And with this invention, Grinspoon examines the possible abodes for life with a scalpel -- from the Jovian moons Europa and Io, to Mars and Venus — which he actually thinks has a good chance for life in its clouds, even to the more speculative idea of life on extrasolar planets. He also pores over older ideas like panspermia, and the more controversial idea of directed panspermia (sort of the alien lovers’ equivalent of Intelligent Design). Grinspoon also does a good job with selecting epigraphs for each of his chapters, such as philosopher Bertrand Russell’s witty quote that, ‘When one admits that nothing is certain one must, I think, also add that some things are more nearly certain than others,’ although he slathers it on a wee bit thick, as each chapter has two epigraphs where one or none may have sufficed.
Despite these minor indulgences, the overall tone of the book is a surprisingly self-effacing one for a man whose life is science, and this is a very good thing. The reason is that all too often scientists appear to the unwashed masses as priests of their own new cult. Instead of actively seeking to engage young minds with the wonder of nature, and the demonstrable rectitude of their ideas, they often try to shame and bully people who know no better into accepting what they say, thus becoming the enemy they chose not so well. Grinspoon, however, shows that he wears no such robes, and that Lonely Planets is a book that will have relevance even after all its science is long outdated.
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