting, baking and frying are common cooking techniques, ingestion of acrylamide is unavoidable. But how much should we worry about its carcinogenicity? 

 

…. In rodents treated with acrylamide, usually in their drinking water, carcinogenic effects begin to be noted when they have consumed about 0.5 mg per kg body weight per day.

 

…. The acrylamide content of many foods has been determined in the lab and human exposure can be calculated from food frequency questionnaires. Typical human exposure turns out to be about 0.3 to 0.6 micrograms per kg body weight per day. This is a thousand times less than the minimal dose that can cause cancer in test animals!” [1 mg = 1000 micrograms]

 

There is another article from Joe Schwarcz in the Montreal Gazette on November 6, 2015 titled The Right Chemistry: No, eating a hotdog is not the same as smoking in which he discusses acrylamide from eating French fries:

 

“Before long scary headlines appear in the lay press: ‘Bacon poses same cancer risk as cigarettes!’ People panic and industry attempts to sooth fears with arguments about poor-quality research, cherry-picked data and calculations about the gross amounts of food that would have to be eaten for the claimed effect to arise: ‘One would have to consume over 150 pounds of French fries every day in order to increase the risk of cancer from acrylamide.’ or, ‘just because we can measure something does not mean the levels are toxic; for farmed salmon, PCB levels were about 3 per cent of the allowable limit of the Canadian Food Inspection Agency, the Food and Drug Administration, the World Health Organization and the European Union.’ ”

 

And there are also web pages titled Acrylamide and Cancer Risk both from the American Cancer Society and the National Cancer Institute.

 

Recent research is discussed in a massive (27-page pdf) article by Burhan Basaran, Burcu Cuvalci, and Guzin Kaban in Food magazine on January 11, 2023 titled Dietary Exposure and Cancer Risk: A Systematic Approach to Human Epidemiological Studies.  Their conclusions are:

 

“Acrylamide, whose presence in foods was shared with the public in 2002 and whose importance has been increasing in our lives since then, still contains many unknowns in terms of its formation mechanism, its level in foods and its effects on health. This uncertainty is a major concern when considering the potential risks of acrylamide. Therefore, more information should be obtained about all the factors that may be caused by dietary acrylamide exposure, and by managing this information, meaningful policies for public health should be produced. The high level of acrylamide in foods such as French fries, bread, biscuits and coffee, which have an important place in our daily life and which we can easily reach and consume throughout life, is an important issue that should be considered for our health. Therefore, many researchers have discussed various aspects of acrylamide, and research is still ongoing today.

In the light of the information obtained in this study, it is quite difficult to say clearly that there is a positive relationship between dietary acrylamide exposure and cancer types. In addition, no direct relationship was found with dietary acrylamide exposure on organs or systems. The lack of a standardized measurement method used by researchers also prevents the studies from being comparable. In this context, it seems that more research is needed to say whether exposure to acrylamide based on nutrition is a risk factor for developing various types of cancer. In order to obtain reliable results in explaining the relationship between dietary acrylamide exposure and cancer, it is very important that future research includes more people and foods. In addition, factors such as physical inactivity, harmful alcohol use, dyslipidemia, obesity and different chronic diseases should be considered as parameters in studies.

Additionally, databases should be established in order to evaluate dietary acrylamide exposure, and the accuracy of the information in the databases should be tested and revised according to the new information obtained. The relationship between dietary acrylamide exposure and cancer risk is unclear. It is necessary to develop new evaluation methods that detect acrylamide and other similar compounds that can lead to clinical pictures, which is the end point of the disease, such as cancer. In this respect, acrylamide and other similar compounds should be included in health policies, and researchers should be supported in terms of information and resources. In addition, legislation on foods with high levels of acrylamide should be developed.”

The image of burnt toast came from Wikimedia Commons.

 

Saturday, May 2, 2026

Celebrating a milestone of four million total page views on this Joyful Public Speaking Blog


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

This blog just hit a milestone – a total of over four million page views (exactly 4,002,327).

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As shown above, over the past month the daily results were a maximum of 21,529 on April 22nd and a minimum of 812 on April 5th. There are wild fluctuations!

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And, for the past 12 months the daily maximum was 32,316 on August 21st, 2025.

 

The computer cartoon was adapted from one at OpenClipArt.

