I have always been fascinated by the untold narrative behind the precise dryness of scientific papers. So much is unsaid: the surges of triumph, the stupid mistakes, the bitter failures that litter the road to any accepted manuscript. Chronology is often tweaked, too: one of the few falsehoods formally permitted in scientific papers is the “Next, we decided to…” transition conceit that often describes as sequential those activities that were anything but, in real life.
So I was very excited when I became involved in ‘Strange Encounters’, a series of essays to be aired on BBC Radio 3 which ask scientists to describe a famous eureka moment in their field as if they were actually in the room. The producer was looking for a dramatic, novelistic style, and he was keen to avoid all the usual clichés – Watson and Crick’s helix, say, or Fleming’s Petri plate.
After some discussion, I was given the green light to imagine a critical day in the life of Peyton Rous. Working in the Rockefeller, Rous reported the first example of an RNA tumor virus in 1911 and inadvertently ushered in the era of modern cancer genetics. There wasn’t a lot on the web aside from his Nobel Prize biography, so I realized I was going to have to try to imagine his big moment through the distorted, minimalist lens of his seminal papers. And my deadline – 2000 words for a 15-minute broadcast – was in four days!
Kudos to J Ex Med for having digitized all of their back content; the two key papers, A transmissible avian neoplasm and A sarcoma of the fowl transmissible by an agent separable from the tumor cells, were available in pdf. I wasn’t, to be honest, expecting to learn very much about what had really happened from these, though. From most papers, you can’t even tell what year a discovery was actually made, let alone what time of year, or day. Would it be snowing outside of Peyton’s lab window, or a blazing summer day?
But fortunately, I discovered that they just don’t write ‘em like they used to. For good old Peyton had lavished a world of attention into the minute details of his discovery, which is visually arresting and reads at times like a diary:
OCT. 1, 1909. The fowl bearing the growth is a strong, young hen. The mass is situated on the right breast…It is irregularly spherical in shape, firm, smooth, well-defined, and projects sharply from the breast contour.
He didn’t attempt to gloss over the less admirable moments:
DEC. 12. 1909. Following operation on the nodule it grew rapidly and to-day measured 5.3 by 4 by 3.5 centimeters, when it was again cut into…Hemorrhage was so profuse…that the fowl was killed.
And the paper, unlike today’s, is jam-packed with negative results:
JAN. 27, 1910. The chickens were reinoculated, this time into the left breast, with material from second generation B.
MAY, 1910. All are still without signs of tumor.
And plenty of poetic drama, too:
Soon the whole of the inoculated breast is occupied by a bulging, rounded, firm growth (figure 5); and the host rapidly emaciates, becomes cold, somnolent, and dies.
Although Rous’s penchant for applying caveats sounds thoroughly modern:
The first tendency will be to regard the self-perpetuating agent active in this sarcoma of the fowl as a minute parasitic organism. Analogy with several infectious diseases of man…gives support to this view of the findings, and at present work is being directed to its experimental verification. But an agency of another sort is not out of the question. … For the moment we have not adopted either hypothesis.
And sometimes, the old-fashioned language made me laugh. To my delight, I discovered that scientists in Rous’s day did not ‘centrifuge’ samples, but rather ‘centrifugalized’ them – which sounds rather like something George W. Bush might have said.
I didn’t even have to imagine how his hens looked, because he’d supplied a large photograph of his barred Plymouth Rock subjects (though I did consult Henry about the general behavior of chickens). But of course, I did have to invent nearly everything else. For the purposes of drama, I made him a closer friend to his bacteriologist colleague Oswald Avery than he may actually have been in real life. The crucial moment I wanted to describe was not diarized in the second paper, so I guessed that it might have been May, the year before publication. I had to flesh out his personality, his dreams, his ambitions and his actions from my own mind, and I know the result cannot be even close to accurate. I also experienced a revelation that left a tinge of melancholy, still remaining: it is remarkable how thoroughly even important details are lost once someone dies. For example, I wanted him to think about his girlfriend at one point, but though I knew the name of his eventual wife, history remains silent on when they met – and even when they married. And this is a person who won the Nobel – what hope for the rest of us to leave behind many traces?
