Chasing the Sun has taken almost eight years to research and write, during which time I have visited eighteen countries. That such trips were possible—vastly expanding what I first envisaged for the book—is due to the generous grant I received from the Alfred P. Sloan Foundation. To the foundation and particularly to its director, Doron Weber, I am extremely grateful.
Such an undertaking also required the help of an extraordinary range of people. To particularize: material on Japan was checked with Yoshiko Chikubu and by Junzo Sawa and Hamish Macaskill (of the English Agency, Japan); that on Peru by Marie Arana of The Washington Post; solstice customs by Professor Ronald Hutton of Bristol University; and North American dance rituals by Susan Gardner, my colleague at Kingston University, and by Wade Davis, explorer in residence at National Geographic. The chapters on eclipses were read by Thomas Crump, whose own book was so useful to me, and by Jay Pasachoff, Field Memorial Professor of Astronomy at Williams University.
For the chapters on ancient Babylonian, Egyptian, and Greek solar astronomy I received early advice and encouragement from Richard Parkinson, assistant curator of ancient Egyptian pharaonic culture at the British Museum; Christopher Walker and Michael Wright, two other BM alumni; Sir Geoffrey Lloyd, master of St. Catharine’s College, Cambridge; and Dennis Rawlins, editor of Dio. I would single out for special thanks James Allen, ex-curator of Egyptian art at the Metropolitan Museum in New York: we came to an agreement that he would explain Egyptian culture to me if afterward I would give him a fencing lesson, so that well after the museum was closed to normal visitors, the mummies of ancient Egypt would look benignly down on us as our sabers clashed.
Chinese solar history was read early on by Nathan Sivin, professor of Chinese culture and the history of science at the University of Pennsylvania (though we did not always agree); Simon Winchester, recent biographer of Joseph Needham; and Christopher Cullen, head of the Needham Institute in Cambridge. The chapters from Copernicus to Newton were checked by Owen Gingerich, professor emeritus of astronomy and of the history of science at Harvard University. Brian Cathcart, professor of journalism at Kingston University and author of The Fly in the Cathedral, provided some invaluable advice on the physicists who helped build the atomic bomb.
On tree-ring details I was advised by Dr. Mike Baillie, of Queens University. Belfast. The chapters on how the Sun affects our bodies were read by Dr. Seth Orlow, chair of dermatology at NYU Langone, while Linda Prestgaard at the Norwegian embassy in New York checked details about Norway and other matters to do with SAD. David Davidar of Penguin Books told me about the Indian skin-bleaching techniques he employed for his novel The House of Blue Mangoes. The material on photosynthesis and other matters of natural history was read by Dr. Oliver Crimmen, head curator at London’s Natural History Museum, and by Dr. Olivia Judson, the author and journalist. The details about animal migration were checked by Dr. Andre L. Martel and Pierre Poirier, of the Canadian Museum of Nature, and Henry Bouchard, of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.
Details about solar navigation were corrected by Robert Ferguson, author of The Vikings; Professor Steven Walton; Dr. Richard Dunn, curator of the history of navigation at the National Maritime Museum, Greenwich; and Gloria Clifton, head of the Royal Observatory, Greenwich. The section on sundials benefited from the expertise of Dr. Frank King of Churchill College, Cambridge. My visit to Freiburg and the details on solar energy research generally were checked by Larisa Kazantseva of Nitol Solar and by Thomas Dresel of the Solar Energy Center in Freiburg, and my Spanish trip by José Solder of the Plataforma Solar de Almería.
The chapter on the Sun in art was read through by Turner’s recent biographer James Hamilton (who “teased the text a bit”), and the passages on cinema by Kenneth Turan, film critic of the Los Angeles Times. For much of the material on classical music I am indebted to the late Gabriela Roepke, professor of opera at the New School. My musings on Nabokov were read by Azar Nafisi, author of Reading Lolita in Tehran, and on literature generally by two author friends, Clare Asquith and Betsy Carter. The chapter on politics and the Sun was read by Richard Bernstein, the author and sinologist, while Alex Cook of King’s College, Cambridge, first alerted me to The Ruins. Tony Kasse corrected me on matters of Japanese culture, and Don Cohn of Columbia University was helpful on Mao and the Sun.
