I have a distinct recollection from my sophomore year in college. I was sitting in a hammock in my dorm room, reading The Double Helix, James Watson’s autobiographical account of how he sorted out the structure of DNA.
(And yes, apparently, I used to be that kind of dude who would go to the trouble of putting a hammock in his dorm room. Hey, people evolve.)
The Double Helix was recommended to me because it was a first-hand account thriller about a major discovery that revolutionized how we understand evolution and life in general. That part is true.
But that’s not what I was thinking when I was reading this book. My main thought was, “Wow, this guy is an asshole.”