John Preskill, Richard P. Feynman Professor of Theoretical Physics at Caltech, has been named the 2024 John Stewart Bell Prize recipient. The prize honors John’s contributions in “the developments at the interface of efficient learning and processing of quantum information in quantum computation, and following upon long standing intellectual leadership in near-term quantum computing.” The committee cited John’s seminal work defining the concept of the NISQ (noisy intermediate-scale quantum) era, our joint work “Predicting Many Properties of a Quantum System from Very Few Measurements” proposing the classical shadow formalism, along with subsequent research that builds on classical shadows to develop new machine learning algorithms for processing information in the quantum world.
We are truly honored that our joint work on classical shadows played a role in John winning this prize. But as the citation implies, this is also a much-deserved “lifetime achievement” award. For the past two and a half decades, first at IQI and now at IQIM, John has cultivated a wonderful, world-class research environment at Caltech that celebrates intellectual freedom, while fostering collaborations between diverse groups of physicists, computer scientists, chemists, and mathematicians. John has said that his job is to shield young researchers from bureaucratic issues, teaching duties and the like, so that we can focus on what we love doing best. This extraordinary generosity of spirit has been responsible for seeding the world with some of the bests minds in the field of quantum information science and technology.
It is in this environment that the two of us (Robert and Richard) met and first developed the rudimentary form of classical shadows — inspired by Scott Aaronson’s idea of shadow tomography. While the initial form of classical shadows is mathematically appealing and was appreciated by the theorists (it was a short plenary talk at the premier quantum information theory conference), it was deemed too abstract to be of practical use. As a result, when we submitted the initial version of classical shadows for publication, the paper was rejected. John not only recognized the conceptual beauty of our initial idea, but also pointed us towards a direction that blossomed into the classical shadows we know today. Applications range from enabling scientists to more efficiently understand engineered quantum devices, speeding up various near-term quantum algorithms, to teaching machines to learn and predict the behavior of quantum systems.
Congratulations John! Thank you for bringing this community together to do extraordinarily fun research and for guiding us throughout the journey.
My husband taught me how to pronounce the name of the city where I’d be presenting a talk late last July: Aveiro, Portugal. Having studied Spanish, I pronounced the name as Ah-VEH-roh, with a v partway to a hard b. But my husband had studied Portuguese, so he recommended Ah-VAI-roo.
His accuracy impressed me when I heard the name pronounced by the organizer of the conference I was participating in—Theory of Quantum Computation, or TQC. Lídia del Rio grew up in Portugal and studied at the University of Aveiro, so I bow to her in matters of Portuguese pronunciation. I bow to her also for organizing one of the world’s largest annual quantum-computation conferences (with substantial help—fellow quantum physicist Nuriya Nurgalieva shared the burden). But Lídia cofounded Quantum, a journal that’s risen from a Gedankenexperiment to a go-to venue in six years. So she gives the impression of being able to manage anything.
Aveiro architecture
Watching Lídia open TQC gave me pause. I met her in 2013, the summer before beginning my PhD at Caltech. She was pursuing her PhD at ETH Zürich, which I was visiting. Lídia took me dancing at an Argentine-tango studio one evening. Now, she’d invited me to speak at an international conference that she was coordinating.
Lídia and me in Zürich as PhD students
Lídia opening TQC
Not only Lídia gave me pause; so did the three other invited speakers. Every one of them, I’d met when each of us was a grad student or a postdoc.
Richard Küng described classical shadows, a technique for extracting information about quantum states via measurements. Suppose we wish to infer about diverse properties of a quantum state (about diverse observables’ expectation values). We have to measure many copies of —some number of copies. The community expected to grow exponentially with the system’s size—for instance, with the number of qubits in a quantum computer’s register. We can get away with far fewer, Richard and collaborators showed, by randomizing our measurements.
Richard postdocked at Caltech while I was a grad student there. Two properties of his stand out in my memory: his describing, during group meetings, the math he’d been exploring and the Austrian accent in which he described that math.
Did this restaurant’s owners realize that quantum physicists were descending on their city? I have no idea.
Also while I was a grad student, Daniel Stilck França visited Caltech. Daniel’s TQC talk conveyed skepticism about whether near-term quantum computers can beat classical computers in optimization problems. Near-term quantum computers are NISQ (noisy, intermediate-scale quantum) devices. Daniel studied how noise (particularly, local depolarizing noise) propagates through NISQ circuits. Imagine a quantum computer suffering from a 1% noise error. The quantum computer loses its advantage over classical competitors after 10 layers of gates, Daniel concluded. Nor does he expect error mitigation—a bandaid en route to the sutures of quantum error correction—to help much.