 

Thursday, April 30, 2026

A Long Game: Notes on writing fiction is an interesting little book by Elizabeth McCracken


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is an interesting little 2025 book by Elizabeth McCracken titled A Long Game: Notes on writing fiction. It is organized into ten untitled chapters, and has a total of 280 brief essays. A Google Books preview covers just the first thirteen pages. There is a detailed index. I quote three essays.

 

Her third essay describes the book:

 

“This is a book that dispenses advice, composed by a writer of fiction. As with any such book or craft talk or social media rant or workshop critique, a lot of it is hogwash. I’m talking to myself. That’s all writers really do. Give speeches to the mirror, whisper into a shell on the beach, find a stranger in a dive bar. Teach.

 

Eventually the odd writer is driven to write a book about writing. Craft books, these volumes are called: chipper, cheerleaderish, generally with an encouraging second-person narrator meant to make the whole exhausting process of writing a book seem possible. You can do it!

 

It’s a reasonable stance: you’ll never stand on the winner’s podium if you can’t get off the starting block.

 

But I don’t know if you can write a book. I don’t know if I can write a book. I don’t know if I can write this book, though over the past thirty years I’ve published four novels, three collections of short stories, and a memoir, and have written several more unpublished books. (How many? We won’t speak of that yet.) Everything that I have ever believed was true and immutable about my work has changed. Only certain obsessions remain. A writing life, I’ve come to believe, is a yearslong process of casting away everything you once believed for sure.”  

 

The forty-fifth essay describes outlining, and, of course, also applies to the process of writing a speech:

 

“Proponents of outlining like every-day writers, like to recommend the process to everyone. They are talking to themselves, announcing how their own brains work, As for me, I have tried outlining before a project, and it looks like this:

 

I. The Waxmans arrive in Iowa.

 A. Family unhappiness.

  1. The loss of furniture.

    i. That buffet, a wedding gift, was an act of revenge.

     a) List of Great-Grandmother Waxman’s grudges.

 

… until the outline threatens to slant around the back of the page.

 

There’s a wonderful moment while writing a book when, after swimming alone in the ocean of your dream-world, you can sense it becoming actual, you can imagine how another person might navigate it by the landmarks you have installed, but you don’t want to arrive at that shore too soon. For some people, outlining is a form of thought: free from sentences and paragraphs, they can make meaningful decisions about their books. The outline prolongs the dream. Others of us dream in sentences only. We dream as we draft. Nothing is possible. (I am talking to myself) without language. I figure things out. I write with the abandon of a tourist. What interests me at first might bore me later. That’s all right.

 

No process is wrong that leads to a first draft of a book.”

 

Her eighty-ninth essay also applies to rehearsing a speech:

 

“I read my work aloud for a number of reasons, only some of which have to do with vanity. When I write, I hear language, but it’s not direct. Sonic, but not phonetic, a kind of burble that I find beautiful. Like swimming, while nearby a band plays loud music: I sense the sound, and it’s part of the experience, but not the entirety. Notes, not nuances. When I read aloud, I hear everything: accidental rhymes and repetitions, sentences that don’t make sense, five sentences in a row that sound alike, inconsistencies and unparallel constructions. Using my literal voice puts me back in the work as opposed to above it, as happens when I read in my head. If I realize that I’ve stopped reading aloud, it’s because my mouth knows the work is not so good: unclear, listless, unworthy of being declaimed. I read aloud to show off, but to myself. I’d be horrified if anyone could hear me.”

 

The writer typing was adapted from an image at OpenClipArt.

 

 

Wednesday, April 29, 2026

Manslaughter or Just a Man’s Laughter?


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes a little punctuation makes a big difference. Leaving off an apostrophe and a space turns the phrase a man’s laughter into the word manslaughter. The Pearls Before Swine comic by Stephan Pastis on April 29, 2026 has the following dialogue:

 

Pig: Did you see this guy who got arrested?

Goat: No. What happened?

 

Pig: Guess he must have been a comedian or something because he got jailed for a man’s laughter.

 

Goat: Manslaughter.

 

Pig: Oh, great, He slaughtered some man for laughing

Goat: Why do I try?

 

My cartoon is a color version of this one from Openclipart.