You can hear me tell the whole story of Peyton Rous’s big moment with destiny as he encounters Rous Sarcoma Virus – it’s this coming Wednesday, 24 June on BBC Radio 3 at 23:00. (And tune in every night this week, same time and channel, for four other tales across a spectrum of scientific discoveries.)
W00t.
I’m now starting the Campaign to use ‘centrifugalized’ in scientific papers, or ‘CUCS’. Who’s in?
He also used the noun, Centrifugalization, which is really hard to say out loud.
I think it’s an act of brilliantification that JEM have digitalized those papers.
Although very rare, that style of writing is still around… a few weeks ago, I was editing a manuscript that was describing in detail how an experimental setup on a rocky shore was “smashed to bits by vandals”. Reading this made me almost as sad as having to shorten that part of the narrative…
Oh, what a pity. Couldn’t you have trimmed elsewhere? I live for those little moments of humanity in papers.
Er – I had to do a lot of trimming on that one. But no worries, there was still lots of humanity left!
Er – I had to do a lot of trimming on that one. But no worries, there was still lots of humanity left!
Interesting double-comment…
I shouldn’t complain too much — after all, most writers now, at least, are ditching the passive voice and using personal pronouns. This already humanizes the prose to a great degree.
And this is a person who won the Nobel – what hope for the rest of us to leave behind many traces?
Next to none. Only the results may remain, and one might hope these will be transformed beyond all recognition in future generations.
Humbly yours.
I’d be quite happy to be remembered by people saying
“What did he mean, ‘Oops’?”
or even
“It’s a shame. I have fond memories of Rotherhithe.”
Although…after I posted this blog, I recalled that scientists these days are leaving a lot more traces than those of Rous’s day. Think about our websites, our Facebook pages, our blogs and tweets and extensive email correspondence. This is all assuming that digital content will indeed stand the test of time, which I assume is debatable.
Richard, you would make a lousy Mad Scientist.
That sounds like a challenge.
In which his attempt at a smart slug bomb goes horribly wrong…
you see, my problem is that I can’t find any smart slugs.
Foiled by stupidity. Again.
So that’s why you were asking me all those random questions about chickens. I’m still not sure you quite get it, though, the egg came first.
Lucky egg.
Not sure if it made the final cut, Henry, but my hens might not be as blinking as you would have liked…I feel bad about that.
You got hens, then?
Dope. No, my fictitious hens in the radio piece. They definitely have the smelly poo though, as suggested.
They definitely have the smelly poo though, as suggested
We’re embarked on an extensive programme of planting lavenders at thye Maison des Girrafes, to mask this problem.
I’m sure your neighbors appreciate it too.
That’s precisely the point. We don’t mind the smell. The neighbours are at present being mollified with eggs. However, the neighbours on one side are
movingtrying to sell their house, and on the other side, the husband has just walked out …Just a reminder: the broadcast is tonight at 11 PM on Radio 3! I’m not sure I have the fortitude to actually listen to my own voice.
You don’t really need fortitude: thirtitude is usually sufficient for most situations.
He’s here all week folks.
More’s the pity. Half-Day Closing Wednesdays.
Y’know Jenny, this gives me an idea. No, not Henry, but the diarization and fleshing out of personality. I meant to write a blog post about the events surrounding my NSB paper, and publicly said something about that soon after I started blogging here. But maybe I should write it up as a short story?
There’s a wonderful, humorous essay by Matthew Hall on LabLit in which he imagines writing a little bit of his last paper how it really happened. Well worth a look. But obviously write-ups like that would never be accepted for publication.
Thanks for reminding me about that one. I shall ponder… not like I don’t have enough on my plate already, of course.
not like I don’t have enough on my plate already, of course. Would that those eggs again???
