Harper Collins, stg£25

In his lifetime, the Victorian scientist Michael Faraday was an immediately recognisable figure. His was a name which swelled the hearts of the Victorians with pride and wonder.

Such adulation is still well deserving as his contribution to our world is immeasurable. Yet the name Faraday has not attached itself to any great inventions, discoveries or institutions.

Pasteurisation, Darwinism, volts and amps are all words that immortalise great scientists, but this is not the case with the humble Faraday.

The fruits of his labour are all around us: the electricity that powers our every need, the multiplicity of dyes that colour our clothes, precision-made spectacles, steel razors, aeroplanes free from lightning strikes, chlorinated swimming pools and effective lighthouses. Yet he never patented any of his discoveries.

James Hamilton, Faraday's latest biographer, describes an exciting time when scientists were as popular as writers, when public lectures on subjects such as electricity and magnetism were as packed as a David Beckham book signing.

Faraday was born the son of a sickly blacksmith and grew up in London within the confines of the Sandemanian Church, one of the many religious factions of the time. The family's lowly status and financial straits led Faraday to describe his education as "little more than the rudiments of reading, writing and arithmetic at a common day school". He never received a university education.

The author describes Sandemanians as preachers of "love and hope rather than hellfire and damnation, but it was a tough love". On occasion Faraday's inquiring mind conflicted with the Sandemanian world view, but despite this he remained faithful to his church throughout his life.

He started his working life as a bookbinder, though he longed to be part of the world of science, which he learned about with all the vigour of an autodidact. When his apprenticeship came to an end, a combination of mishap on the part of the eminent scientist, Sir Humphrey Davy, who injured his eye, and circumstance on Faraday's part, meant he was called to be Davy's secretary.

In October 1813 at the age of 22, Faraday found himself accompanying Davy on a grand tour of Europe. Concerns about geopolitical uncertainty in Europe meant that they were among the last to undertake these tours.

Remarkably, Davy was given permission to visit Napoleonic France, Britain's enemy at the time, in order to receive a medal from the Institut de France for his research in electrochemistry.

Faraday's and Davy's accounts of their time in France were unique as Englishmen in enemy France. Faraday was a prolific note taker and correspondent, and the book draws amply from his view of France at the height of Napoleon's power.

Following a number of months in France, the party moved on to Italy and from there to Germany. When he returned to England, he had gained a breadth of experience unequalled by a man of his class for that time.

Although Davy alternated between treating him as an intellectual equal and a valet, their time together meant Faraday had met some of the foremost scientists of the age such as Ampe re in France and Volta in Italy.

They returned to the Royal Institution where his talent was nurtured, though Davy could never really forget Faraday's humble origins. Even as Faraday's career soared, Davy continued to treat him as a servant and in a final petulant act, did his best to block Faraday's nomination as a Fellow of the Royal Institution.

Faraday viewed his role in life as reading "the book of nature . . . written by the finger of God".

As his success and fame increased the popularity of his spirited and lively lectures grew. He never forgot the value of education and initiated the Juvenile Lectures at the Royal Institution. He strongly believed in equality of educational opportunity and long promoted `public wellbeing' through scientific discoveries.

One group of boys were so taken with him that they waited on the route he took to Sunday service in order to doff their hats. Faraday would solemnly return the gesture. The boys would then race through alleyways to catch his carriage at another junction, where they would respectfully doff their hats again.

Faraday was always quick to use his position for the greater good. Throughout his life he was called many times as an expert witness. In 1851 he was on the committee of the Great Exhibition; in 1855 he wrote to the Times, drawing attention to the lamentable and poisonous state of the Thames. Later he gave evidence to the Public Schools Commission regarding science education. He was quick to show his disappointment and anger with the commission's remit, which was the education of the "upper classes".

In his old age, he continued to lament the state of education in Britain, where even those whom the establishment believed to be better educated remained "ignorant of their ignorance".

He ended his life surrounded by the comforts and security of his religion, although he had never allowed his religion to enter his public life. He was never drawn to explain his spiritual beliefs, and, in keeping with the private nature of the Sandemanians, refused to discuss it with his non-Sandemanian colleagues and friends.

Hamilton could have chosen many other scientists of this period as a subject of a biography, but few share Faraday's humble beginnings. Fewer still remained as self-effacing backed by such a canon of discoveries and successes.

Hamilton, an art historian by trade, delivers a fine portrait of the quintessential Victorian. His deft handling of sources and texts bring to life the Faraday who was viewed by his peers as an "exemplar of contemporary life". Hamilton's work is not just worth a read for the superbly crafted writing, but also for the many resonances this book has for today's society.