 

 

 

Tuesday, April 28, 2026

Another three stories from Kevin Ashton’s compelling new book The Story of Stories: The million-year history of a uniquely human art.

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My previous post was titled The Story of Stories: The Million-Year History of a Uniquely Human Art is a compelling new book by Kevin Ashton. There are eight chapters in that book, titled as follows:

 

Chapter 1  A Million Years of Stories  1

Chapter 2  The Eye of Your Mind  34

Chapter 3  Pictures of Sounds  59

Chapter 4  The War of Stories  92   

Chapter 5  The All-Seeing Eye of Providence  136

Chapter 6  One One Zero  169

Chapter 7  Death by a Thousand Stories  210

Chapter 8  The Hyperreal Thing  250

 

Here are another three quotations out of this book. The tenth section in the fourth chapter, The War of Stories, is titled Story Factories. It begins on the bottom of page 130:

 

“Wood based paper first appeared in Germany in the 1840s, and by the end of the 1870s most printers in North America and Western Europe were using it. Not long after that, all paper was made from wood and none was made from rags. In less than thirty years, the price of paper fell by over 90 percent. In 1860 a pound of rags cost 44 US cents before pulping. In 1889, a pound of wood cost 4 cents after pulping. The invention of the mass production of mass communication, started by Gutenberg 450 years earlier was complete. An industrial revolution had transformed storytelling, and now there were story factories all over the world.


 


 

 

 

 

  

 

Those factories produced ever more stories, told by ever more storytellers, reproduced ever more times. In 1449, the year before Gutenberg’s printing press became operational, Europeans published two thousand new books and made an average of twenty-five copies of each one. In 1900, after paper made from wood replaced paper made from rags, Europeans published twenty thousand new books and, on average, there were twenty-five hundred copies of each one: ten times more stories a year, told by ten times more storytellers, to a hundred times more people.”  

 

The second section in the fifth chapter, The All-Seeing Eye of Providence, is titled Experience. It begins on page 139:

 

“We are now halfway through The Story of Stories. The first half covered a million years of storytelling, from the first nightfires to the first telecommunications; the second half covers only two hundred years.

 

This imbalance – four chapters for one million years, four chapters for 200 years – arises because the book’s structure is not time but change, and change is not linear: Its rate increases so much that the next two hundred years of the story of stories contains as much change as the first million years.

 

When we look at almost any example of long-term human progress, we see change speeding up around the fifteenth century. This acceleration was once mistaken for a sudden springlike return to creation after a centuries-long winterlike freeze: a ‘renaissance’ preceded by ‘dark ages.’ The various versions of this mistake are all story-shaped: They center heroic protagonists and, by implication, individual human agency, hidden behind hand-wavy vaguenesses like culture or faith.

 

This ever-increasing, ever-continuing rate of change is not caused by individual human agency. The change causes itself, especially the change in storytelling. Our increasing acceleration of innovation arises from our accumulation of equality, liberty, and freedom of thought; of health, life expectancy, and population; and of time for nonsubsistence activities, all of which exist because we have ever more ways to share experience using stories.

 

Experience is knowledge that we have stored and recorded. Before we could recall and retell stories, we stored our experiences in the error-prone, personal, private, and, above all, mortal medium of memory. The rise of storytelling, through speaking, singing, painting, writing, and printing, enshrined ever more experience in ways ever more immortal. Printing is especially good at transforming one person’s experience into everyone’s experience: Frederick Douglass died in 1895, for example, but we can forever share some of his lived experience as a slave by reading his books.

 

The invention of the printing press enabled and inspired ever more inventions for storing and sharing experiences, among them the first atlas in 1482, the first postal service in 1516, the first book of mathematical references and tables in 1533, the first peer-reviewed scientific journal in 1655, the first school textbook in 1690, and the first bookstore in 1732.

 

These inventions laid the foundation for an explosion of new storytelling technologies, many of them powered by electricity, in the nineteenth century, including the first electric telegraph in 1816, the first free, taxpayer-funded public library in 1833, the first photograph in 1838, the first paperback in 1841, the first practical typewriter in 1867, the first carbon copy in 1870 (now the vestigial ‘cc’ – carbon copy – and ‘bcc’ -blind carbon copy – options in the ‘send’ field of every email), the first telephone in 1876, the first duplicating machine for low-volume home, school, and office use in 1886, the first record player in 1887, and the first movie screening and the first radio transmission in 1895.

