The determinant method strikes again! (Siegel zeroes edition)

Ben Green has a nice clean writeup of the argument that there are no Siegel zeroes, found in a big OpenAI experiment a few weeks ago. Green’s writeup is itself a product of iterated back-and-forth with another OpenAI model. But it reveals something quite nice; that at the heart of the proof is the good old determinant method of Bombieri-Pila and Heath-Brown! (Except it crucially uses multiple primes at once, so I ought to mention Salberger and Walsh too, and probably some other people.)

The driving idea: if you have a bunch of low-height points on a variety X, and an equally-sized bunch of polynomials on X, you can make a big old matrix by evaluating each polynomial on each point, and then you can ask this matrix what its determinant is about. Because you’ve bounded the height of the points, that determinant can’t be too archimedeanly big. On the other hand, if p is a not-too-large prime, a lot of those points reduce to the same point mod p (or even higher powers of p), which means a lot of those rows agree mod p, which makes the determinant highly divisible by p. If that power of p is bigger than the archimedean bound, you have an integer at most X which is divislbe by a number bigger than X, which means it’s zero. But THAT means some even more massive polynomial vanishes at all your points while not actually being identically zero on X, and that means your low-height points are concentrated on a proper subvariety whose degree you can control. In the very popular case where X is a curve, this gives you a bound on the number of points of bounded height, which has the very nice feature of being independent of the coefficients of X. (This isn’t obvious from what I’ve said!)

Anyway, the Siegel zeroes proof runs this in the opposite direction. If chi is the quadratic character whose L-function you’re studying, X is the restriction of scalars of A^1 from the corresponding quadratic field K to Q. So it’s a surface whose integral points are in bijection with Z[d^{1/2}] (or with the ring of integers, whatever, where we’re going we don’t need constants.) And you take a bunch of low-height integral points and a bunch of polynomials, you get a determinant D which is archimedeanly bounded, and then you show that every p which is inert in K appears to a big power in D. But you’re not proving D is 0; the set of all low-height points on X is manifestly not contained in some low-degree curve, so D isn’t zero, which means you just can’t have too many of those problematic (i.e. inert) primes p, and that is exactly what one is trying to prove.

Of course it’s a bit trickier than that! In traditional determinant method your bunch of polynomials (at least in the cases I’m familiar with) is basically just “all polynomials of degree below some bound.” Here, the polynomials have to be chosen more carefully. The idea is that we can think of X(Q) as parametrized by pairs (z,z’) of Galois-conjugate pairs of elements in K; when p is inert, the rational points X(F_p) all lie on the curve z^p = z’, and this curve is inseparable on projection to the z’ coordinate. So you choose your polynomials in a careful way that breaks the z/z’ symmetry and gives you tons of p-adic vanishing precisely for these inert primes, where the points are concentrated on this curve. (And I should say that a bit of back and forth with Claude Fable was helpful in pinning down what it was about this particular bunch of polynomials that makes inert primes especially apt to divide the determinant with large multiplicity!)

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There Is Always Something There To Remind Me

Pete Byrne, frontman of Naked Eyes, is dead at 74. I actually saw him play live last summer, at the hotel in Park City where the Park City Math Institute was being held, on a triple bill with Flock of Seagulls and Men Without Hats. To be honest, I noted at the time that Byrne’s voice was shot, and that Ivan Doroschuk was the only one of the frontmen who was still in frontman condition. But still: I will never get over “Always Something There To Remind Me,” a hit when I was 11 years old, and the song I always associated with my very first crush. The church bells and synthebrass at the beginning!

Lisa Khoury, wherever you are, I hope you remember this song, if not me.

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THE MILWAUKEE BREWERS ARE THE WORLD CHAMPIONS OF BASEBALL

You guys know I’m an Orioles fan. But the Brewers are my National League team and once the Orioles arrive at their usual pre-postseason exit I switch hats and cheer for Milwaukee, who as of about an hour ago are the World Series champs for the first time in franchise history. I have to admit it — I think is the best team I’ve ever cheered for, better than any Orioles team of my adult lifetime, including the 1983 champions.

So much to like here. Top-to-bottom production from the lineup. Bullpen guys who can go long. World Series MVP William Contreras’s incredibly sharp eye for ABS challenges. One of the best teams of our era.

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“You Can See Everything”

I don’t feel like writing a whole dissertation about this but I’ll just say that this is the first time I can remember saying “Oh my God,” out loud, multiple times, while watching a movie in a theater.

Some people have asked if you need to be familiar with the story of Elizabeth Holmes to watch this movie. I don’t think so. I’m not familiar with the Holmes/Theranos story beyond the bare basics. This movie is almost entirely not about that story; or at least that’s how it plays if you don’t know the story.

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De-automating

I find I’m automating things less, rather than more. I have automatic software updates turned off on both my phone and my laptop. I turned off spell check and autocomplete on my phone and on my email. You can get messages with typos from me, it’s fine, it’s organic! I turned off Gmail’s smart features and now I just unsubscribe from annoying spam lists instead of letting Google filter everything. The autogenerated “thread summaries” of personal email chains with friends were just too intrusive and unpleasant. I do have some of my bills set to autopay, but not my credit card bill; you do want to attend, at least once a month, to what you’re spending money on!

I know, I know, efficiency. But one thing I’ve found after decades of adult life is that, when I’m inefficient, it’s not because things take too much time to do; it’s because I’m avoiding something I don’t feel like doing. No amount of automation can cure that.