From a 2021 Quantum Frontierspost of mine. I was tickled to see that TQC’s organizers used the photo from my 2021 post as Adam’s speaker photo.
Adam distinguished what we can compute using simple quantum circuits but not using simple classical ones. His results fall under the heading of complexity theory, about which one can rarely prove anything. Complexity theorists cling to their jobs by assuming conjectures widely expected to be true. Atop the assumptions, or conditions, they construct “conditional” proofs. Adam proved unconditional claims in complexity theory, thanks to the simplicity of the circuits he compared.
In my estimation, the talks conveyed cautious optimism: according to Adam, we can prove modest claims unconditionally in complexity theory. According to Richard, we can spare ourselves trials while measuring certain properties of quantum systems. Even Daniel’s talk inspired more optimism than he intended: a few years ago, the community couldn’t predict how noisy short-depth quantum circuits could perform. So his defeatism, rooted in evidence, marks an advance.
Aveiro nurtures optimism, I expect most visitors would agree. Sunshine drenches the city, and the canals sparkle—literally sparkle, as though devised by Elsa at a higher temperature than usual. Fresh fruit seems to wend its way into every meal.1 Art nouveau flowers scale the architecture, and fanciful designs pattern the tiled sidewalks.
What’s more, quantum information theorists of my generation were making good. Three riveted me in their talks, and another co-orchestrated one of the world’s largest quantum-computation gatherings. To think that she’d taken me dancing years before ascending to the global stage.
My husband and I made do, during our visit, by cobbling together our Spanish, his Portuguese, and occasional English. Could I hold a conversation with the Portuguese I gleaned? As adroitly as a NISQ circuit could beat a classical computer. But perhaps we’ll return to Portugal, and experimentalists are doubling down on quantum error correction. I remain cautiously optimistic.
1As do eggs, I was intrigued to discover. Enjoyed a hardboiled egg at breakfast? Have a fried egg on your hamburger at lunch. And another on your steak at dinner. And candied egg yolks for dessert.
This article takes its title from a book by former US Poet Laureate Billy Collins. The title alludes to a song in the musical My Fair Lady, “The Rain in Spain.” The song has grown so famous that I don’t think twice upon hearing the name. “The rain in Portugal” did lead me to think twice—and so did TQC.
With thanks to Lídia and Nuriya for their hospitality. You can submit to TQC2024 here.
This past summer, our quantum thermodynamics research group had the wonderful opportunity to visit the Dibner Rare Book Library in D.C. Located in a small corner of the Smithsonian National Museum of American History, tucked away behind flashier exhibits, the Dibner is home to thousands of rare books and manuscripts, some dating back many centuries.
Our advisor, Nicole Yunger Halpern, has a special connection to the Dibner, having interned there as an undergrad. She’s remained in contact with the head librarian, Lilla Vekerdy. For our visit, the two of them curated a large spread of scientific work related to thermodynamics, physics, and mathematics. The tomes ranged from a 1500s print of Euclid’s Elements to originals of Einstein’s manuscripts with hand-written notes in the margin.
The print of Euclid’s Elements was one of the standout exhibits. It featured a number of foldout nets of 3D solids, which had been cut and glued into the book by hand. Several hundred copies of this print are believed to have been made, each of them containing painstakingly crafted paper models. At the time, this technique was an innovation, resulting from printers’ explorations of the then-young art of large-scale book publication.
Another interesting exhibit was rough notes on ideal gases written by Planck, one of the fathers of quantum mechanics. Ideal gases are the prototypical model in statistical mechanics, capturing to high accuracy the behaviour of real gases within certain temperatures and pressures. The notes contained comparisons between Boltzmann, Ehrenfest, and Planck’s own calculations for classical and quantum ideal gases. Though the prose was in German, some results were instantly recognizable, such as the plot of the specific heat of a classical ideal gas, showing the stepwise jump as degrees of freedom freeze out.
Looking through these great physicists’ rough notes, scratched-out ideas, and personal correspondences was a unique experience, helping humanize them and place their work in historical context. Understanding the history of science doesn’t just need to be for historians, it can be useful for scientists themselves! Seeing how scientists persevered through unknowns, grappling with doubts and incomplete knowledge to generate new ideas, is inspiring. But when one only reads the final, polished result in a modern textbook, it can be difficult to appreciate this process of discovery. Another reason to study the historical development of scientific results is that core concepts have a way of arising time and again across science. Recognizing how these ideas have arisen in the past is insightful. Examining the creative processes of great scientists before us helps develop our own intuition and skillset.
Thanks to our advisor for this field trip – and make sure to check out the Dibner next time you’re in DC!
(about diverse observables’ expectation values). We have to measure many copies of 
of copies. The community expected 
Quantum Frontiers 