 

The speed with which we invented, improved, and industrialized these electricity-powered storytelling tools was a consequence of the accelerative, self-reinforcing effect of shared experience. New story-telling technologies create new storytelling technologies. Where writing took five thousand years to mature and spread around the world, and printing took two thousand years, the electrified storytelling tools of the 1800s developed and dispersed in little more than a century.

 

These inventions turned the nineteenth century into what we would now call an age of big data, where someone sitting at their kitchen table could benefit from the thoughts and experiences of others, of almost any kind, from almost any place and time, and preserve their own thoughts and experiences in handwriting, or as a printing-like typewritten manuscript that could be duplicated cheaply and in any quantity, from one to millions.

 

The inventions of the nineteenth century also laid the foundation for a twentieth-century storytelling technology: the television, invented by Philo Farnsworth in 1927, 111 years after the invention of the electric telegraph.”

 

The eighth section in the fifth chapter, The All-Seeing Eye of Providence, is titled A New Literacy. On page 160:

 

“Reading only writing may have been sufficient when writing was the only technology of story, but it is not enough today. Everyone must be able to ‘read’ stories no matter what technology is being used to tell them.

 

This technology-independent literacy is sometimes called transliteracy, a term that originated in 2005 with Alan Liu, a professor at the University of California, Santa Barbara, and means ‘the ability to read, write and interact across a range of platforms, tools and media from signing and orality through handwriting, print, TV, radio and film, to digital social networks,’

 

Transliteracy is especially well understood by librarians, the underground freedom fighters in the war of stories, whose sworn duty is to connect people in the universe of the mass of humanity to knowledge. For example, here is Tom Ipri, a senior librarian at Temple University in Philadelphia, describing transliteracy’s importance:

 

Not only does transliteracy question previous assumptions of authority, it also calls into question the often assumed privilege of printed text. Transliteracy is not unique in questioning this bias – media literacy efforts have certainly tried to raise the profile of nonprint materials. But transliteracy is unique in combining democratizing communication formats, expressing no preference of one over the other, with emphasizing the social construction of meaning via diverse media. Because of the ways in which transliteracy questions authority and devalues hierarchical structures for disseminating information, transliteracy overlaps concerns much at the heart of librarianship.” 

 

Very detailed notes at the back of Kevin’s book point out that the above statement by Tom Ipri was edited for length from one in 2010 – it is a paraphrase rather than an exact quotation. You can find the original article by Tom Ipri at College and Research Library News (2010, Volume 71, Number 10) titled Introducing transliteracy: What does it mean to academic libraries? Also see the Wikipedia page for Transliteracy.

 

The 1904 drawing of a mysterious stranger (at the top left) telling a story came from the Library of Congress.

 

 

Monday, April 27, 2026

The Story of Stories: The Million-Year History of a Uniquely Human Art is a compelling new book by Kevin Ashton


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I found a compelling 2026 book by Kevin Ashton titled The Story of Stories: The million-year history of a uniquely human art at my friendly local public library and have been reading through the very many stories told in it. Google Books has a preview of just the first 16 pages. There are eight chapters, titled as follows, containing lots of stories:

 

Chapter 1  A Million Years of Stories  1

Chapter 2  The Eye of Your Mind  34

Chapter 3  Pictures of Sounds  59

Chapter 4  The War of Stories  92   

Chapter 5  The All-Seeing Eye of Providence  136

Chapter 6  One One Zero  169

Chapter 7  Death by a Thousand Stories  210

Chapter 8  The Hyperreal Thing  250

 

Here are four quotations from this book. The third section in the first chapter, A Million Years of Stories, is titled The Universal Story. It begins on page 6:

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Our storytelling brains, unchanged since they first evolved, seek and tell stories that follow a simple pattern. This pattern is universal to all cultures, genres, periods, storytellers, storytelling technologies, and styles, and comprises three equally essential parts like the legs of a stool.