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When the phone inside your ribcage rings, it’s not for me (They Might Be Giants show report)

Maybe the band I’ve seen play the most times, certainly the band with the biggest time gap between the first time I saw them and the latest (December 1989 to September 2026.) I saw them sometime in the last ten years but I may not have recorded it here; here’s a brief report on the 2009 show, which, like this one, was at the Barrymore, and which, like this one, featured a snippet of “The Famous Polka” (“When the phone inside your ribcage rings, it’s not for me”) as part of another song. They have such a long catalogue now that some of the songs that used to be every-show stalwarts weren’t there; no “Don’t Let’s Start,” no “She’s an Angel,” which may be songs that don’t go well with their current horn-heavy arrangement. (But why not bring back “(She was a) Hotel Detective,” which would sound great with this band?) No “Particle Man”! And they didn’t play the song that got me into the band in the first place, the song that taught me something about how superficial quirkiness can trick you into being defenseless when a song punches you in the face with bottomless sadness. (There’s a lot of this in the early TMBG catalog: “Now it’s either I’m dead and I haven’t done anything that I want / Or I’m still alive and there’s nothing I want to do” — these lyrics are disputed but I’m sticking with my version.) Anyway. Ana Ng and They Might Be Giants and I are getting old, and every five to ten years we walk in the glow of each other’s majestic presence, except for Ana Ng, who is antipodal to all of us, and will remain so, as long as the band still plays.

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Eigenvalues of random p-adic matrices

I always felt there ought to be a good theory of p-adic random matrices paralleling the very-well-worked out real and complex story. I wrote a paper years ago with Jain and Venkatesh that proposed that a very reasonable model for the lambda-invariant of a random quadratic field would be the number of eigenvalues x of a large random matrix A over Z_p such that x-1 is not a unit. (The p-primary part of the class group, the quantity studied in the Cohen-Lenstra conjecture, is modeled by the cokernel of A-1, which is clearly related but not at all the same thing.

Anyway, we worked out a few simple statistics of random matrices over Z_p but got no further. Now Jiahe Shen and Roger van Peski have done much more! They are well on their way to a fully satisfying theory that mimics the archimedean story. For instance, they can exactly compute the pair correlation showing the familiar repulsion of eigenvalues from each other. And the pair correlation function has a somewhat mysterious (to me, and I think to them too) appearance of a theta function…

One reason we like to model arithmetic quantities by random matrices is that, in the function field case, Frobenius acts on etale cohomology via a p-adic matrix we know nothing about, and since we know nothing about it, we like to treat it as random in Haar measure. Is that justified? Maybe not, but here’s the good news: Shen has a followup paper where he shows (again, consistent with what happens in archimedean-land) that the eigenvalue statistics they find don’t depend sensitively on the exact distribution of the matrices, but rather are universal over a rather broad class of distributions. So that, I think, should make one feel more confident that Frobenii, too, have eigenvalues that look this way, and moreover that the analogous distributions in the number field case, where there’s no literal p-adic matrix at all, might follow suit.

The method here is interesting: we learned, over time, that a good way to get a handle on a random group G is to study the expected number of surjections from G to H, as H varies over groups (or groups in various special classes) — these are the natural moments of a distribution on groups. And in practice, they are often the exact statistics one is able to compute by geometric means. (See Will Sawin and Melanie Wood’s work for a much, much, much more elaborated categorical point of view on what counts as a moment.) Shen’s paper takes the view that a good notion of “moment” for a random p-adic polynomial P is the distribution of the p-adic valuation of the resultant of P with some fixed polynomial Z. These “Z-moments” turn out to also be very computable for characteristic polynomials of random matrices, and they also turn out to provide actionable information about eigenvalues. Nice!

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James Purdy, Narrow Rooms

A great novel if you like murder, sex between men, grudges, West Virginia, and long sentences.

“His eyes were as bright as ever, perhaps brighter, the disc of the pupil appearing to move like a white fire, but his face in general gave the impression of belonging to someone who never expected anything again.”

Purdy’s an unusual writer. Beloved by a few, hated by many reviewers, unknown to almost everyone. Didn’t really start writing until he was 40 (he was a Spanish professor at Lawrence College in Appleton for ten years before that.) Hung out with painters and jazz guys in Chicago. Admired by Langston Hughes and Dame Edith Sitwell, the latter of whom he had his ashes buried next to. Withdrew the rights to the only movie adaptation his work was ever going to get because he didn’t like the proposed lead actor. This reminiscence by Donald Weise gives a vivid picture of the cranky, difficult man.

How did I get into James Purdy? I was in Firestone Library in Princeton, in Special Collections, to see the unpublished J.D. Salinger stories. When I asked for that box, the librarian visibly rolled her eyes, because I think probably 80% of the people who go into Firestone Special Collections are there to see the uncollected Salinger stories. Wounded, crouched, I quickly formulated a way to recoup — I would just request another box, showing that I was not another loser Salinger groupie, but a scholar of mid-century American fiction who was looking at the Salinger in a purely comparative way, setting his unpublished work against that of — well, who? I didn’t know anybody else on the list. So I took a wild guess and asked for the James Purdy box. And then, having taken it, felt compelled to read it. And then, having read it, realized I was in the presence of something a lot better than the stuff Salinger correctly declined to anthologize. I think Purdy would have liked knowing that he’d gotten a reader via a mechanism he cared about a lot and had drawn closely: a young man’s pride and banged-up vanity.

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I love working here, II

Making final revisions to Don’t Be Too Sure on the Terrace. An all-tuba band on the Terrace Stage playing an all-tuba cover of “Black Hole Sun.”

Sorry for light blogging lately. See “making final revisions” above. Just realized I misspelled the first name of Katharine Briggs, who’s mentioned several times and who I read a whole book about. How many mistakes are left in this thing? (I suppose if I’d kept a rigorous log of mistakes found and plotted it over time, I could curve-fit and estimate this.)