The Making of a Mathematician
My love affair with George Pólya began when I was seventeen. It was in Chelyabinsk, Russia, and my first year at the university was coming to an end. I had come across a tiny local library with an even tinier math section, which nobody ever seemed to visit, and had taken out most of those math books one by one before I came across The Book. It was George Pólya’s Mathematics and Plausible Reasoning.
By that time I was a total bookworm, having devoured almost a thousand volumes of my parents’ home library, mostly fiction. My familiarity with math books was much poorer although, growing up, I had enjoyed Yakov Perelman’s popular books for children on math and physics. I was a proud graduate of a specialized math and physics school, the only one in town, and had had a few wins at local olympiads in math and science. A top kid in class as far back as I could remember, I was arrogant as hell.
I read the introduction to Mathematics and Plausible Reasoning and its Chapter I standing up next to the bookshelf. It read like a novel. A cerebral one alright, which made you pay quick attention. Chapter I started out in the least orthodox way, comparing mathematical induction to a domino chain. The book endeavoured to explain not only what was mathematically true but how and why. I was hooked. Chapter I ended with a list of problems. I solved a couple of them still standing up but quickly came to a halt on Problem 3.
The arrogance kicked in––I had to solve those problems. I still remember carrying that book home after I checked it out. It was late spring, gorgeous weather, bird songs in the air, romantic couples––you get the picture. I was besotted with The Book.READ MORE>