This past September, a very strange thing happened. The worlds of mathematics and comics combined to give birth to the graphic novel Logicomix, written by Apostolos Doxiadis and Christos Papadimitriou, and illustrated by Alecos Papadatos and Annie Di Donna. The book gives a slightly fictionalized account of Bertrand Russell’s life, and uses this storyline as a gateway to explore the ideas in mathematical logic which were developed around the turn of the last century.

Combining mathematics and comics may sound like a recipe for disaster, but Logicomix has achieved a remarkable level of success. Not only has the critical response been exceedingly positive, but the book has also made the New York Times bestseller list. I’m assuming it was quite a popular gift item as well, because up through Christmas eve it was on back order at Amazon.com. It’s certainly rare for anything so fundamentally imbued with mathematics to break into the mainstream.


Here’s a video trailer for the book.

Having just finished the book, I understand why it has received so much praise. Unlike most works created for mass consumption that try to tango with mathematics, Logicomix offers a rare example of a work that is able to give some insight into what mathematics is about, and what mathematicians do, without making things too opaque for a general audience to follow along.

Russell, logicomicized.

Certainly the pretty pictures help. But more than that, by placing Bertrand Russell in the pilot’s seat, the reader is given a front row seat in the drama of early 20th century mathematical progress. Mathematics is given humanity: we see great thinkers struggle with fundamental problems, we see how their devotion to mathematics affects their relationships, and we see their work in a historical context as the world decays into war. Great mathematical ideas are not dissociated from their logical origins, but instead the reader sees in an organic way how a sizable chunk of mathematics from this time period was developed.

Russell in real life.

For example, a significant amount of time (some would consider too much) is spent explaining Russell’s paradox. There are many approaches to explaining this paradox for a non-mathematician: Logicomix tries to do it by means of the Barber paradox, but one can think of other ways to interpret it as well. For example, I stole the following explanation from Wikipedia:

Suppose that every public library has to compile a catalog of all its books. The catalog is itself one of the library’s books, but while some librarians include it in the catalog for completeness, others leave it out, as being self-evident.

Now imagine that all these catalogs are sent to the national library. Some of them include themselves in their listings, others do not. The national librarian compiles two master catalogs – one of all the catalogs that list themselves, and one of all those that don’t.

The question is now, should these catalogs list themselves? The ‘Catalog of all catalogs that list themselves’ is no problem. If the librarian doesn’t include it in its own listing, it is still a true catalog of those catalogs that do include themselves. If he does include it, it remains a true catalog of those that list themselves.

However, just as the librarian cannot go wrong with the first master catalog, he is doomed to fail with the second. When it comes to the ‘Catalog of all catalogs that don’t list themselves’, the librarian cannot include it in its own listing, because then it would belong in the other catalog, that of catalogs that do include themselves. However, if the librarian leaves it out, the catalog is incomplete. Either way, it can never be a true catalog of catalogs that do not list themselves.

Notice that problems arise because of the presence of self-reference: asking whether the catalog of all catalogs that don’t list themselves should itself be listed in the catalog of all catalogs that don’t list themselves is a question of whether or not that catalog should reference itself. Russell’s proposed solution to the paradox involved creating a hierarchy so that such self-reference cannot be exploited. Later mathematicians offered their own solutions to this problem. Cleverly, the structure of Logicomix plays with self-reference as well, for there are many instances when the action cuts from early 20th century Europe to modern Greece, where the authors and illustrators are discussing their progress and their choices in bringing the relevant mathematics to life.

Logicomix also gives the reader some insight into Gödel’s incompleteness theorem, and shows the profound impact it had on the search for a logical foundation for mathematics. Most importantly, everything is explained in a way that is easy to understand.

If you watched the video above, you may have noted that the authors admit to being interested in this material because so many of the mathematicians they discuss ended up going insane. Thankfully, the book points out that this is the exception rather than the rule, and in fact the common thread that combines the mathematicians under their consideration is that all of them studied logic, in an attempt to put the foundations of mathematics onto solid footing. While their efforts to explain this connection are full of conjecture, it is nice to see them say at the outset that lunacy is not the necessary end point for all those who study mathematics.

My biggest complaint about Logicomix (if it could be called a complaint) is that it necessarily tackles only one slice of a very large pie. Certainly the developments in mathematical logic during this time offer a rich piece of mathematical history, and laid the foundation for the development of computers in the later part of the 20th century. But there are just as many other areas of mathematical history that would also be ripe for graphic novelization. Of course, I wouldn’t expect the authors to try and tackle everything in a single volume – instead, my hope would be for new volumes that use the same framework as Logicomix to tell stories about the development of other areas of mathematics. Should the authors be so inclined, I would encourage them to consider other figures to focus on for future work, so that other areas of mathematics can be illuminated. In doing so, they could bring into focus another feature of mathematics that is often misconstrued by the general public: the wide expanse of it all. This book certainly shows that mathematicians do more than multiply large numbers, but it would take several more books to show exactly how much more we do.


All things considered, this book is quite a success. That such a book could be created and executed so well gives me hope for the future of mathematics in popular culture. Logicomix shows that mathematical ideas don’t always need to be dumbed down to be made interesting or comprehensible – with the right explanation (and maybe some pretty pictures), the audience should have no trouble rising to the occasion, and with any luck they may learn some mathematics in the process.

My apologies for not writing this up sooner, as this book would have made a great gift for the mathematician in your family. But it would also make a good gift for anyone with an interest in mathematics, at any age and with any level of experience. You may be skeptical, but I encourage you to give this book a chance. There is a lot to enjoy here.

