I couldn't think of a solution to the puzzle on the first read, but since you brought it up again I took another look, and think I have a solution. I couldn't find any reference to it online to confirm, so I'll send a note first before posting here.
So Matt has a third solution! He says: “Half plus one, double plus two, half plus three, double plus four,” and the next number in the sequence is 38. He says he could write it as a formula, but why bother.
I admit to having trouble with this section of the book. I did appreciate the vignettes on their own, but collectively they meandered too much, and I struggled to find connection. Perhaps I'd enjoy it better while reading under the gazebo in spring with the book in one hand and cup of tea in other, gazing up regularly to inspect some new distracting rustle in the garden.
I have to confess that I am not much of a fan of the poltergeist. Fitzgerald insisted that there was a poltergeist in the bookshop where she worked, but I am too much of a rationalist to enjoy the bit where Florence and Christine are sitting, terrified, as the “rapper” does its worst.
I couldn't think of a solution to the puzzle on the first read, but since you brought it up again I took another look, and think I have a solution. I couldn't find any reference to it online to confirm, so I'll send a note first before posting here.
The series is alternating dividing and multiplying by two, then adding in sequence 1, 2, 3...
So 8/2 +1 is 5, 5x2 +2 is 12, 12/2 +3 is 9, 9x2 +4 is 22. The next number is 22/2 +5 = 16
So Matt has a third solution! He says: “Half plus one, double plus two, half plus three, double plus four,” and the next number in the sequence is 38. He says he could write it as a formula, but why bother.
Dang! I am impressed!
Post it! I think you have solved it!
I admit to having trouble with this section of the book. I did appreciate the vignettes on their own, but collectively they meandered too much, and I struggled to find connection. Perhaps I'd enjoy it better while reading under the gazebo in spring with the book in one hand and cup of tea in other, gazing up regularly to inspect some new distracting rustle in the garden.
I have to confess that I am not much of a fan of the poltergeist. Fitzgerald insisted that there was a poltergeist in the bookshop where she worked, but I am too much of a rationalist to enjoy the bit where Florence and Christine are sitting, terrified, as the “rapper” does its worst.