My mother doesn’t usually telephone me at work unless someone has died. Today, thankfully, that was not the occasion for her call. It was to let me know that my book was reviewed in the Wall Street Journal. That was enough to make me hyperventilate. What she didn’t mention was that the review was written by someone upon whose shoulders so many science writers like me stand: Matt Ridley. Wow.
As a writer and former genetic counselor, Mr. Angrist makes an apt chronicler of personal genomics, not least because he is happy to invade his own privacy, personally as well as genetically. Actually, happy is the wrong word. He has a Hamlet-like tendency to agonize over each decision, especially when confronted with the implications of letting his genes all hang out online.
“Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks.”