I admire the food blog Serious Eats because, as we’ve seen before, it’s not afraid to get a little mathematical. This month they have upped the ante with a post on the delicious object now known as the Mobius strip bagel.

Named for the classical geometric object of the same name, the Mobius strip bagel (and its cousin, the Mobius strip donut) give an elegant mathematical spin on ordinary edibles. In addition to the aesthetic value, the Mobius strip bagel also has the advantage of added surface area, meaning that one can pile on even more cream cheese before stuffing one’s face.

Mathematician George Hart has step-by-step instructions for the transformation from torus to Mobius strip here. I have yet to try this technique myself, but I can think of no better way to celebrate the holidays than by transforming breakfast food into mathematically themed breakfast food.

Recently I received an email imploring me to check out all of the “unique designs” available at a site called nerdytshirt.com. I’m not sure why I was the recipient of such an email – they could have found me through my university affiliations, or through this blog, but I’m not sure which.

If you’ve been reading my musings for a while, you may know of the problems I have with the intersection between mathematics and clothing. Most of what’s out there is junk. As one might expect, I was therefore quite skeptical when I received this solicitation. At the same time, I’d never heard of this site before, and so I hoped that perhaps a company that understood my frustrations had come to fruition.

Have my prayers been answered? Sort of. Let’s consider a few examples.

Despite claiming to have “unique designs,” the shirts at nerdytshirt.com are all variations on one theme: put a formula on the shirt, and below that make a pun related to the formula. Sometimes the results of this pairing are good:

wokka wokka wokka!

A good gift for Sarah Palin, perhaps?

Other times, however, the jokes just fall flat.
Is this even a joke?

On the plus side, the website doesn’t restrict itself to just math jokes; they also offer shirts for chemistry, physics, and statistics. The underlying principle never changes, though: take an equation, expression, or sequence, then add a pun underneath.

I certainly don’t think this is a bad strategy – on the contrary, I find some of them quite clever (as clever as one can find a pun to be, I suppose). But by restricting themselves to this one type of design, the whole enterprise seems a little one-note. Not only are they robbing us of the full power of their creative juices by using this one format, but they also exhaust this one idea fairly quickly. There are some good shirts, it’s true, but there are duds as well, and so one is left feeling that in their rush to claim that they are “now offering more than 100 unique Nerdy T-Shirt designs,” they have placed quantity over quality.

Their site is still in its infancy, and so one hopes that the masterminds behind the site will not be afraid to branch out in their shirt designs. There is potential here, and I wouldn’t mind wearing some of the shirts they have for sale, but it may be dangerous to give one of these shirts as a gift unless you are able to separate the wheat from the chaff. Also, the link to their website in small fond on the front of every t-shirt may be a dealbreaker for some.

At the very least, one could use the following t-shirt for Halloween, should one choose to be the monster group (as I’ve discussed before).

That large number is the size of the monster group.
Apologies for my absence – academic life has recently forced me to put the blog on hold. Things have cleared up now though, and I have a backlog of things to discuss, so let’s get right to it.

Last month, Jennie Yabroff wrote an article for Newsweek discussing the new film Precious. I haven’t seen the film, but this trailer makes a fairly strong impression:

The film has received a nearly unanimous positive response from critics. The main character, Precious, begins the film as a 16 year-old illiterate middle school student, but after transferring to an alternative school, she is able to find hope with the help of a teacher who encourages her to keep a journal and write in it daily.
The theme of finding redemption through writing is certainly not new to this genre of film, as Yabroff points out. Films such as Dangerous Minds and Freedom Writers have explored this territory before, although perhaps with less success than Precious. However, Yabroff wonders if all this time spent journaling wouldn’t be better spent learning some mathematics.

In her article, Yabroff writes:

The idea that every underprivileged young adult harbors the soul of a Rimbaud is a favorite trope of popular culture. We don’t expect our bankers and lawyers to be secret Baudelaires, but we eagerly accept the idea that every poor person has a “story,” and just needs the right teacher or mentor to give it voice…

…But, contrary to what Hollywood would have us believe, the world does not reward self-expression as readily or consistently as it rewards a good head for numbers. It’s hard for any writer to support herself writing. Precious’s teacher should have known that, and given her a calculator along with that journal.

Stand and Deliver is one film that shows how mathematics can improve the lives of inner city youths, but as a general rule it does seem much more likely that a film will attempt to highlight the potential of students through writing rather than through math. Part of this bias is to be expected, since, as Yabroff points out, movies are written by writers and not mathematicians. Also, given Precious’s illiteracy, it would make more sense to build up her fundamental reading and writing skills before asking her to pick up a math book. Even so, should we be concerned that nearly every film that shows inner city youth turning their lives around does it by emphasizing words over equations?

One may be tempted to argue that it’s just harder to write a film that portrays math honestly and in a compelling way, but I think that’s only true if you’re a lazy writer or you don’t know anything about math. Especially at the high school level, the fundamental concepts could be explained in a way that’s understandable to general audience, and, dare I say it, even interesting. The end result may not seem to be as glamorous if one’s education is focused on math – given the choice, I’m guessing that kids would rather be like Kanye instead of Urkel – but this just means we need to do a better job showing kids why mathematical skills are so attractive.

I for one would love to see more movies like Stand and Deliver, especially ones that follow through and show what can be done with a background in science and math. Who knows when that will happen, though. I guess we need a character with the technical know-how of Steve Urkel, but the charm and sophistication of is suave doppelganger, Stephan Urquelle. I am confident that character is out there, and am hopeful that his (or her) time will soon come.

Sorry Steve – lose the suspenders, and then we can talk.