Review by New York Times Review
O.K., so you're a baby. You show up. You know nothing. You can't even hold up your own head, for God sakes! I mean, look at yourself. You're a blob! Then, time goes by, you're on solids now, and know a thing or two, yet there remains this one big fact you miss entirely: that the world, which you take for granted, as if it's always been like this, because (for you) it always has been, has in fact been designed. Your baby world, which turns into your toddler world, is wholly invented, made by people. Everything you turn on and put batteries into and look at, with the possible exception of the earth and sky, is the outcome of a story, a struggle, a patent stolen, a fortune made or lost. Now here come three books, each, in its way, determined to brief the new cast on the back story. Where does television come from? Why does the hot rod seem to glow in the sun? Who designed the first toilet? Here's an answer for that one: "Domestic toilets on the Orkney Islands, off Scotland, had clay pipes to carry waste to streams, c. 8000 B.C.," according to "Robert Crowther's Pop-Up House of Inventions." Crowther's "House of Inventions" - a revised edition of a book that first appeared in 2000 - is itself a kind of invention, an ingenious physical object in which each room of the house - kitchen, bathroom, living room, bedroom - is recreated, popped to life and filled with tags that date and explain dozens of household objects. "The first electric eggbeater was sold in 1910" (kitchen); "Six-sided dice were first used by the ancient Egyptians, Greeks and Romans" (living room); "first brassiere, Greece, 2500 B.C." (bathroom). This book demonstrates, in the most graphic way, how our lived-in spaces are the product of accretion, a history of fiddles and fixes. It may, in fact, be more appealing to cultural historians and students of design than to kids. All the tags, dates, numbers - it can be overwhelming. And is it all true? Remember that 10,000-year-old toilet? The earliest settlements in the Orkney Islands are said to date to around 3000 B.C., which makes you wonder about some of the other fun facts here. IF it's narrative you want, you could turn to Chris Barton and Tony Persiani's "Day-Glo Brothers: The True Story of Bob and Joe Switzer's Bright Ideas and Brand-New Colors." It's a story in color and about color, in which two sons of a pharmacist, one carefree and into magic, the other studious and into medicine, experimented with fluorescent light in their basement in Berkeley, Calif., in the 1930s and mixed the first Day-Glo paint. It's perfect that they did this in Berkeley, as their colors would play such an interesting role in the postwar West Coast hippie scene. (See Tom Wolfe's first book, "The Kandy-Colored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby," from the toddler era of fun nonfiction.) The brothers, in other words, did the seemingly unimaginable: invented a band of colors new to the world. As with many great inventions, the discovery happened somewhat by accident, while they were making a billboard to grab attention on a nighttime Ohio highway. (They knew their paint was good, just not how good.) In Barton's description of the breakthrough moment, which can stand for all such moments, you can almost hear the echo of Moses and the burning bush: "When the billboard came into view that afternoon, what the brothers saw astonished them. From more than a mile away, it looked like the billboard was on fire!" Philo Farnsworth, a boy with a vision; below, the colorful Switzer brothers. The book, which explains the whys and hows of Day-Glo and is illustrated with tremendous Pop Art verve, began with Barton's perusal of The New York Times's obituary page, proving that the dead really do tell the best tales. The invention of TV makes a kind of bookend with the discovery of Day-Glo. They're band mates, Paul and John. Because if you have TV and Day-Glo, you have the key elements of the modern age in place. In "The Boy Who Invented TV: The Story of Philo Farnsworth," by Kathleen Krull (illustrated by Greg Couch), you have another classic story: the science-loving country boy who solves the puzzle before the professionals, by himself, in the wilds. "One bright, sunny day, 14-year-old Philo plowed the potato fields. It was the best chore for thinking - out in the open country by himself. Back and forth, back and forth, ... the plow created rows of overturned earth. He looked behind him at the lines he was carving - perfectly parallel." "Then," Krull writes, "he almost fell off the plow seat." Instead of seeing rows of dirt, he imagined breaking down images into parallel lines of light, then reassembling them for the viewer. If it could be done quickly enough, the eye could be tricked into seeing a complete picture. This scene is illustrated in heroic, almost Social Realist style. The light-drenched fields, the fresh-plowed rows, the smiling boy with horse waiting dumbly: it's a scene from an American gospel done in stained glass in the window of a church, or bank. Beautiful and beautifully told, the book tracks like the sort of graphic novel that breaks your heart, with its implied passage of time and slipping away of early dreams. In fact, the invention of Day-Glo and Philo Farnsworth's story read like fables of old America: the kid from the provinces, face illuminated in lab light, tubes and burners humming. Each follows the reliable three-act structure of Horatio Alger or "Rocky": the early breakthrough, the reversal, the triumph. There is something wonderfully old-fashioned about these books. You work, you succeed, you win - or at least you live to see your idea made manifest. "The Boy Who Invented TV" also has a glimpse of the world you, as an adult, will recognize. "With his brainstorm in the potato field, Philo Farnsworth may have won the race to invent TV. But he lost the war over getting credit for it during his lifetime," Krull writes in an author's note. "Partly this was due to several strokes of bad luck; partly it was because he was more brilliant at inventing than at business. Mostly it was due to the Radio Corporation of America, the most powerful electronics company in the world in the 1930s." But that's another story, and can wait till junior high. Rich Cohen is the author of "Sweet and Low," "Israel Is Real" and other books.
