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I finished The Pluto Files this weekend, the latest book by Neil deGrasse Tyson.  Astrophysicist and Director of the Hayden Planetarium at the American Museum of Natural History, Tyson is also a fervent advocate for science and making science understandable to the public.

The Pluto Files tells the story of Pluto’s reclassification, from ninth planet to dwarf planet.  There’s the history of the discovery, along with difficulties involved in planetary discovery in general:

In an embarrassing example from January 1769, the French astronomer Pierre Charles Lemonnier did not discover Uranus six times.

That particular planet had been repeatedly classified as either a comet or a star.  It was not officially recognized as a planet until 1781. As for Pluto, astronomers were searching for a “Planet X” to explain the perturbations in the orbits of Uranus and Neptune (perturbations which later turned out to be the result of poor estimation of the masses of the other planets, and not an undiscovered outer planet).

Tyson’s book describes the remodeling of the planetarium and the decision to classify the solar system by groups of related objects, and what that meant for Pluto in the grand scheme of things.  The second half deals with the public fallout of that decision, from school children wondering where Pluto was in the display of the relative sizes of planets (and hundreds of crayon-illustrated letters to that effect), to other scientists who accused the planetarium administration of going against scientific consensus in grouping Pluto with other objects in the Kuiper belt.  That was until the International Astronomical Union (IAU) voted to clarify the definition of planet. Currently, a planet is defined as a celestial body that:

  1. is in orbit around the Sun,
  2. has sufficient mass to assume hydrostatic equilibrium (a nearly round shape), and
  3. has “cleared the neighbourhood” around its orbit.

While Pluto has met the first two criteria, it has not met the third (hence the name Kuiper belt for the region of icy objects where Pluto resides). The funny thing is, we’ve been here before.  Ceres was declared a planet in 1801, and the number of planets in the solar system climbed to 23 as more were discovered.  We later learned that these objects were actually members of the asteroid belt, not planets at all.  Ceres didn’t have the cultural status of Pluto, though, and that’s what I found most interesting about The Pluto Files.

It’s a first hand account of how advances in scientific understanding can have a profound and direct impact on culture (and state legislatures).  Both New Mexico and California passed laws declaring Pluto a planet, though California’s bill is a bit tongue-in-cheek:

WHEREAS, Downgrading Pluto’s status will cause psychological harm to some Californians who question their place in the universe and worry about the instability of universal constants; and…

WHEREAS, The downgrading of Pluto reduces the number of planets available for legistive leaders to hide redistricting legislation and other inconvenient political reform measures….

What should have been celebrated as an advance in human understanding of the universe was instead decried as desecration of a universal constant (that didn’t actually exist).  And that is what makes people so uncomfortable.  Science can change to meet the presentation of new facts, and that’s a good thing.

The following is an conversation that Dr. Tyson participated in at the LA Public Library following the release of The Pluto Files. He’s an entertaining speaker with a wonderful sense of humor, and it’s interesting to hear his perspective on the controversy.

Stiff

After reading Bonk, I was curious about Mary Roach’s other books, so I reserved them at the library. I chose to read Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers first. Basically, Mary was exploring the options of what to do with your body when you die.

Burial is certainly the most common choice, but for those that donate their body for research, there are a myriad of options, not just being a cadaver in an anatomy lab. She went to the University of Tennessee’s Body Farm to find out exactly what happens to a human body after death, when left to its own devices. Some can end up in the embalming lab at mortician school, or as practice heads for plastic surgeons, or as crash test dummies. She found others in the Harvard Brain Bank, and thought that might be a possibility:

My reasons for becoming a brain donor aren’t very good at all. My reasons boil down to a Harvard Brain Bank donor wallet card,which enables me to say “I’m going to Harvard” and not be lying. You do not need brains to go to the Harvard Brain Bank — only a brain.

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What she wanted was to be a brain in jar, a la Abby Normal in Young Frankenstein. She was disappointed to discover the brains sliced and stored in rubbermaid containers in a lab refrigerator.

While this book is not for the squeamish, it’s definitely an interesting read, and gives the reader plenty to think about. Instead of embalming, how about compost?

The Lost King of FranceThis was one of my Half-Price Books finds that had been gathering dust in my to be read pile for several years. I had tried reading it once, got bored, and put it away. But when I picked it up at the end of the semester, I really couldn’t put it down.

The Lost King of France tells the story of the son of Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette, Louis-Charles, who was imprisoned in the Temple along with his parents and older sister during the Revolution. The tale is similar to what happened to the Romanovs in Russia at the turn of the 20th Century, but was one I had never heard. I knew, of course, that King Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette had been beheaded by Robspierre’s government, but not that their children remained imprisoned for years after their parents’ deaths.

Their daughter, Marie-Therese, was released (and exiled) in 1795, but her brother had been secluded years before, and rumors ran riot that he had been smuggled safely out of the Temple. As with the Romanovs, there were pretenders to the throne, which Marie-Therese never openly acknowledged, due in part to the official record stating that the dauphin had died in the Temple in 1795. But no one was really sure what had happened to him. That is, until 2000, when geneticists analyzed a tissue sample from a child’s heart, reportedly taken from the Orphan in the Tower during the autopsy by the attending physician.

This was a great read, engaging, and combining two of my favorite subjects, history and genetics. Better still, it demonstrates how genetic analysis can be used to answer historical questions, unequivocally.

Mendel’s Dwarf

Mendel's Dwarf

Simon Mawer’s Mendel’s Dwarf examines the ethical implications of genetic research through a fictional account of the discovery of the achondroplasia (dwarfism) gene. The title character is Dr. Benedict Lambert, a geneticist who also happens to be a dwarf and a distant nephew of the father of genetics, Gregor Mendel.

The novel skips between Ben’s research and Mendel’s work. The historical part of the novel was much more interesting to me, being the history of my field. The modern sections spent a little too much time focused on the one part of Ben that was “normal-sized,” and as a result, Ben isn’t a likable or sympathetic character. The actions in his personal life overshadow his work and accomplishments.

The novel did give me the opportunity to think about my field in a new way. I had heard before the Darwin never read Mendel, but it hadn’t occurred to me that Mendel probably read Darwin. On the Origin of Species was a famous book, not just in England but likely on the continent as well, so it makes sense that Mendel had access to it, given his interests.

Mention is made of the Russian geneticists who were prohibited from studying Mendel by the state, whose policy considered nurture above all, with no place for the possibility that some traits might be inherited. Those scientists who refused to toe the party line were either shot, imprisoned, or exiled to Siberia, some for upwards of 15 years. Scientists in the US have faced similar censorship in recent years, though not yet with such drastic results.

Mawer also draws parallels between the eugenics movement at the turn of the 20th century and modern “family-balancing” techniques, allowing parents to choose the sex of their offspring. He sees a slippery slope here, with genetic counseling being not so different from “purifying the genome” through ethnic cleansing. As a geneticist, I’m not sure I agree. But it’s definitely an issue worth examining, as we are only just beginning to consider the ethical implications of Mendel’s work.

Overall, the book is interesting, though it may make the reader uncomfortable. I think that, ultimately, may be Mawer’s intent.

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