Meredith Gold and Professor Gus Hart

Introduction
The purpose of this study was to expand upon a previous and successful unofficial study that I did in high school, testing the effectiveness of humor in instructional science writing. Despite the fact that various extenuating circumstances (including multiple cases of prolonged illness) hindered measurable data collection, the first main question asked by the study was answered: It is even possible to write a physics textbook in the style of humor essays? To this, my project responds with a resounding yes. I wrote and began editing the full first draft of my first humorous physics textbook, coming in at 125 single-spaced manuscript pages, designed to cover the physics and chemistry sections of the BYU PS100 curriculum. The preliminary data and responses were positive, demonstrating that it is possible to teach physics in this unconventional format. The question for the future is to determine whether or not it is effective.

Methods
In addition to working as a T.A. in the PS100 lab, attending their classes, and analyzing the existing curriculum, a great portion of this project involved the analysis of humor itself. To create something truly funny—and yet, more controlled and consistent than my teenage pieces—it is necessary to understand what makes humor work before it can be applied to technical writing. The basic element of humor is surprise, and the two main ways that comedians of all types create this surprise are through Rhythmic Juxtaposition and Compiled Juxtaposition. I define the first to be the structural concept found in most humor writing that builds a “punchline,” and the second to be the idea behind fast-action and situational humor found in most comedic television and witty conversation.

Rhythmic Juxtaposition is the element of long-to-chopped rhythm patterns. A classic pattern found in many works of humorous writing (including both Bill Waterson’s Calvin and Hobbes and Dave Barry’s books) is having a passage of long, sophisticated sentences, cut short by an absurd and choppy response. The surprise of the sudden change of tone is what makes a punchline. In Calvin and Hobbes, this is seen in many strips where a lengthy, philosophical discussion is concluded with a self-centered, ignorant, or oversimplified statement from Calvin. The unexpectedness of the choppy line is exaggerated when the reader’s speed changes (lengthy words and sentences tend to “read” slower than quick blurbs). In Dave Barry’s work, however, it is much more common to end a lengthy, beautifully-worded statement with a ludicrous comparison. It is usually rounded off with another lengthy and more fitting statement, to smooth the flow of the essay and to set up the next joke. Although it is a different application of Rhythmic Juxtaposition, the same basic structure applies: long and commonplace/formal sentences chop to short and absurd.

This structure can be collapsed, as it often in in conversation and television shows, into situational humor and deadpan sarcasm. This is what I have chosen to call Compiled Juxtaposition. Instead of using the rhythm of sentences to put the element of surprise between seemingly normal/formal ideas, this second type of humor structure places the silly or unexpected element directly on top of the normal/formal situation, introducing them at the same time, instead of in series. The timing is fundamentally different; humor is found in pushing the audience to acknowledge the strangeness of the situation. In situational comedy, like BYU’s Studio C, this is used in the style of introducing a seemingly normal or formal situation, and then adding a preposterous element, like a single strange character, directly on top of the “normal” setting. This can also be done by using strange words in an otherwise formal setting, like when David Tennant, playing Doctor Who in the popular BBC TV show Doctor Who, explains space-time as “wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey… stuff.” His childish language offsets the adult complexity of the concept, and is thus a silly disconnect to the listener.

I tried to put these two forms of juxtaposition this into my writing in a variety of ways, usually using the explanations of physics concepts themselves as my more normal/formal element, and then making a jabs at science history, academic culture, jargon, etc. An example of both rhythmic and compiled types of humor can be found in this excerpt on matter:

Start by thinking of Sir Isaac Newton. According to him, the universe was like a big rigid grid of space, with a big invisible clock that ticked out the same time for everybody. This is called “Definite Space” and “Definite Time.” This was because he was definitely sure that definite space-time (space and time) was definitely not stretchy.

In this example, I used informal language as Compiled Juxtaposition with the serious nature of the topic, purposely discussing “(not) stretchy grids” instead of “fixed coordinate planes,” both to catch the audience’s attention and to gently poke fun at the unnecessarily esoteric explanations of physics academia. Then, I used Rhythmic Juxtaposition at the end to emphasize the choppy phrases of what we now know to be less than correct, along with the less formal language. While this isn’t a particularly knee-slapping passage (there are many more passages that could be analyzed), it is clear from this example how these types of humor structures can be applied.

Results and Discussion
Despite the fact that the measurable results were inconclusive because of unexpected setbacks, various students and readers gave positive feedback, reporting that humor writing combines very well with physics instruction. To highlight a few responses, without disclosing student names:

* “I thought this was really easy to read. I liked it a lot.”
* “I just feel like I haven’t been understanding the stuff as well without [the essays.]” (This was after this student and I had been out of contact for two weeks, disrupting the study, because of my illness.)
* “This reads like a Bill Nye script.”
* “You’re explaining it, but you’re making it entertaining.”

Despite the fact that these responses and others like them are not quantifiable data, they are very promising. Despite the disruptions, from the few actual tests that I was able to give students, it seemed that there was a clear improvement, which was also very promising for future drafts and much more thorough testing.

Conclusion
It appears that the use of humor in science writing is a very effective teaching tool, despite the fact that multiple unexpected disruptions to the study hindered data collection severely. Now, with a solid first draft, I intend to dramatically expand, reorganize, and edit the work so that this can be tested again. I have applied for another ORCA grant to continue the project, and if I receive the second grant, I intend to use it to prepare this book to teach an already-secured test group long-distance class of home-schooled high school students. In short, despite the fact that I was able to write the entire first draft as planned, this project is far from over.