Bücher von Edwin Birch

Edwin Birch coughs up an (slightly fictionalized) autobiographical novel on Charles Babbage--inventor of the Analytical Engine, father of the Computer Age--& his diminutive friend, Jiffy:"Hello Jiffy," Babbage murmured, utterly bewildered and transfixed by the strange entity on his lap. "What were you doing in my throat?" he managed at last. It was a reasonable question, and it received a reasonable answer:"I don't know. What's a throat?""It's what you were in just now.""Oh. I see. I was sitting in it.""Ah. Why?"Jiffy scrunched up his eyes and thought for a bit. "I don't know" he said at last, with a bright little smile. "What's your name, mister?""Babbage," said Babbage. "Charles Babbage.""That's a stupid name," said Jiffy. "I like you. You're a funny colour. Where are we? What's an analytical engine?""What did you say?" Babbage hissed."I don't know. What's an analytical engine?""How... how did you...?""I don't know. Is it like a spoon? Or a forest, perhaps?"