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [December 20, 2009]
Review by Booklist Review
When Philo Farnsworth was growing up at the turn of the last century, electricity was hard to come by, but he was intrigued by new inventions like the phonograph. By the time he was 11, there were power lines around the family farm. He was particularly intrigued by what was then just a thought: television. At 14, Philo was plowing a field, and the parallel lines sparked an idea about breaking down images into lines of light, capturing them and transmitting them into electrons that would be resassembled into a complete picture. In an attention-holding narrative, Krull explains how Farnsworth held on to his dream to develop television, and in smart, concise fashion ably explains scientific concepts behind it. It will take reading the afterword, however, to understand how RCA virtually took the patent away from him. Philo usually looks more like a man than a boy in the pictures, but the oversize artwork cleverly incorporates images from Sears, Roebuck catalogs and scientific diagrams to extend the story.--Cooper, Ilene Copyright 2009 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
This entertaining book explores the life of inventor Philo Farnsworth, who discovered how to transmit images electronically, leading to the first television. Farnsworth's early days are spent studying science magazines and dreaming about the applications of electricity. Later, Farnsworth persuades investors to fund his efforts, which, with the assistance of his wife, Pem, result in the first, primitive "electronic television" in 1927 (incidentally, Pem became the first person ever to be televised). Krull's substantial, captivating text is balanced by Couch's warm, mixed-media illustrations. His muted tones suggest the grainy light of early TV screens and bring home the message about curiosity and perseverance. Ages 5-8. (Sept.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review
Gr 2-5-Endpapers featuring a photo collage of generations of televisions from the earliest oval-screened version to modern flat screens set the book's context. Then, readers are asked to imagine life when there was no TV, radio was only for the military, news was hard to come by, and people studied the Sears, Roebuck catalog to make their purchases. Juxtaposing the staid images of farm life with fanciful ones depicting Farnsworth's broadening vision, Couch draws, paints, and digitally enhances the story. To show the boy learning about inventors as he studies the stars, Thomas Edison and Alexander Graham Bell appear among the constellations like ancient Greek heroes. While plowing a field, Farnsworth developed the idea for how television could work, inspired by those parallel furrows as a format to transmit an electronic signal. It is the inventor's passion and genius that come through in this picture-book biography that follows him from the three-year-old who drew schematics of train engines, to the teen who automated the clothes washer so he would have more time to read, to the young man who celebrated his invention. Krull's focus is on the boy genius becoming an inventor like his heroes, and only in a note does she mention his struggles with RCA and his bitterness later in life. The facts aren't new, but with Krull building the story and Couch's exceptional images, it's one to inspire young audiences with the vast possibilities that imagination and diligence can accomplish.-Janet S. Thompson, Chicago Public Library (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Horn Book Review
(Primary, Intermediate) To help young readers -- raised with the Internet, iPods, and instant messaging -- understand and appreciate Philo Farnsworth's groundbreaking invention, Krull first asks her audience to imagine life in 1906 (the year of Farnsworth's birth): "No refrigerators, no cars, few phones, hardly any indoor bathrooms...Movies -- no. Radio -- no...And there was no television. That's right. NO TV." Krull continues in this engaging, easygoing tone as she describes Farnsworth's early childhood: "No sooner did Philo Farnsworth learn to talk than he asked a question. Then another, and another." Interested in all things mechanical (a train's engine, telephone, phonograph), Philo soon becomes the family engineer, repairing motors and inventing gadgets to speed up his chores on the farm. And it's ultimately farm work (plowing a potato field in parallel rows) that provides Philo with the breakthrough for how to create television. Krull's biography ends with Philo, at age twenty-two, reading a San Francisco Chronicle article about his "revolutionary light machine," but her author's note gives further details about his life, including the battle he fought against RCA for credit for his invention. Muted and grainy, Couch's mixed-media illustrations are illuminated with startling splashes of light, such as the glow from a light bulb, the sun -- or a television. From HORN BOOK, (c) Copyright 2010. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
As soon as Philo Farnsworth learned how to talk, he began asking questionsabout how things worked and why things happened. It was this young boy who, while plowing a potato field at 14 years of age, first imagined the principles that gave rise to television. Years passed as he patented his idea and worked hard to develop a prototype. At 21 he finally succeeded, creating a "revolutionary light machine." Krull tells the story of this relatively unknown inventor in forthright and simple text. She weaves together scientific explanations with boyish details of a young lad growing up. Couch's acrylic paintings are awash with the intricate diagrams and schematics that filled Philo's thoughts. And that momentous potato field where Philo first envisions television bursts off the page with the radiant light of discovery. A detailed author's note further explains how the Radio Corporation of America challenged and subsequently disregarded Philo's patent, thrusting him into obscurity. But he never stopped inventing or dreaming of how he could shape the future. Inspiring. (sources) (Picture book/biography. 5-8) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
