Hello and welcome to another episode of Textbook Sleep, the non-prescription yet habit-forming Maximum-Strength Sleep Aid. Time-released every Wednesday night at 8:30 Eastern Time.

Tonight we continue to read from General Science by Bertha M. Clark, Ph.D. Dr. Clark was the Head of the Science Department at the William Penn High School for Girls in Philadelphia. The school opened in 1909, went co-ed in 1974, and closed in 2010.

General Science was published in 1912. Its only downside, for our purposes, is that it often veers into interesting territory. But I will try to read it in velvety, sleep-inducing tones. You will not be conscious long once you start hearing about acids, bases, and here’s the kicker… washing powders. If I can hold my own head up—and that’s a big if—we may even get to nitrogen and its relation to plants.

There will be no quiz on this material.

Are you still awake? Let us commence.

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Welcome to Textbook Sleep, the Maximum-Strength Sleep Aid, where I read extremely boring public-domain textbooks to help people fall asleep. We continue with General Science by Bertha M. Clark, Ph.D. Specifically, we’ll hear what Dr. Clark has to say about photography, or I will anyway—you’ll be lulled to sleep, hearing me speak of movable convex lenses, sodium thiosulphite, and sensitive plates left to dry in dark rooms.

Today we all carry a camera in our pockets, but in 1912, when this textbook was written, a photograph was far more complicated to take. Which was great in that no one could take a selfie, let alone post it on so-called social media. Still, it’s all terribly tedious, which is just perfect for our purposes.

Smile. And sleep.

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Water is important. Don’t take my word for it, take that of Bertha M. Clark, Ph.D., Head of the Science Department at the William Penn High School for Girls in Philadelphia. She made this claim in General Science in 1912, and I see no reason to question whether it is not just as true today.

We are constantly being told to drink glass after glass of water and many carry a large container of water with them everywhere, the better to “hydrate.” I myself hydrate by drinking cup after cup of coffee, until I can feel my brain’s synapses vibrating like an old-fashioned alarm bell that no one can quite figure out how to shut off.

But there will be no alarm bells going off tonight. Instead, I will read Dr. Clark’s wise, watery words from 113 years ago, and you can drift away on them, into sleep.

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Most of us have probably not given much thought to the “mingling of molecules.” For good reason: It’s stunningly boring, no matter how important it may be to our daily lives. Fortunately for us, Carleton W. Washburne wrote an entire chapter on it in his Common Science textbook in 1921, and it’s been waiting 104 years to lull us to sleep. It was meant for high schoolers and yet I suspect you will not be able to follow along— you will be long unconscious before any mingling occurs. I, on the other hand, will have to read it, not understanding any two sentences in a row, as I studied only English back when that was a thing. If the world depended on me for scientific enlightenment, we would be quickly plunged back into the Dark Ages, with no shampoos that both clean and moisturize or other wonderments of our age. Sure, they had cars back in 1921, but no heated seats, no Wolfman Jack, no In-N-Out Burger drive-thru lanes to queue up in. Let us imagine mingling with a Double-Double and begin.

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Textbook Sleep, the Maximum-Strength Sleep Aid podcast, asks, “what could possibly be duller than a Text-Book of Biology by H.G. Wells? Specifically, the chapter on the biology of a rabbit? Yes, that H.G. Wells—the guy who wrote The War of the Worlds, The Time Machine, and The Island of Doctor Moreau. He was also a biologist. And wrote an entire textbook on the subject. To me, it’s a little less compelling than The Invisible Man and probably didn’t move as many copies, but who knows? At Textbook Sleep, “less compelling” is a good thing. It promises a soothing night’s rest. And—if time allows—we’ll include Wells’ take on the circulation of the dog-fish. In the unlikely event someone listening is still awake, they won’t be for long after that. Let us begin.

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Welcome to Textbook Sleep, the Maximum-Strength Sleep Aid. Tonight’s reading will rapidly render you unconscious. It’s Organic Chemistry, a textbook from 1894 by W.H. Perkin and F. Stanley Kipping. Some find “Orgo” to be a fascinating pathway to a rewarding career, but most of us consider it a subject to be avoided at all costs. There’s no reason to steer clear of it now—it’s incomprehensible complexity will lull you to sleep, even if someone is using a jackhammer in your room. This particular textbook is even more boring than listening to, say, the Periodic Table of the Elements, a Textbook Sleep for another day, perhaps. Let us begin.

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It’s difficult to imagine a subject more stupefyingly dull than accounting. It makes economics seem like a Michael Bay movie. Thus, you will soon experience a long, restful sleep. Because we’re going to read from Accounting, Theory and Practice, “a text-book for colleges and schools of business administration,” by Roy B. Kester, Ph.D. This particular edition, published in 1922, is dedicated to his father and mother, in “appreciation for their steadfast interest in my work.” They were, no doubt, feigning interest. Of course, the world as we know it would cease turning without accounting, so we can be grateful for it—and for the bright women and men who do find it engaging. They make oodles of money, so do not pity them. In fact, “oodles of money” is one of the first terms they learn. Once again, I must warn you not to operate heavy or even light machinery while listening to Textbook Sleep, the Maximum-Strength Sleep Aid. Consider my friend Mike, who reported: “I killed my Sonicare after just two quadrants, so as not to take undue risk.” Let us proceed with similar caution.

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There are certain chapters in great works of literature that must be skimmed, or better yet, skipped altogether. In Moby-Dick, that would be Chapter 32, “Cetology.” Cetology—the branch of biology that studies whales, dolphins, and porpoises—is not of much interest to the general reader. In fact, it causes many of them to put down the novel and never again pick it up, thus Moby-Dick is one of those classics, like Infinite Jest or Gravity’s Rainbow, that no one reads. Let’s put the chapter to a better use—to induce sleep. Surely Melville used to read this chapter himself, when he needed to fall asleep. Just like him, you will become quickly unconscious… drifting down to the ocean’s midnight zone, where sperm whales echolocate in this deep, dreamy place where you’ll spend eight or so hours of rest, safe from Ahab’s barbs.

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We’re going back in time tonight, searching for the dullest of dull writing to put you into a deep sleep. Soon after I begin to read from Principles of Geology by Sir Charles Lyell, M.A., F.R.S.—that is, Fellow of the Royal Society—you will experience something akin to that sensation immediately before your colonoscopy begins. If you count backwards to 10, you won’t make it to nine. Lights out. Sweet dreams. You’ll wake up without any memory of tonight’s procedure. It’s not the fault of Sir Charles. It’s the subject of geology itself. It can only be grasped in geologic timeframes, that is, over millions of years of dedicated study. We have but one night and you won’t be conscious for much of it. Let us go then, shall we, to Naples, Italy, not for its pizza, like any sane person, but to hear about its volcanic vents.

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Welcome to Textbook Sleep, the Maximum-Strength Sleep Aid. Tonight, your cares will dissolve as I read from The Ethics of Aristotle. You will never find out exactly what those ethics were, you will be sound asleep, probably within minutes. In Athens, Aristotle was known for putting entire audiences to sleep with his lectures. It was all the same to him, he got his money upfront. When I read from these pages, you should know that I am giving myself periodic electric shocks to stay awake—I am no less susceptible to his soporific writing than you are—so if you hear any electronic buzzing in the background, or my voice suddenly becoming shrill, you’ll know the reason. Let’s go back to ancient Greece, then. There’s no easier place to fall asleep.

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