Rheology — where it appears
Named by 6 essays across one field — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
The fluid that answers back
For water, stress is proportional to how fast it is sheared, and the constant of proportionality is its viscosity. For paint, blood, ketchup and cornflour in water, it is not — and once the proportionality goes, so does the idea that viscosity is a number a substance has.
The liquid that remembers
Pitch shatters like glass under a hammer and flows through a funnel over a decade. Neither behaviour is the true one. What decides which a substance shows is not the substance but the length of the observation, and the ratio between the two has a name and a number.
The paste that forgets it was stirred
A jar of clay slurry left on a shelf sets like a jelly; shaken, it pours. That is thixotropy, and the tempting description — its viscosity falls when it is stirred — misses what makes it strange. A thixotropic paste has no viscosity at a given rate of stirring until it has been told how long it has been stirring, and under a steady push it cannot settle on a slow flow at all. Push slightly less than a critical stress and it creeps to a halt; push slightly more and it runs. Between the two there is nothing, and a paste made to flow slowly splits into a layer that flows and a layer that does not.
The viscosity that belongs to the tube
Measure the viscosity of blood in a wide glass tube and it is about three times that of the plasma it is made from. Measure it in a tube a tenth of a millimetre across and it is lower; in one a hundredth of a millimetre across, lower still, barely more than plasma's. Then, below about six micrometres, it shoots up. The blood has not changed. The red cells push themselves away from the wall and leave a sleeve of plain plasma a few micrometres thick for the rest to slide in, and in a narrow tube that sleeve is a large part of the flow. A viscosity that depends on the pipe is no longer a property of the fluid alone.
The rod that tumbles for ever in a stream
Drop a short rod into honey being sheared between two plates and it does not settle into line with the flow. It lies nearly along the stream for a long time, then flips end over end in a moment, then lies along it again, and it keeps doing that for as long as the shear lasts. George Jeffery worked out the motion in 1922: every orientation belongs to a closed orbit, every orbit takes the same time, and the flow has no way to choose between them — so a suspension of rods never reaches a steady state, and its thickness rises and falls in time with the tumbling.
The sand whose friction depends on how fast it flows
A heap of sand stands at its angle of repose and starts to slide a few degrees steeper; between those angles there are steady avalanches, and their speed is decided by one number. The inertial number compares how long a grain takes to fall into a gap opened under it with how long the flow takes to open the gap. Friction rises with it, from the static value to a ceiling, and that single dependence explains why grains flow steadily on only a twelve-degree window of slopes, why a flowing layer has the velocity profile Bagnold measured, and why a deeper avalanche is faster — but not as a liquid would be.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
ViscosityYield stressSuspensionViscoelasticityApparent viscosityAspect ratioAvalancheBifurcationBloodConstitutive lawCreepDimensionless number