Why You Should Read William Langewiesche

Every week, or at least whenever I can remember, I link to one piece of non-fiction writing on my Twitter. I try to vary the authors and magazines as much as I can, which is hard. Because all I want to do is share William Langewiesche's work, and that would take the better part of a year of faithful linking. I guess I'm a Langewiesche fangirl, in the way other people geek out over G.R.R. Martin or Neil Gaiman. He has a beautiful style, without being a beautiful stylist. His prose is direct and his diction rarely surprises, but he's a genius at presenting the facts at their proper facets, so they can illuminate each other. He's at his best when he describes the failures of machines - shuttles that explode, ships that sink, airplanes that collide with each other - or of the men who run them, and at his worst with one-subject profiles. Profiles are all about the colour and texture of the notable they're describing. They circle instead of heading straight for the problem. As a former pilot, Langewiesche is more direct. He describes the circumstances of every collapse, then works through to the end with clarity and grace, so that it almost seems like fate. Here are the final sentences of my favourite piece, "Columbia's Last Flight," from the November 2003 issue of the Atlantic:

As had happened with the Challenger in 1986, the crew cabin broke off intact. It assumed a stable flying position, apparently nose high, and later disintegrated like a falling star across the East Texas sky. 

And now you have something to read for the rest of your Sunday.