Poor old Henry Faulds. In 1880, he had a great idea, but no one would pay attention, even after he published it in a scientific journal.
With plenty of evidence to support him, Faulds believed that by making an inked impression of people's fingertips, you could establish proof of their identity, a biological name tag that was virtually indestructible.
Half a century later, with his health failing and the roof of his house in danger of collapse, the dying Faulds still could find no one who would listen, although scientists and detectives around the world had long since begun using fingerprints for identification.
This slight of his contributions left him obscure and embittered, while his onetime rival, the credit-stealing Francis Galton, had not only made it into the history books but also had been knighted for his service to science.
Faulds' story--offering him full credit at last--is recounted in the new book "Fingerprints," the latest example of a growing genre of nonfiction for which there doesn't yet seem to be a name. Part history and part science, yet driven by personalities, they are books with the feel of a National Geographic special scripted by Oprah.
In other words, it's all about relationships.
"I've been calling them slice-of-history books, but it really is a mini-genre," says Colin Beavan, 37, the first-time author of "Fingerprints."
"I was never a history buff in school, because at the time a lot of the books we read were very dry. A lot of facts and analysis but not many interesting characters. It's the sugar that helps the history go down."
In this case, instead of Scott and Amundsen racing for the South Pole, or clockmaker John Harrison tinkering his way toward the secrets of Longitude, or the Professor and the Madman working to create the Oxford English Dictionary, we get Henry Faulds and Francis Galton, rival pioneers of what would become forensic science.
They were born into an era of the British Empire in which virtually every kind of criminal, from the pickpocket to the serial killer, got the same punishment--a hanging. With little or no chance to become a repeat offender, there wasn't much need to establish a criminal's correct identity.
That changed with criminal justice reforms in the mid-19th century. Not only were some crimes punished differently, but the first-time offender was also deemed worthy of a shorter sentence. The challenge then was to identify "habitual criminals," which wasn't so easy when they'd use a different name after each arrest.