The labyrinths of quantum physics were explained to me by Andrew Blake, research associate at Cavendish Laboratory in Cambridge, and by Dr. Alan Walton, a senior Cambridge University physicist; Katie Yurkewicz, at CERN, was also an invaluable help. David Agle and Curtis D. Montano at the Jet Propulsion Lab gave me useful material on current projects and also on the early days of rocketry. Piers Corbyn, of Weather Action, gave me hours of his time, and the chapter on global warming was read by Dr. Willie Soon of Harvard University and by Dr. Robert Carter, professor at the Marine Geophysical Laboratory, James Cook University (both of whom, I fear, will not like all my conclusions). The history of science fiction and the Sun was checked by David Compton, editor and renowned science fiction author, and I was also helped by the screenwriter and novelist Alex Garland. The epilogue was read by Louise Nicholson, an authority on India, who in addition arranged my time in that country with such a sure hand.
Silke Ackermann of the Department of Prehistory and Europe was my “control” at the British Museum, leading me to expert after expert. During my researches I used almost a dozen libraries, from the one at Castel Gandolfo to that of the Munch Museum in Oslo. In particular, the Society Library in New York City and the London Library never let me down, while the New York Public Library was a home away from home, be it the Allen Room, the Wertheim Study, or the General Reading Rooms. David Smith at the NYPL has even won a profile in the pages of The New York Times for the quality of help he gives to struggling authors; for me, his business-card byline—“librarian to the stars”—seems especially appropriate.
Others who helped on one matter or another include: Professor Babette Babich of Fordham University’s Department of Philosophy, Kai Cai, Dr. Nicholas Campion of Bath Spa University (on matters astrological), Fr. Juan Casanova, Lesley Chamberlain, Al Clement, Margaret Cook, Peter d’Epiro, Timothy Ferris, emeritus professor at the University of California, Berkeley, Dr. Valerie Fomin in St. Petersburg, Manuel Pérez García at the University of Almería, Carol Gaxiola, John Gerrard (who shared with me his Watchful Portrait [Caroline]), Professor Ai Guoxiang of the Chinese Academy of Science, Bob Hay, Jeff Hester, professor of physics and astronomy at Arizona State University, Miles Hilton-Barber (for telling me what it is like to fly a plane when you are blind), Hongqi Zhang of the Huairou Solar Observing Station (Beijing) and Chen Jie, who showed me around the Observatory, Professor Phil Jones, longtime professor at the University of East Anglia, Chow Kii, Adam Kuper of Brunel University, Bill Livingston and John Leibacher of the National Solar Observatory in Tucson, Ved Mehta, Oliver Morton, Don Nicholson at the Mount Wilson Observatory in Pasadena (the one person in all my researches who called one of my questions “stupid”; I had asked how far his telescope could see), Colin Pearce, Alberto Righini, Mr. Tetsuya of the Watanabe National Astronomical Observatory in Tokyo, and Ingebjørg Ydstie of the Munch Museum in Oslo. I am also grateful to the astronomers at the observatory in Shanghai who spent time with me explaining their work, and the Mullard Space Science Laboratory in Dorking, Surrey.
The manuscript was read by Nick Webb, fresh from his first-class degree in astronomy; by Jonathan Weiner, author of Beak of the Finch and Long for This World; and by Peter Petre, onetime science editor of Fortune. Two years after starting work on the book, I became aware that David Whitehouse, a professor of astronomy at Jodrell Bank and an award-winning science correspondent for the BBC, had published The Sun: A Biography. We went on to become friends, and one day he arrived at lunch with a large paper bag stuffed with books—the library he had used for his Sun book. ‘They’re for you,” he said, then handed over a DVD—“It’s got all my research,” he added. It needs hardly adding how generous a gift this was, or how useful. He also kindly read an early complete draft of the book.
