You know what I hate?

So I'm in the research phase of the next project. (Don't ask me what it's going to be--right now it's a set of hazy images that further reading will, I hope, resolve into something I can actually work with.) So yesterday I go to the library, check out a stack of books, and bring them home. Then I sit down with the top volume, a notebook, and a sparkly pen. I don't know why, but I like taking notes with a sparkly pen.

I'm reading along, noting down things that grab me or that seem like they might be useful. Then the author mentions that the Inuit leave their old people to die. Well, I think after a moment, it is mentioned in the context of what an American in 1870 would think of the Inuit, so that's probably fair. I keep reading. (The book is on the ill-fated Polaris expedition, btw.)

We then come to a conversation between various parties on the Polaris. Now, the author says in the opening that he's relying on journals, and that all the quoted dialogue comes from those journals. The orders for the expedition specified that everyone who could was to keep a journal. Cool. But then we get all this novel-style tagging and description along with the dialogue. I hate that in a book that I'm reading for reference. If you want to write a novel on the Polaris expedition, write a fucking novel. If you're writing a book you've subtitled, "The true story of murder and survival on the 1871 Polaris expedition," then don't write a fucking scene for your historical novel. But I'm not really interested in the Polaris except incidentally. I'm after the surrounding detail, so if he's spinning the conversations to make them more dramatic or truthy or whatever, no biggie. It's annoying, but it won't affect what I'm after.

Then I come to a section on the difficulties of determining your location in the arctic, before GPS. The author turns to the question of determining longitude. He tells us:

...the British government, in 1728, rising to a challenge, offered a reward to whoever built the most accurate chronometer, one that met its strict requirements....

And goes on to mention John Harrison.

Now. I've read Longitude. I remember enough of it to know that the Longitude Prize did not specify a chronometer, and that it was expected that the solution would be astronomical. If I recall correctly, part of the reason Harrison had so much trouble getting the prize he clearly deserved was because of that very fact.

So I head out to verify my suspicions. Wikipedia confirms my memory, and furthermore says the Longitude Prize was set up in 1714, and the entry on John Harrison says he went to London in 1728 with the intention of competing for the prize.

This makes me grind my teeth.

"Now, Bren," you say, "the book isn't about longitude, or really anything to do with Harrison or the Longitude Prize. It's about the Polaris. It's a small detail. No biggie!"

Fie, I say! This is such a stupid detail--five seconds with an encyclopedia would give him the right information. And if he's not sure of his details on this particular subject, there's no reason to mention it, it has no real bearing on the book itself. If he's lazy about this, what else has he been lazy about, that I won't detect? After all, I'm reading this book for details that I can't get otherwise. And I, just personally, want to get details right. So now I have no idea if any of the notes I've taken is actually any use to me whatsoever, and I'm wondering if it's worth finishing the book. Maybe I should just move on down the stack?

Gah!

Oh, I guess I should name the book. It's Trial by Ice by Richard Parry.

You know what I hate?

So I'm in the research phase of the next project. (Don't ask me what it's going to be--right now it's a set of hazy images that further reading will, I hope, resolve into something I can actually work with.) So yesterday I go to the library, check out a stack of books, and bring them home. Then I sit down with the top volume, a notebook, and a sparkly pen. I don't know why, but I like taking notes with a sparkly pen.

I'm reading along, noting down things that grab me or that seem like they might be useful. Then the author mentions that the Inuit leave their old people to die. Well, I think after a moment, it is mentioned in the context of what an American in 1870 would think of the Inuit, so that's probably fair. I keep reading. (The book is on the ill-fated Polaris expedition, btw.)

We then come to a conversation between various parties on the Polaris. Now, the author says in the opening that he's relying on journals, and that all the quoted dialogue comes from those journals. The orders for the expedition specified that everyone who could was to keep a journal. Cool. But then we get all this novel-style tagging and description along with the dialogue. I hate that in a book that I'm reading for reference. If you want to write a novel on the Polaris expedition, write a fucking novel. If you're writing a book you've subtitled, "The true story of murder and survival on the 1871 Polaris expedition," then don't write a fucking scene for your historical novel. But I'm not really interested in the Polaris except incidentally. I'm after the surrounding detail, so if he's spinning the conversations to make them more dramatic or truthy or whatever, no biggie. It's annoying, but it won't affect what I'm after.

Then I come to a section on the difficulties of determining your location in the arctic, before GPS. The author turns to the question of determining longitude. He tells us:

...the British government, in 1728, rising to a challenge, offered a reward to whoever built the most accurate chronometer, one that met its strict requirements....

And goes on to mention John Harrison.

Now. I've read Longitude. I remember enough of it to know that the Longitude Prize did not specify a chronometer, and that it was expected that the solution would be astronomical. If I recall correctly, part of the reason Harrison had so much trouble getting the prize he clearly deserved was because of that very fact.

So I head out to verify my suspicions. Wikipedia confirms my memory, and furthermore says the Longitude Prize was set up in 1714, and the entry on John Harrison says he went to London in 1728 with the intention of competing for the prize.

This makes me grind my teeth.

"Now, Bren," you say, "the book isn't about longitude, or really anything to do with Harrison or the Longitude Prize. It's about the Polaris. It's a small detail. No biggie!"

Fie, I say! This is such a stupid detail--five seconds with an encyclopedia would give him the right information. And if he's not sure of his details on this particular subject, there's no reason to mention it, it has no real bearing on the book itself. If he's lazy about this, what else has he been lazy about, that I won't detect? After all, I'm reading this book for details that I can't get otherwise. And I, just personally, want to get details right. So now I have no idea if any of the notes I've taken is actually any use to me whatsoever, and I'm wondering if it's worth finishing the book. Maybe I should just move on down the stack?

Gah!

Oh, I guess I should name the book. It's Trial by Ice by Richard Parry.