Rheology — the series
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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.
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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.
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The paste that holds up its own hill
Toothpaste stands on a brush and ketchup does not stand on a plate, and the difference is a single number with the units of a pressure. Below it a material does not flow slowly — it does not flow. That threshold turns a rheological property into a length, and the length is why a lava flow's thickness says what the lava was made of.
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The liquid that climbs the rod
Stir water with a rod and it is flung outward, leaving a dip at the centre. Stir a polymer solution and it climbs the rod instead. Nothing about the viscosity can produce that, however large it is made — what produces it is a second stress that appears in shear and has no Newtonian counterpart at all, growing as the square of the rate where the familiar one grows in proportion.
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The stretch a chain cannot outrun
A Newtonian liquid pulled into a thread resists exactly three times as hard as it resists being sheared, whatever it is made of. A polymer solution resists three times as hard only until the stretch rate passes one over twice its relaxation time. Past that, its chains can no longer recoil as fast as they are pulled apart, and the same liquid that is barely thicker than water in a stirred beaker becomes hundreds of times stiffer in a thread.
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The suspension that seizes when pushed hard
Cornflour stirred into half its volume of water runs off a spoon like cream, and a fist driven into it bounces off as if it had hit a floor. The particles have not changed and neither has the water. What changes, above a threshold stress, is the kind of contact between neighbouring grains: lubricated, they slide past one another and the suspension can pack to 64 per cent before it locks; pressed into frictional contact, they lock at 58. A suspension sitting between those two numbers is a liquid when handled gently and a solid when handled hard.
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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.
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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.
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The sand that lets a body in and will not let it out
Quicksand cannot swallow anyone: liquefied, it is nearly twice as dense as water, and a person in it floats with their chest clear. What makes it dangerous is the opposite asymmetry. Going in is easy, because a step breaks the gel holding the grains apart and the sand turns liquid. Coming out is hard, because the sand settles and packs around whatever sank, and a trapped foot can only rise as fast as water can seep through the packed grains to fill the space it leaves. Pulling harder barely helps; letting water in does.