–
However, the neighbours on one side are moving trying to sell their house, and on the other side, the husband has just walked out… Ooh, the drama of it all at
Maison des Girrafes“Cromer-enders”.Bah. And I’ve just put aside my copy of The Nobel Duel to read some novel by somebody or other named Jenny. Now I’m going to have to go back to thinking about Big Important Science, if I can do the time conversion right, and/or figure out where BBC’s going to archive the thing since I’ll be on my way home when it airs.
If you normally have access to the BBC, you can use the Listen Again feature (linked from here). It is available for the next seven days. I don’t know how access works for Commonwealth countries — I certainly didn’t have any luck in Germany. But you do have the same Queen, so that might help…
In fact I missed the broadcast myself, being down the pub with various Labliterati. But the archive is already up!
w00t! It might even work here in the Colonies.
Jenny, the essay you linked to was great! It also reminded me of a post by PhysioProf on “how not to write a scientific manuscript” that I enjoyed immensely. Those of you familiar with this blogger will know what to expect: for the rest of you, “colourful” language warnings apply.
Jenny, the essay you linked to was great! It also reminded me of a post by PhysioProf on “how not to write a scientific manuscript” that I enjoyed immensely. Those of you familiar with this blogger will know what to expect: for the rest of you, “colourful” language warnings apply.
D’oh!
Good news: the link works in Canadaland!
Bad news: I have no attention span for spoken word these days, so will listen later. (I’m also one or two lablit podcasts behind, but even further behind on non-Jenny audio, so it’s nothing personal!)
It’s amazing what you can do with Snapz Pro. Just sayin’.
Cath, thanks for that link. It’s interesting. I must be an aberration to the following proclamation, though:
Is something wrong with me?
Eva, don’t worry. 15 minutes is a long time. (If you think 15 minutes is hard to listen to, though, imagine recording it. Took us 2 hours to get it right; fortunately the producer was very patient with me.)
I listened last night and thought your audio essay was fantastic – what a great story! And you have a very good voice for radio – very easy on the ear. Is there no end to your talents?
Nothing wrong with you, Jenny. PhysioProf is a boring twat who covers it up by swearing a lot.
Two hours to fifteen minutes. So, considering I’m a rank amateur and we never have a script before we sit down to record the podcast, four hours scripting/recording/editing is pretty good going, then.
Thanks, Stephen. I had to overcome my natural tendency to speak way too fast without pausing for breath. The producer was practically conducting. It was a very interesting experience, learning where it is good to pause, to emphasize — not always where you might assume. I have found that even this short little lesson is already affecting how I talk when, say, telling a story down the pub. I felt that the cadence was a bit OTT, but the producer assured me that you need to put on a lot to keep people’s attention — if they don’t think you sound interested, they won’t be either.
Yes, the podcast has also been a great experience. This reminds me, anyone is welcome to be on the LabLit podcast — we are always looking for people to chat to. If you’re in London, we can come to you; if not, all you need is a recording device. We’ve even had people submit just things via the inbuilt microphone of their computer.
I was often the case that Jennifer, me too I love this stupid magnificence of the pathetic reality of the scientific papers that seek to further the success, or a single extend a “language” that only the “enlightened by science, can communicate each other, write in a style boasting of its “virtual” really playing God of truth.
I’d love to read some papers written in vernacular. Maybe as online publishing continues growing silly word limits will be done away with and we won’t have to use jargon?
Jenny, for me it depends on why I’m reading the paper. If I’m working on a grant with limited time, I don’t care in the least about the story behind the paper. If I’m more relaxed and spotted something interesting in my RSS feeds to read over a cup of tea, I do care.
What about submitting a ‘the making of’ with supplementary material? I’d like to see that once in a while
Brilliant idea Steffi!
Hm. I recorded a lecture for a “virtual” bioinformatics conference (notionally in Africa, but whatever). I guess you could call that a “podcast”, but I confess I’ve been too chicken to listen to it. I suspect it’s full of “ums” and “ahs”.
I’m looking forward to listening to the schooled and mellifluous tones of Dr. Rohn at home (oooooooooo such fortunate rhymes!).
P.S. Eva Amsen said:
Good news: the link works in Canadaland!
You still here, Eva? I thought you’d be being eaten by jellyfish or venomous sharks or something by now.
