When the New York Times declared “There is Life on the Planet Mars” in December 1906, it wasn’t sensationalist satire. In the early 20th century, Mars mania had firmly gripped the public imagination. In The Martians, science writer David Baron captures this truly bizarre historical episode with a brilliant narrative flair. Just like his main subject, Percival Lowell, Baron knows exactly how to powerfully span a tale. Baron transforms archival history into an immersive Martian drama that reads more like a novel than a dry textbook.
The turn-of-the-century Zeitgeist
Right from the get go, Baron makes it clear that this book isn’t isolated to planetary astronomy. Instead, he zooms out to capture the rich historical context of the turn of the century. The narrative masterfully balances the collective anxiety of the fin de siècle with an intense, widespread infatuation with technological innovation. It was an era defined by rapid breakthroughs in aviation and global communication, making the prospect of interplanetary signals feel entirely plausible. By grounding the science in this restless cultural landscape, Baron introduces his core characters not as isolated eccentrics, but as products of a hyper-stimulated world eager to cross the next frontier.
The canalists and boots-on-the-ground research
Percival Lowell serves as the undeniable common thread throughout the book, but Baron expands the stage to highlight the intellectual warfare between the “canalists” and the “anti-canalists.” We get an intimate look at the three main canalists driving the obsession: the American (Lowell), the Italian (Giovanni Schiaparelli), and the Frenchman (Camille Flammarion).
What makes the book particularly delightful is Baron’s personal, deeply researched storytelling form. The author regularly pops into the narrative with his own contemporary anecdotes, taking readers along on his boots-on-the-ground research trips. Whether he is exploring Flammarion’s old observatory near Paris or standing at the remote Oficina Alianza in Chile’s Atacama Desert (the exact spot where David Todd took his famous photographs of Mars) Baron’s physical presence at these historic locations bridges the gap between past and present beautifully.
The bursting bubble
The book takes its time constructing a long, elegant buildup toward the inevitable moment when the grand Mars bubble finally bursts (albeit in a slow manner).
Baron doesn’t hold back on the scientific tragedy here: the greatest pitfalls for these brilliant minds were dogmatism and absolute obstinacy. Lowell and his contemporaries frequently twisted blurry photographic data to fit preconceived conclusions, ultimately wrecking their own reputations when withering critical attacks finally dismantled their theories. It is a timeless lesson in how easily human hope can distort objective reality.
Why you must stick around for the epilogue
While Lowell passed away discredited and largely delusional in 1916, you should definitely stick around for the epilogue. Baron uses the final pages to tie the historical frenzy to our modern world. Despite all of Lowell’s glaring scientific shortcomings, fallacies, and stubborn blindness, his cultural legacy is large. The collective delusion over Martian canals directly catalyzed the birth of science fiction as a serious literary genre and permanently altered our cosmic perspective. Ultimately, The Martians leaves us with the unsettling but fascinating realization that when we gaze out into space looking for answers, we usually just find a mirror reflecting our own deepest desires.
