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"Paul Erdos, the most prolific and eccentric mathematician of our time, forsook all creature comforts - including a hometo pursue his lifelong study of numbers. He was a man who possessed unimaginable powers of thought yet was unable to manage some of the simplest daily tasks." "For more than six decades, Erdos lived out of two tattered suitcases, crisscrossing four continents at a frenzied pace, chasing mathematical problems and fresh talent. Erdos saw mathematics as a search for lasting beauty and ultimate truth. It was a search Erdos never abandoned, even as his life was torn asunder by some of the major political dramas of our time." "In this biography, Hoffman uses Erdos's life and work to introduce readers to a cast of remarkable geniuses, from Archimedes to Stanislaw Ulam, one of the chief minds behind the Los Alamos nuclear project. He draws on years of interviews with Ronald Graham and Fan Chung, Erdos's chief American caretakers and devoted collaborators. With an eye for the hilarious anecdote, Hoffman explains mathematical problems from Fermat's Last Theorem to the more frivolous "Monty Hall dilemma." What emerges is an intimate look at the world of mathematics and an indelible portrait of Erdos, a charming and impish philosopher-scientist whose accomplishments continue to enrich and inform our world."--Jacket.… (more)
User reviews
I have heard there is another biography of Erdos out there that deals more directly with his life and ideas, and if one were looking for a more focused biography, it would probably be a better choice. But The Man Who Loved Only Numbers is a great read for its insight and entertainment value. Yes, it made math fun, and for the most part understandable.
Nevertheless, Erdős was definitely at least a quarter bubble off level. His typical routine consisted of showing up – often unannounced – at a colleague’s house and expecting to be fed and maintained for a couple of weeks. His initial greeting would be something like “Hello. Let n be an integer…” He would fiddle with the air conditioning, try to feed the dogs breakfast cereal, make disastrous attempts at cooking for himself, and generally act like Sheridan Whiteside in The Man Who Came to Dinner – except the host would get several academic papers out of the encounter. This led to the invention of the Erdős number: if you were Paul Erdős, your Erdős number was zero. If you had published a paper with Paul Erdős, your Erdős number is 1. If you published a paper with someone who had, in turn, published a paper with Erdős, your Erdős number is 2, and so on. Hoffman is not a mathematician and is thus sometimes at a loss for things to say about Erdős; thus he relates that when Henry Aaron was trying to break Babe Ruth’s home run record, Emory mathematician Carl Pomerance noted that 714 X 715 (Ruth’s number and Aaron’s target) was the product of the first seven primes, and that the sum of the prime factors of 714 was also the sum of the prime factors of 715, leading to the discovery of “Ruth-Aaron Numbers”, consecutive integers with these properties (the next pair is 18490 and 18491). Erdős had never heard of Pomerance but called him, leading to the publication of 21 papers. Pomerance persuaded Erdős to come to Emory and get an honorary degree; by coincidence Henry Aaron received an honorary degree at the same convocation and Pomerance persuaded them to sign a baseball – leading to Hoffman’s point in the anecdote: Henry Aaron has an Erdős number of 1, if you count baseballs.
There are lots of amusing little anecdotes like this – I suppose this is the only way a casual reader is likely to read the book. My favorite is the account of René Descartes encountering a ruffian while escorting a lady of the evening, quickly whipping out his rapier and disarming the thug, then commenting that he wouldn’t kill him because “…he was too ugly to die before such a beautiful lady”. I never realized Descartes was a swordsman. It would take the mind of a sadist to expand on the anecdote and speculate what might have happened if he had stepped to the front to defend an entire troop of harlots this way – but that would be putting Descartes before the whores.
It is somewhat gratifying to find that Erdős was stumped by Marilyn vos Savant’s “Monty Hall” problem; Erdős, like a substantial fraction of the world’s mathematicians, assumed that no advantage would be gained by switching doors (if you’re not familiar with the problem I suggest googling, it’s too long to explain it here). Hoffman correctly points out that this is actually a case of Bayesian probability – but unfortunately doesn’t explain why. Interestingly enough for a book on a mathematician whose main interest was number theory, when I tried to look up the details I found that the book’s index is incorrect. Apparently a 16-page photo section was added without re-indexing; thus every index entry after page 148 is incorrect. I was pleased to find that I still have a sufficient grasp of mathematics to b e able to add 16 to everything. Although I tried subtracting 16 first.
Good light reading for the slightly mathematically inclined.
Since I took a break from reading it, I had read so many other math biographies that alot of this book seemed like a review.
I doubt I could ever achieve it, but getting a low Erdos number would be
The book is a memoir, not a biography, which