English amateur meteorologist Luke Howard had thought about this problem for quite some time. In 1802 he delivered his address, "On the Modification of Clouds," to a teeming lecture hall in London. His seven "modifications" of clouds were cirrus, cirrocumulus, cirrostratus, cumulus, cumulostratus, nimbus, and stratus. (If you never have been able to memorize the list, you're in good company: contemporary complaints included the gripe that, innovative or not, "the seven 'easy ' names [were] doggedly difficult to remember.") Despite the Latin, his news was received with great enthusiasm - although there would eventually be controversy regarding nomenclature, with British colleagues urging the use of the mother tongue.
Howard described not only the look of clouds, but the specifics of their formation, structure and behavior. His lively audience was captivated by his simple, elegant, and wholly original view, and "by the end of the lecture Luke Howard, by giving language to nature's most ineffable and prodigal forms, had squared an ancient and anxiogenic circle." Howard had "named the clouds," and he was the first to have done so.
His system was useful to scientists, sailors, poets and philosophers - and just about everyone in between. Coleridge and Wordsworth were enthusiastic. Goethe wrote to Howard. (Howard thought the letter was a hoax, and dispatched a close friend to get to the bottom of it.) Later, Goethe would write poetry on clouds, and Constable would paint them
This is an unusual and beautiful book. Hamblyn is a humanitarian and a sensitive and skillful writer. He provides a deeply intimate and sympathetic biography of Howard, a good man for whom fame and celebrity was never the point of his life's work. (He was happy to take time off from science, for example, to tend to his wife and new baby in 1803.). Correspondence and contemporary accounts have been consulted. What could have been a rather dry, even plodding story becomes completely engrossing and full.
In addition, there is a thrilling and detailed portayal of the many towns and cities of nineteenth-century Britain (particularly London) that teemed with scientific lectures, "philosophical shows and diversions," cheering audiences eager to learn more, always more about "every animal, vegetable, mineral known to man, samples of all four elements, and challenges to all six senses, not to mention machines, inventions, and novelties of every kind, were regularly paraded before the eyes of an insatiable and astonished public."
The English scientific community's relationship to the French is explored. One of the many good things about this book is the way that it conveys the immense popular contemporary enthusiasm for science, technology, and innovation in nineteenth- century Britain. Hot-air ballooning, advances in the understanding of the properties of wind, fog, rain, and microclimate, Arctic exploration, and dozens of major and minor figures in the history of science are compellingly described and discussed. The meteorology is clear and requires little more readerly background than would a good look at the Weather Channel. There are good endnotes and a good index. In every way this book is a wonderful read, utterly accessible, and full of contagious passion for its very interesting subject.
Howard was born to a Quaker family in 1772 in London. Perhaps the greatest influence in his life was his stern father, who would give advice like "What does idleness produce but mischief of every kind?" This advice he must have thought especially needed by his son, who had a lifelong passion for staring out the window and looking at the sky. Fortunately, Howard found work that allowed him to associate with other young men in a scientific improvement society, and he gradually developed his classification system. From his long hours of loving observation, he defined and illustrated three main cloud forms, now familiar to us: cirrus, cumulus, and stratus. There were intermediate forms, for a total of seven, which he also defined and illustrated. He presented his system in a lecture in 1802, at a time when popular lectures on chemistry and electricity would excite crowds into swooning enthusiasm. The drab, undramatic Howard, attired in his unadorned Quaker garb, modest and full of trepidation, managed to give a presentation of his categories illustrated by his watercolors. It was found thrilling first by the audience in the theater, and thereafter by those who found his essay in print. It is to the credit of the scientific ardor of the times that Howard's simple, effective, comprehension-amplifying definitions and classifications were a sensation. Howard, to his dismay, became "the well-known meteorologist Mr. Howard," a worldliness of fame that was in conflict with his strong Quaker convictions.
Howard's work went on to inspire Francis Beaufort to classify wind speed in a comparable objective fashion, and we still use a version of Beaufort's scale today. It seems that the landscape painter Constable studied Howard's system and used it in his depictions of sky. It inspired Europe's greatest intellectual icon, Goethe, aging but rejuvenated just at the contemplation of Howard's system. In fact, we know little of Howard's life, most of his personal details coming from a biographical letter the admiring Goethe asked of him. In _The Invention of Clouds_, Hamblyn has taken the facts of Howard's life, made some justifiable and tantalizing speculations, and produced a fine history of the scientific tenor of Howard's time. But it is above all the inspiring story, brightly and clearly told, of a dreamer who could not keep from staring out the window at the skies.
Like Hamblyn's fascinating book The Service of Clouds was also concerned with religion, aesthetics, literature and culture. In short it was a history of the air in novel form. So if you like The Invention of Clouds I definitely recommend The Service of Clouds.