{"id":680,"date":"2008-11-06T08:05:29","date_gmt":"2008-11-06T08:05:29","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/occamstypewriter.org\/mindthegap\/2008\/11\/06\/in_which_scientists_conveniently_forget_what_they_know\/"},"modified":"2008-11-06T08:05:29","modified_gmt":"2008-11-06T08:05:29","slug":"in_which_scientists_conveniently_forget_what_they_know","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/occamstypewriter.org\/mindthegap\/2008\/11\/06\/in_which_scientists_conveniently_forget_what_they_know\/","title":{"rendered":"In which scientists conveniently forget what they know"},"content":{"rendered":"

In fiction, there seems to be an instinctive belief that anything mentioned by characters in dialogue is automatically rendered casual or unobtrusive – that the puppet strings of authorial intent are rendered invisible by speech. I say instinctive because, of all the problematic stories we receive for consideration at LabLit<\/a>, informative dialogue is the biggest offender. Here is a genuine example of a passage in a piece we had to reject (with animal and transgenic product changed to protect the innocent):<\/p>\n

\n%{font-size:7pt}Scientist A: “Have you cloned that gene yet?”
\nScientist B: “What, you mean that little piece of DNA, which is a string of chemicals that serve as the body’s blueprint, that we’re using to make a protein so that our genetically engineered chickens will express chocolate eggs? No, not yet.”%\n<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\nThis exchange is unpleasant in at least two ways. First, it is an example of informative dialogue<\/em>: in real life, scientist A would know that Scientist B knows exactly what a gene is, and A’s question also betrays that she already knows what the project is about too, so being fed it again is tedious. Second, the scientific explanation is long and clunky: what is known as exposition<\/em> or, more colloquially, as an infodump<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\nA better way to treat the same information might be:<\/p>\n

\n%{font-size:7pt}Scientist A: “Have you cloned that gene yet?”
\nScientist B: “No. It’s really frustrating: I’m sure I’ve got the chocolate gene working, but I can’t get the chickens to express it in their eggs.”%\n<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\nIt’s true that in this example, if you didn’t know what a gene was you’d be none the wiser. But does that really matter? The passage gives you everything you needed to know for this story: the ultimate goal of the project, and the emotional aspects of its continued failure. Letting go of informative dialogue is a way of forcing yourself to simplify, which is always a good thing.<\/p>\n

\nBut what if you really do need to transmit what a gene is? Ignorant characters are very useful, but you need to beware of those Good heavens, Miss Sakamoto, you’re beautiful<\/em> moments: the lofty scientist lecturing to the lovely young assistant. I like to use this device in small doses, and I like to use more than one character over time: the student; the husband; the pub mate; the colleague who isn’t a specialist, all providing a sounding board and a slightly different angle. The scientist should never lecture the ignorant character; it should instead be a lively exchange of science and non-science. You can also use radio broadcasts, newspaper clippings and snippets from fictional talks to slip in information en passante<\/em>. If you have spent some time delivering complex key information in a scene in this piecemeal fashion, it can help to gently reinforce any key messages near the end with non-pedantic, unobtrusive summary.<\/p>\n

\nOnce you free yourself from the curse of exposition and informative dialogue, an entire world of possibility opens up in the form of metaphors, analogy and similes. I think one of the best parts of writing about science in fiction is the chance to view the profession through a more poetic lens by comparing it to the everyday. Here’s a more light-hearted passage from my first novel, in which the protagonist is frisking the baddie’s office for clues:<\/p>\n

\nI have always prided myself on my steady hands. After all, I was a man who, fuelled only by vending machine snacks, could go for two nights without sleep and still operate a pipettor skilfully enough to string together chains of DNA into bold new configurations. Yet as I looked over my shoulder at the closed door, went around to the other side of the desk and crouched there opening one drawer after another, my hands were shaking uncontrollably, fumbling and dropping things like the greenest undergraduate who ever decimated a lab’s supply of glassware.<\/span>\n<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\nAnd here’s one that’s more serious, from my second novel, in which the protagonist is thinking about why she became a researcher:<\/p>\n

\nClaire could still remember the first time she saw living cells under the microscope, in her introductory undergraduate biology practical. Textbook photos had not prepared her for the reality. How could this strange carpet of luminous bubble-wrap equate to the smooth surface of someone’s skin, or the curve of a heart or the cornea of an eye? It was as if she’d walked on the featureless expanse of the beach for years before bothering to kneel down and notice that the sand was actually a chaotic mix of impossibly tiny rocks and shells and bits of organic matter, as rugged as a boulder scree to an insect struggling across it. It was this miracle of scale that had grabbed her by both shoulders, shaken the sense out of her and made her fall in love with biology. With the vast and unknowable beauty of life, if she was honest. Corny and romantic, perhaps, but she didn’t care<\/span>\n<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\nOnly a few more weeks now until Experimental Heart<\/em> is published. Next time I’ll talk about some of the barriers to getting a lab lit novel published, and a possible way around them. In the meantime, you can pre-order the book now! <\/p>\n

\nFrom the publisher<\/a>
\n(If you register for free as a Gold Member, the fine folks at CSHL Press will give you a 10% discount)<\/p>\n

\nAmazon.com<\/a><\/p>\n

\nAmazon.co.uk<\/a><\/p>\n

\nEgg hunt clue<\/a>: vlqpss<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In fiction, there seems to be an instinctive belief that anything mentioned by characters in dialogue is automatically rendered casual or unobtrusive – that the puppet strings of authorial intent are rendered invisible by speech. I say instinctive because, of … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":6,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-680","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/occamstypewriter.org\/mindthegap\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/680","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/occamstypewriter.org\/mindthegap\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/occamstypewriter.org\/mindthegap\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/occamstypewriter.org\/mindthegap\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/6"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/occamstypewriter.org\/mindthegap\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=680"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/occamstypewriter.org\/mindthegap\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/680\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/occamstypewriter.org\/mindthegap\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=680"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/occamstypewriter.org\/mindthegap\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=680"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/occamstypewriter.org\/mindthegap\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=680"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}