Reviewed by LiDoña Wagner

New Yorker staff writer and prolific author David Owen sets himself the task of interweaving three parallel narratives: Chester Carlson’s invention of electrophotography, later called xerography; the evolution of xerography and its relationship to communications history; and the transformation of this obscure invention into the modern day office copier.

Carlson’s solitude and self-reliance create tough challenges for a biographer, but Owen regards these traits as vital to Carlson’s quirky genius.  By focusing on Carlson’s rise from debilitating poverty, his single-minded devotion to the invention of electrophotography, and his long struggle to find investors and developers, Owen is able to craft a moderately successful story of a radical individualist whose perseverance overcomes adversity.

Owen is less successful with the second narrative. His writing bogs down in disjointed snippets of communications history and detailed descriptions of how xerography works.

The charm of the book lies in the third narrative.

This is where Carlson and his first investor, Battelle Memorial Institute, find a partner in a small, undercapitalized company in Rochester, New York.  Haloid Company’s development of the plain paper copier reads like an Olympic race between a scrappy unknown contender and big-time competitors (industry giants such as IBM and Eastman Kodak). The hero of this story is Joseph Wilson, a young man hoping to prove himself to his father, Haloid’s chairman. Owen presents Wilson as a skilled leader with a steady vision who guides his team on a fifteen-year journey to victory.

Owen, an often witty writer, hits his stride near the end of the book with his recounting of the creation of the 914 copier, the work of an amazing team of fearless problem-solvers.  Advertising campaigns with rag dolls and chimpanzees are equally hilarious. In the final chapter, Owen does a great job of bringing Carlson, xerography, and Xerox Corporation together.