As a child, I could disappear into a world of lexicons, encyclopedias, atlases, and dictionaries. My favorite page was the one that showed all the flags of the world together. Every color and symbol presented a story, even if I didn’t yet know what that story was. Give me a geographical or historical atlas even today, and the child in me resurfaces instantly. I disappear for hours, happy as ever, traveling through time and space without leaving my chair.
My appreciation for reference books didn’t fade as I grew up. Instead, it became a defining part of my professional life. Early in my career, I had the privilege of translating entries for reference works. Later, I wrote some myself. These experiences taught me how much expertise goes into drafting a single entry in a multivolume set. Words are carefully selected, every sentence is deliberate, every fact is checked (and checked again), and every diagram is meant to clarify, not illustrate. Recently I researched some major historical figures in alcohol studies. While compiling their bibliographies, I discovered that almost all of them had contributed to encyclopedias as well. Apparently, the passion of molding knowledge into concise and trustworthy forms is both a tradition and a part of scholarship.
Fixed menu or bufet?
One thing I have always appreciated about reference books is that you don’t have to read the content in order. You can skim, browse, consult, or even skip pages. You can open them when you are curious, bored, or when you need inspiration. My co‑author and I kept this in mind when we wrote our librarian’s guide to bibliotherapy: designed not to be read from cover to cover, just to be consulted as needed.
These days, I also get to indulge in one of my favorite professional pastimes: selecting books for library purchase, including handbooks and the like. As e-books are preferred, the process has become a dangerous rabbit hole for me: it’s even easier to get distracted by illustrations, cross‑references, and unexpected discoveries. I admit that getting lost in an online reference work isn’t the most efficient use of my time, but it’s fun.
And every time I follow a weird link to some new piece of knowledge, I’m reminded again of how much I don’t know.
Reliable sources
For undergraduates, and many graduate students, too, reference resources can be invaluable starting points. They can provide orientation, structure, and background when someone is new to a topic. While these titles aren’t meant to be cited in scholarly work, they are absolutely relevant and reliable. As such, they can help carve a path to more knowledge and inspire the first sentences of a research paper.
Medicine is an especially good example for the perspective of evaluating your source of information: think of Up‑To‑Date and all the point‑of‑care resources clinicians rely on. Behind these trusted tools is a tremendous amount of expert labor, constant updating, and careful curation to keep everything accurate and interconnected.
But sometimes, what we need isn’t just detail. For that, there’s the opposite end of the spectrum: the “big picture,” the context to provide a sense of where our latest discoveries fit in the larger pattern and how. This is why I was delighted to find a reference book that attempts exactly this: combining science, history, illustrations, and timelines into one ambitious volume.
Atlas of the History of Modern Science
Thomas H. Brobjer’s Atlas of the History of Modern Science does something I have always wanted from a science reference book: it turns five centuries of scientific development into a set of visual maps. Instead of long chapters boring the reader with text only, we get diagrams, flowcharts, and conceptual “landscapes,” like on a blackboard.
What makes the atlas especially useful is the “mental scaffolding” it provides. Rather than asking the reader to assemble scattered facts into a coherent whole, it shows the structure upfront—the intellectual architecture of how one discovery led to another. You can see the transition from the Aristotelian‑Ptolemaic universe to the heliocentric model, with Copernicus, Kepler, and Galileo all positioned in relation to one another. You can follow the branching of natural philosophy into physics, chemistry, and biology, and then into the modern subfields we recognize today. The Enlightenment “web” visually connects philosophical ideas to practical innovations in steam power and thermodynamics. Later, the atlas charts the rise of “Big Science,” showing the explosion of research institutions after World War II and the effects of the digital revolution.
One of my favorite features is the set of comparative timelines. Instead of looking at each discipline in isolation, the atlas shows what was happening simultaneously in biology, chemistry, and physics, making connections that are easy to miss more obvious.
It’s the kind of reference book that will appeal to students, educators, librarians, and anyone who enjoys understanding how knowledge fits together. For me, it brings back the pleasure of that childhood page of flag, except now the flags have become disciplines, theories, and discoveries, all connected in ways I can trace with my finger.
And yes, I am still very quiet when reading it, now online.
Brobjer, T. H. (2025). Atlas of the History of Modern Science 1500-2020 . Springer Nature Switzerland.