‘The Making of’, yes, complete with silly outtakes, picture of gels fallen into pieces on the floor, that sort of thing. A girl can dream.
Richard, I’ve never done a virtual talk for a virtual conference. For me, all the most important science stuff happens in the conference bar. Did your conference have any chat rooms with virtual beer, complete with eavesdropping functionality?
Did your conference have any chat rooms with virtual beer, complete with eavesdropping functionality?
{laughs}
Or maybe that should have been, strategic flirting functionality…
You mean like this?
“Would you like to come to the TC lab and see my cloning rings?”
Right. About scientific narrative…
cough
Sorry miss. But to be fair, it wasn’t me who started talking about flirting at conferences.
Cath is right: you do want, from a professional PoV, to get at the info stat. And indeed it takes so long to write a bloody paper that scripting the human side of the story is going to be laughed at by most researchers.
Having said that, from a historico-sociological perspective I think we’re losing a great deal by not recording the narrative. But that’s not going to change unless you can convince grant agencies and scientists that such recording is essential for the good of Science.
In my opinion, anyway, which is worth what you’re paying for it.
Guilty as charged.
I suppose scientists who blog are actually doing exactly this. A hundred years from now if someone wants to broadcast an historic eureka moment from, say, the life work of Dr Etchevers, he or she will have an order of magnitude more material to work with than I did with Peyton Rous.
In other words, maybe this scientist blogging malarkey isn’t as trivial as we all assume.
That sounds like a session suggestion.
No, I think you might be onto something here. I wonder if we could write a grant (probably have to be science comms) to fund official bloggers for labs… you’d want to call them ‘record keepers’ or something but that’s want they’d be doing.
If you need volunteers for that session, count me in.
We’re discussing the programme next week, so yeah, noted.
Richard Said:I’d love to read some papers written in vernacular. Maybe as online publishing continues growing silly word limits will be done away with and we won’t have to use jargon?
Alejandro answer: I think it would be best, since the texts with too much biased and pointing to a single solution, bored. Best,
P.S. Nice radio piece, Jenny. Just listening to it while emailing Cath and typing this comment. How very 21st-century of me.
And mentioning the podcast in your email to me, Mister Meta Man!
I can only keep about three things straight in my head at one time, Cath. It makes sense to refer to them all at the same time. Really it does.(1)
(1) Possibly not.
Do you two want to get a room?
Or at least keep a blog about it.
That leaves Richard one more thing to do simultaneously. Spoiled for choice!
Thanks, by the way. I noticed, actually, that the intro said I was talking us back to 1911. In the piece I say it’s 1910. I have a feeling that the BBC fact checkers, who are world famous, looked up the paper and saw it was published in 1911. Not taking into account, like I did, that experiments come long before the paper comes out, perhaps?
Erm…
Which Richard?
The one who can only keep three things straight in his head. Do try to keep up, class.
I’m lucky if I can keep one thing straight.
So, scientific narrative?
Did you do this deliberately?!
Me? With a master plan?
Don’t give me that innocent look. You’re fooling nobody.
I finally listened to the BBC thing. (There’s one day left!)
I had forgotten about it, but then I wrote an intro blog post related to another thing I thought about a long time ago, and realized that it was actually on the same topic (traveling back in history to witness a historic event) so instead of working on the blog post I listened to this. (I’ll wait with mine. Don’t want to seem a copycat. It was totally different, but the intro was something like “if you could travel in time to a historically significant scientific event…” and then I recognized this in it.)
Sorry, did I miss something? I was busy typing a report, reading some book by Jenny, drinking a coffee, and… I forget what else.
All at the same time?
Well, he can only do three things at once, remember.
My American publisher says he listened to my Beeb thing too – does that mean non-Commonwealth countries can access some of our content? Interesting.
Eva, I’d love to read your post. Don’t worry about copycattage. (Copycattery?)
I thought the radio was available worldwide but iPlayer TV was restricted?
Oh, I’m not done writing the post, and today is a holiday, and I’m tired, so it can wait.
Show some dedication, girl.