My Inventions by Nikola Tesla

Nikola Tesla’s autobiography, collected under the title My Inventions, originally appeared as six articles in issues of Electrical Experimenter in 1919. It is a surprisingly thin book, especially in light of the several biographies that have been written about him, and the possibly greater volumes propounding the mythology of an almost demi-god genius.

To be fair, Tesla was a very creative and productive inventor. His AC motors, and the power systems that support them, enabled a new level of industrial power and automation. In many ways it was the technological foundation of the power grid we have today.

Tesla was ahead of his time and he realized it. He knew that the success of AC motors was greatly aided by coming about at the right time. Even so, it took many years from Tesla’s design to become a prototype and for that to become a commercial product with an infrastructure to support its use. At the time he wrote My Inventions, the value and practicality of his later inventions were still hard for many to see.

One of these later inventions was the radio. Tesla didn’t use that term “radio.”  It’s probably fair to say that he misunderstood the phenomena he was working with. Even so, he could produce radio transmissions and put them to practical use. As a demonstration, he built radio-controlled boats. It’s a stretch to say that Tesla envisioned smart phones, but he foresaw the possibility of using radio to transmit many kinds of data and signals, sometimes to devices “not bigger than a watch.”

“The pressure of occupation and the incessant stream of impressions pouring into our consciousness thru all the gateways of knowledge make modern existence hazardous in many ways,” Nikola Tesla, My Inventions

These articles were written at the end of World War I. Tesla reflected on the potentials of technology in peace and war. He imagined that wireless communication could shrink the world, leading to the kind of cultural exchange, common ground and commercial connections that would reinforce peace. He also imagined a rocket that could be guided to its target by radio control or internal mechanism; we could call it an intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM).

Though visionary, he was not an infallible genius. He held to notions of physics that were not supported even by the science of his time. He had some wild ideas about psychology, biology and other fields, though some of these were no more far-out and off the mark that many that were popularly accepted by his contemporaries.

Tesla wrote very much from his own experience and perspective. Though he speaks of his upbringing in eastern Europe, his education and his career in Europe and the United States, he spends little time reflecting on the places, cultures and broader events he experience. You’ll learn more about Tesla’s peculiar ailments than about the life of youth in late-19^th Century Croatia. Perhaps that wouldn’t have sold many issues of Electrical Experimenter.

If you’re interested in this book, you may also be interested in

The Astounding, the Amazing, and the Unknown by Paul Malmont

Empires of Light by Jill Jonnes

Men of Tomorrow by Gerard Jones

The Power Makers by Maury Klein

Tesla, Nikola. My Inventions. 1919. New York: Barnes & Noble, 1995.

A Sand County Almanac by Aldo Leopold

Aldo Leopold had a long career working with and studying nature as a government forester, university professor, founder of the discipline of wildlife management. He is remembered as author and popular proponent of wilderness based on his book A Sand County Almanac.

A Sand County Almanac is a collection of essays in three parts. The first part is a tour of his Wisconsin farm covering each month of the year. Actually, it is not a farm in the sense of being a business that produces food and fiber. It was abandoned as a farm and hiding place for illegal stills when Leopold bought it as a semi-wild getaway. To be fair, though, it was abandoned as a farm because of practices that destroyed much of its productive capacity, and Leopold’s theme is land management. He approaches that theme gently in the first part. A reader can have the sense of strolling around the place with Leopold as he points out the plants and animals that live there, full-time or seasonally, and shares his enthusiasm for them.

In the second part, Leopold expands the scope to cover many places in the central and western United States, and even a few places in Mexico and Canada. These essays also recount his personal experiences relating to wild lands. In some of these essays he begins to touch more firmly on points of land management and policy.

In the final part, Leopold’s essays are more direct. The point of the book is that, if Americans, or people generally, want to have a rich landscape, wildlife, and land that is productive for generations, we need to value land in a new way and take new approaches to managing it.

The culmination of this discussion is the land ethic. Ethics are essentially about community, and the appropriate and acceptable relationships between the members of the community and each member and the community as a whole. A land ethic treats the land as a part of the community. In land, Leopold includes “soils, waters, plants, and animals.” Land is a part of our community that produces things of both economic and ineffable value. The land ethic implies that we have obligations to each other and to the land to conserve it. Conservation isn’t simply a matter or protecting specific areas, plants or animals. There is a place for policy, but the ethic is also individual, and a successful conservation efforts will mean landowners will need to treat the land and something inherently valuable. We would conserve ethically out of a sense of humility, realizing that the land is much more complex that we understand, and that our progress can outpace our understanding with possibly irreversible undesirable results.

Reconnecting to the land, and learning to value it, is encouraged by Leopold. Arguably, the first two parts of the book are intended to give the reader a sense of connection to the land. On the policy front, he suggests that many of the things we do to connect people to wilderness is destroying the wilderness. A land ethic could be a curative for this because aware people could connect to the land (especially wild plants and animals) close to home, even in cities, and be able to appreciate even wilder places from a distance. He goes so far as to suggest that amateur wildlife research could become a new type of sportsmanship, and cites cases were amateurs managing their own small plots have contributed to our understanding of wildlife.

It should be noted that, in addition to being a collection of thoughtful essays on nature, A Sand County Almanac is beautifully written. He can be poetical and political in the same sentence, such as “Hemisphere solidarity is new among statesmen, but not among the feathered navies of the sky.” He expresses himself with a gentle, homey cynicism as when he wrote, “Education, I fear, is learning to see one thing by going blind to another.”

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If you’re interested in this book, you may also be interested in

The Big Thirst by Charles Fishman

Blue Revolution by Cynthia Barnett

Leopold, Aldo. A Sand County Almanac and Sketches from Here and There. New York: Oxford University Press, 1949.

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Good Dog. Stay. by Anna Quindlen

Quindlen, Anna. Good Dog. Stay. New York: Random House, 2007.

It started with the cover. I’m not sure it is a picture of Beau, the Labrador retriever Quindlen memorializes in this essay, but I guess it could be. It resembled Lucky, my Lab mix, with glossy black fur and the hoary muzzle of maturity. My wife bought the book and read it quickly; I got around to it weeks later.

In the six years we’ve had him, Lucky and I have both acquired quite a few white hairs on our chins. My wife jokes that the dog and I a growing to look alike. He is still cute in fashion of dogs. I hope I am cute, too, but in the way the husbands are attractive to their wives.

Quindlen writes about Beau, and dogs, and the relationship between people and dogs. Like many pets, Beau lived happily, simply and briefly. He wasn’t like another child, but he was part of the family, a solid presence in their home. It was hard for the family to put him down when he was to feeble to continue.

That gets more to the heart of the essay: mortality. The duration of a dog’s life is only a fraction of most of ours, but it is long enough for us to share many years and experiences with a dog and become very attached to one. The death of a dog can feel like the ending of a phase of our lives and a foreshadowing of our own passing.


I’ve lost pets to death, too. I remember them with bittersweet longing, particularly childhood pets that I feel I should have treated better. I thought about them as I read about Beau.

The family and friends who have died are a different matter. That is almost too weighty to contemplate. The loss of affection is sad; the loss of love is painful. The could-haves are much more costly. The bitterness of loss is sweetened with some of these people by the hope we share in Christ. It’s not the hope of a vague spiritual reunion in an immaterial heaven, but a hope for resurrection, where those I loved as a spirit and a body, the way we were made, I will know as a spirit and a body again, but ageless and eternal.

Quindlen doesn’t address that issue in this essay. She ends it at death, with hope that she has learned something about living and dying well from her relationship with Beau.