Friends and relations all did their bit—in many ways: John and Nina Darnton, Liza Darnton (for early research work on Carl Jung), Jamie Darnton (on some tricky Chinese etymology), Darrell McLeod, Sara Wheeler, Hilary Spurling, Elaine Shocas, Linden Stafford, Brian Brivati, my old university friend Colin Gleadell, Richard Oldcorn, Paul Pickering, Michael Johnson, Allen Kurzweil, David Bodanis (when not preoccupied reinterpreting the Ten Commandments), Bill and Linda Rich (for the insight about pirates), John de Stefano, my cello teacher, Laura Usiskin (for her research into matters ranging from Freemasonry to bird migration), Harry Hotz (for his knowledge of temperature ratios), Andrew Di Rienzo (for befriending me on a bus and teaching me some crucial physics thereafter), Ron Rosenbaum (for some Shakespeare tuition), Kevin Jackson, Jim Landis (not least for the foul-mouthed quotation by August Strindberg), Elizabeth Sifton (who told me of the Sun Museum in Riga), Ben Cheever (whom I forgot to mention last time), Peregrine Hodson (for making me climb Mount Fuji), Woodrow Campbell (my accomplice and photographer in Antarctica), Nancy Campbell (no relation), Mary Cunnane in Australia, my old tutor Dr. Michael Tanner of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, Jackie Albers (for sharing her homework), and—not least—Toby, Mary, and Guy Cohen; it was Toby who one day put his hand on my shoulder and asked, “Daddy, why don’t you make some money and write a nice, short book?” One day I will.
The head doorman of my apartment building, Bill Albers, made sure I was kept up to the mark with a constant flow of magazine items that he would slip under my door, along with pertinent questions about progress. Ann Godoff and Vanessa Mobley were both kind and helpful in the book’s early days. At Random House, my editor, Beth Rashbaum, enormously improved the book with her powers of organization and her determination that nothing should appear that would not be clear to everyone; I am also extremely grateful for the skill and help of many others at Random, including Tim Bartlett, Tom Perry, Will Murphy, Barbara Bachman, London King, Meghan Cassidy, Angela Polidoro, Susan Kamil, and Gina Centrello, making my publication there feel like a family affair. The same is true of my British publishers, led by my longtime friend Ian Chapman, along with Mike Jones, Katherine Stanton, Rory Scarfe, Anna Robinson, Suzanne Baboneau, and Sally Partington. In Germany I am lucky to have as my friend and publisher Niko Hansen, whose patience and enthusiasm for the project never wavered (not in front of me, anyhow!). Catherine Talese has been the ideal illustration researcher, as well as a wonderful cheerleader and an indispensable guide to New York swimming pools.
At the Robbins office, David Halpern, Kate Rizzo Munson, Rachelle Bergstein, Karen Close, Mike Gillespie, Coralie Hunter, Katie Hut, and Ian King each read part or all of the manuscript, often more than once, and made valuable comments. Having them around and in support has been fun. Tim Dickinson, as he was on By the Sword, has been companion, sounding board, fount of knowledge both pertinent and not-too-pertinent (he would insist on the hyphens) but always highly interesting; I cannot thank him enough for all he did.
Last and supremely there is my literary agent, Kathy Robbins, aka Mrs. Cohen. Over the years I have become used to other authors thanking her in their books for her friendship, her counsel, her unrivaled humor, her ability to buoy up and push forward, her negotiating powers, her tenacity, her empathy, her peculiar ability to time both good and not-so-good news to maximum effect. To cut a long story short (as she would say), I have experienced all these and more, but at least I can add one unique claim: it is she who, when woken in the small hours and told yet another extraordinary way in which chapter 4, or maybe 14, might begin, can say to me without a note of rancor, “That’s really interesting, sweetheart,” then turn over and at once return to a well-earned sleep.
Despite this roster of helpers, any mistakes in the book are of course my responsibility. I am comforted in this by a sentence I came across in Charles Darwin’s autobiography (1882), where he writes: “Whenever I have found out that I have blundered, or that my work has been imperfect, and when I have been contemptuously criticized, and even when I have been over-praised, so that I have felt mortified, it has been my greatest comfort to say hundreds of times to myself that ‘I have worked as hard and as well as I could, and no man could do more than this.’ ”
Richard Cohen, New York, February 2011