 

First, all stories feature humanlike characters as the agents of action. This is still true when the characters are supposed to be nonhuman. Stories that star aliens, Anglepoise lamps, animals, ants, trains, trees, and toasters are really about humans, which is why in stories these creatures tend to walk on two feet, talk, have expressive faces and eyes, feel human emotions, and set human goals. They are all rabbits in waistcoats – people pretending not to be people. Even Dr. Suess, creator of fabulous, apparently nonhuman characters including the Cat in the Hat, the Grinch, and Horton the Elephant, said, ‘None of my animals are animals; they’re all people.’ These humanlike characters are the story’s actors; they take the actions that cause the story to happen. They live at or near the story’s center. They are literally the people the story is about: it embraces, revolves around, and surrounds them.

 

Second, all stories relate a chronology, a sequence of events. The chronology does not have to be told in chronological order – it can have flashbacks, flash-forwards, and meanwhiles – but it has to relate connected events that happened at different moments. We would not call a description of a dozen things that all occurred in the same second a story. A story is always a journey through time.

 

Third, all stories must reach, or at least be headed for, a resolution. The sequence of events must have a consequence, and that consequence must arise from the actions of its human or humanlike agents. We are compelled to give sequences of events consequences, to seek justice for our characters, and to resolve unresolved stories. An unfinished story is like an unscratched itch; if a story we care about is not explicitly resolves, or if we have to wait to see how it ends because of a ‘to be continued’ cliffhanger climax we will often try to finish the story ourselves by imagining possible resolutions.”   

 

The fifth section in the third chapter, Pictures of Sounds, is titled The Ox and the House. It begins on page 69:

 

“We do not have to wonder whether Europeans could have found a way to get from pictures of things to pictures of syllables: They tried. In 1400 BCE the Greeks adapted picture-based writing from another language, Minoan, and used it almost entirely for accounting. Few Greeks could read it, and even fewer could write it. Then around 1100 BCE, for reasons that are still not well understood, Greek civilization collapsed, and the Greeks did not write again for hundreds of years.

 

But while Greece slumbered in its dark ages, The Canaanites, a seafaring people living in independent city-states in what is now Lebanon, and parts of Israel, Palestine, and Syria, solved the problem of how to write languages with clusters of consonants.

 

We can guess how it happened. Canaanites traded with, worked for, and were sometimes enslaved by Egyptians. Some Canaanites learned to read and write Hieratic, a simplified form of Egyptian hieroglyphics developed for writing on papyrus, a writing surface made from a plant that grows in the shallows of the Nile, with reeds dipped in ink. Hieratic was a flowing script that could be written quickly by joining some characters together – a style now known as cursive, after the Latin currere, ‘to run.’ Sometime around 1800 BCE, or possibly a few centuries earlier, one or more of the Canaanites adapted Hieratic so that they could use it to write their own language too.

 

The adaptation was ingenious. The Canaanites selected hieroglyphs of things whose names start with the sounds of the Canaanite language and used the hieroglyphs to represent these sounds. For example, the Canaanites’ word for ox was aleph, so they used the hieroglyph for ox, which looked like an ox’s head, to represent an ‘a’ sound. Their word for house was beth, so they used the hieroglyph for house, which looked like the plan of a house, for the sound ‘b,’ and so on. If you were Canaanite, and could identify what thing a character represented, you would also know what sound that character represented, and could read.

 

Using characters to represent sounds instead of syllables made the writing system very efficient, especially for consonant-laden languages where most syllables are not also words. For example, every native English speaker knows around twenty to thirty-five thousand words, created from about three thousand syllables. A writing system for English that used one character for each syllable would therefore need about three thousand distinct characters. But those three thousand syllables are composed of only thirty-five to forty-four distinct sounds, depending on what definition of sound you use. And so, if you write sounds, not syllables, you can represent an entire language in very few characters. That is what the Canaanites did, and it gave them a complete writing system using just thirty-two characters. 

 

The first two of those characters, aleph and beth, the signs for ‘ox’ and ‘house,’ gave the Canaanites’ writing system its English name, alphabet.

 

Some pictures the Canaanites chose are still discernible today, thirty-five hundred years later, in the Latin alphabet used by 143 nations. For example, if you turn a capital A upside down, you can see the head of the ox, horns and all; a capital B is the plan of a two-room house, the letter c is a boomerang, gimel; l is from lamed, a shepherd’s crook, m comes from mem, water, and is the shape of two waves; and o is an eye, ‘ayin, now without the pupil of its original Egyptian hieroglyph. These vestigial pictures exemplify how our tools improve by evolution more than invention.”

