Gravitational waves — the series
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The wave that stretches one way and squeezes the other
A gravitational wave passing through a ring of free masses lengthens one diameter while shortening the perpendicular one, then swaps. The two conservation laws that forbid anything simpler are why the effect is a part in a thousand million million million.
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The orbit that has to shrink
Two masses in orbit radiate gravitational waves and lose energy, so the orbit tightens, so they go faster and radiate harder. The runaway takes 10²³ years for the Earth and the Sun and eight minutes for the last thousand kilometres of a black-hole pair — and the same one-line formula gives both.
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What the instrument actually hears
A gravitational-wave detector is not a ruler laid against a stretching space. It is a clock comparison, its response falls to nothing at frequencies where the wave turns over while the light is still in the arm, and there are directions in the sky where it is deaf.
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A few cycles that are only mass and spin
After the orbit is gone there is one object left, distorted, and it settles down by radiating at frequencies that belong to it rather than to the collision. For a black hole those frequencies are fixed by the mass and the spin and by nothing else — so the first mode measured is a measurement and every mode after it is a test, and the test is that four curves in one plane pass through one point.
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The ring that does not come back
Every picture of a passing gravitational wave shows a ring of free masses stretched, squeezed and let go. The last frame is wrong. The ring ends a different shape — permanently, with the masses at rest at new separations — by about a fifth of the largest distortion the wave itself produced. What sources the offset is the energy the wave carried away, so the wave is remembering itself, and nobody has measured it.
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The mountain a spinning star is allowed
A neutron star spinning thirty times a second with a bump on its surface a few centimetres high is a rotating mass quadrupole. It sends out gravitational waves at twice its spin frequency, as a steady tone lasting millions of years. None has been heard. The silence is a measurement. The Crab pulsar is slowing down, and if all the energy it loses went into gravitational waves they would have been detected many times over. Searches now say the waves carry less than a ten-thousandth of it. The mountain on the Crab is less than about ten centimetres high, on a star twenty-four kilometres across.
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The wobble that radiating makes larger
Radiation normally drains a vibration: a struck bell goes quiet because it sends its energy away as sound, and a ringing black hole settles in milliseconds because it sends its energy away as gravitational waves. A spinning star can have the opposite. A pattern that runs backward through the star's material, while the star carries it forward across the sky, has less angular momentum than the star would have without it, and every wave it radiates takes away angular momentum it did not have to give. The pattern grows. One family of such patterns, the r-modes, runs backward on every rotating star, so every spinning neutron star is unstable unless friction wins — and that may be why none has been found spinning faster than 716 turns a second.
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The four shapes a wave of gravity leaves out
A passing gravitational wave squeezes a ring of free masses in one of two patterns, and that is usually presented as the whole menu. It is general relativity's choice from a longer one. The tide a wave carries is a symmetric table of six numbers, so any theory in which gravity is geometry allows six shapes; a theory keeps two only if its graviton has no mass and nothing else rides along with it. Give the graviton the smallest mass imaginable and it gains three more states, and one of them changes how much the Sun bends light — by a quarter, however small the mass.
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The bar a wave of gravity barely touches
The first gravitational-wave detectors were tonnes of aluminium, hung in a vacuum and listened to for ringing. A passing wave stretches and squeezes the bar, and the bar can answer only by vibrating against its own stiffness, so the fraction of the wave it catches is set by the speed of sound over the speed of light, squared: about three parts in ten billion. That one ratio explains why the bars had to be enormous and cold, why Joseph Weber's reported detections of 1969 would have required the Galaxy to be converting dozens of suns a day into gravitational waves, and why the waves were finally found by light instead.