The Icepick Surgeon – Sam Kean

Sam Kean’s The Icepick Surgeon is a collection of loosely connected stories from the history of science, focusing on figures whose work sits somewhere between ambition, moral blindness, and outright harm. In tone and structure it is reminiscent of books like John Gribbin’s Science: A History or Bill Bryson’s A Short History of Nearly Everything, though Kean’s approach is far more narrative-driven and character-focused. Like those books, it broadly moves forward in time, but with a much narrower scope.

Kean frames the book around twelve themes, each anchored by a “mad scientist” or morally questionable figure. That framing immediately invites certain expectations. Who doesn’t enjoy the mad scientist trope—megalomaniacal brilliance, dangerous ideas, intellect unrestrained by ethics? What the book mostly delivers instead are far more mundane characters: often mediocre, self-serving, and convinced—at least outwardly—that they were doing good. In that sense, the book becomes less about brilliance run amok and more about how ordinary human flaws, combined with authority and weak oversight, can lead to horrifying outcomes. The road to hell and good intentions, and all that.

The narrative style is one of the book’s strengths. Kean is a good storyteller, and he does an admirable job of weaving the different lives and topics together, giving the book a clear red thread despite its episodic structure. That same accessibility, however, may also explain why I found myself preferring Gribbin or Bryson overall. Readers without a strong background or interest in science may well find Kean’s approach more engaging.

One recurring issue is tone. At times the book almost reeks of moral indignation, which can become tiresome. Kean explicitly acknowledges, in at least one chapter, that people should be judged by the standards of their own time—and even notes that practices we consider acceptable today will likely horrify future generations. Yet in many other chapters he seems to do precisely the opposite, judging historical figures against modern ethical standards. While some of the material is genuinely horrifying—especially considering that much of it took place less than a century ago—the inconsistency is noticeable. It leaves you wondering whether humanity has meaningfully improved, or whether we have merely polished a thin veneer of civilization over the same underlying savagery.

The individual chapters vary significantly in how well they align with the book’s stated theme. The opening chapter on piracy, centered on William Dampier—buccaneer, explorer, and early biologist—is among the most interesting, precisely because it shows how scientific curiosity and moral ambiguity can coexist in the same individual.

Other chapters are less successful. The chapter on slavery, for example, adds little that is new, focusing narrowly on the horrors of the triangular trade without placing it in a broader historical context or meaningfully connecting it to modern forms of near-slavery. It also feels more indirect in its connection to science, making it less compelling than most other entries.

The chapter on murder, while engaging, reads more like true crime than an exploration of ethical failure in science. Similarly, the espionage chapter—centered on Harry Gold and the Manhattan Project—is fascinating in its own right but feels only loosely connected to the “mad scientist” framing. A brief but sharp detour into Lysenkoism momentarily brings the theme back into focus before the chapter returns to Gold’s tragic personal fate.

The chapter on lobotomy is perhaps the most chilling of the book, especially in light of recent reading on consciousness and materialism. The brain’s resilience is remarkable, but the casual certainty with which irreversible damage was inflicted in the name of progress is deeply unsettling.

The torture chapter, focusing on Henry Murray and Ted Kaczynski, also feels somewhat misaligned. Kaczynski is clearly the more compelling figure, which shifts the focus away from scientific malpractice and toward biography and consequence.

The final chapters on malpractice and fraud move into much more recent history and will likely feel familiar to most readers, unlike some of the more obscure figures earlier in the book. Their proximity in time makes them easier to relate to, but also less surprising.

Overall, The Icepick Surgeon is an engaging and often disturbing read, held together by strong storytelling and a clear narrative voice. Its thematic focus wavers at times, and the moral framing can feel uneven, but it succeeds in reminding the reader how easily science, ambition, and ethical failure can become entangled. Even when it doesn’t fully work, it remains interesting—and perhaps that is its greatest strength.