 

The tenth section in the third chapter, Pictures of Sounds, is titled The Secret Life of Stories. It begins on the bottom of page 87:

 

“Writing separates story and storyteller, and leaves readers to determine a story’s meaning by themselves. One of the most important consequences of this separation – and one that applies to all other forms of mass communication too – is that every reader is likely to imagine and interpret the same story differently. What the writer writes is not what the reader reads.

 

And that raises a question: Is a story what is written or what is read?

 

This is not a new concern. Literary theorist Roland Barthes, among many others, wondered about it. Barthes concluded a story is not what is written but what is read; so much so that he proclaimed the ‘death of the author,’ saying: ‘The reader is the space on which all the quotations that make up a writing are inscribed; a text’s unity lies not in its origin but in its destination. The reader holds together the written text. To give writing its future, the birth of the reader must be at the cost of the death of the author.’

 

Barthes argued that there are two kinds of story: the readerly story, which requires little interpretation by the reader – the story is readerly because the reader mainly reads – and the writerly story, which requires lots of interpretation by the reader – the story is writerly because the reader does so much interpretation that they almost write the story themselves.

 

Or, some stories are so straightforward that they lead every reader to imagine a similar story, and others are so ambiguous that they lead every reader to imagine a different story. A stop sign is an example of something extremely straightforward and readerly: Everyone who reads it understands it the same way. A Rorschach test – a psychological test in which someone is shown an image comprising nothing but inkblots and asked ‘What might this be?’ – is an example of something extremely ambiguous and writerly: Everyone who ‘reads’ it understands it differently. Neither of these two things are stories, and no stories are as extreme as these two things, but every story lies somewhere between.”

 

The fifth section in the fourth chapter, The War of Stories, is titled Mass. It begins on page 112 and it says that:

 

“Printing came late to Europe, but when it arrived, the consequences were much the same as in China, Japan, and Korea.

 

On the day Gutenberg’s printing press started operating, scribes half a mile away were laboring in the scriptorium of St. Alban’s Abbey, copying scriptures and other Christian writing using goose-feather quills dipped in ink. The best and fastest of them, who were called antiquarii, wrote one or two pages that day. In Gutenberg’s workshop, the printing press produced three thousand pages. This wasn’t just a change in scale – it was a revolution in how ideas could spread.

 

Europe’s scribes produced eleven million documents in the thousand years before Gutenberg invented the printing press. Presses based on Gutenberg’s design produced thirteen million documents by 1500. What once took a century now took four years.

 

Gutenberg invented the mass production of mass communication. His achievement established a pattern that repeats with each successive storytelling technology: that the true transformation comes not from the invention itself but from making it fast enough, cheap enough, and reliable enough for mass adoption. Gutenberg’s press could produce thousands of pages per day, but the revolution he started was not only because of speed or volume; it was also because of what happens when one idea enters thousands of minds simultaneously. That change is far more significant, and far more difficult to quantify or even qualitize.”

 

The 1848 painting of Baku storytelling by August Wilhelm Kiesewetter came from Wikimedia Commons.

 

 

Saturday, April 25, 2026

Donald Trump recently defended his mathematically impossible calculations of reducing drug prices


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Back on December 18, 2025 I blogged about how In his 18-minute speech last night President Trump talked about reducing prescription drug prices by 400% to 600%. What would that even mean? He revisited that silly claim, as discussed by Will Weissert at AP News on April 23, 2026 in an article titled Two ways of calculating’: Trump defends his mathematically impossible calculations on drug prices:

 

“Trump acknowledged having boasted that his efforts to lower drug prices had reduced what consumers pay by ‘500%, 600%.’ But he added, ‘We also sometimes say 50%, 60%’ and called it a ‘different kind of calculation’ that could go up to ‘70, 80 and 90%.’

‘People understand that better,’ Trump said. ‘But they’re two ways of calculating’ and ‘either way, it doesn’t make any difference.’ ” 

And Louis Jacobson at Politifact that same day, April 23, 2026, had another article titled RFK Jr. said there’s more than one way to calculate a percentage decrease. That doesn’t add up.