The definitive account of one of the most memorable events in medical history.



A chronicle of the race to map and sequence the human genome that pitted the government against private industry, no holds barred.

For government read Francis Collins at the National Institutes of Health, three other major genome labs in the US, and one in the UK funded by the Wellcome Trust. Private industry was Celera, the firm headed by former NIH-er J. Craig Venter with the aim of beating the feds for the greater glory of mankind—and profit, too. Science writer Shreeve (The Neandertal Enigma, 1995, etc.) was given unlimited access to Celera throughout, so the text largely tells Venter’s story and abounds with verbatim dialogue and witty descriptions of the principals: how they dressed, the jokes they told, the Sturm und Drang that accompanied triumphs and setbacks. There’s plenty of high drama here, especially among the extraordinary geeks who wrote the computer programs. Celera’s “whole genome shotgun” approach, in which the total human DNA is blasted into a gazillion fragments and then sequenced and ordered, competed against the government’s “map first/sequence later” approach, in which DNA landmarks are mapped on each chromosome, followed by sequencing to fill in the gaps. Government scientists thought Venter was crazy and resented the privatizing of genes. Venter was so sure he would bag the human genome first that he turned to Collins at a celebrated meeting and suggested “you can do mouse.” Neither Collins nor Venter and his staff, particularly the business side, come off nobly. Indeed, it may shock the naïve to learn that government officials were capable of end-runs and leaks to demonize Venter. The race ended in a carefully staged tie with Clinton and (via satellite) Tony Blair presiding over a smiling Collins and an affable Venter in the White House. But the acrimony lives on. Celera morphed into a drug development company and fired Venter, who started a new firm. Stay tuned.

The definitive account of one of the most memorable events in medical history.

Pub Date: Feb. 5, 2004

ISBN: 0-375-40629-8

Page Count: 384

Publisher: Knopf

Review Posted Online: May 20, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 15, 2003

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Loads of good explaining, with reminders, time and again, of how much remains unknown, neatly putting the death of science...


Bryson (I'm a Stranger Here Myself, 1999, etc.), a man who knows how to track down an explanation and make it confess, asks the hard questions of science—e.g., how did things get to be the way they are?—and, when possible, provides answers.

As he once went about making English intelligible, Bryson now attempts the same with the great moments of science, both the ideas themselves and their genesis, to resounding success. Piqued by his own ignorance on these matters, he’s egged on even more so by the people who’ve figured out—or think they’ve figured out—such things as what is in the center of the Earth. So he goes exploring, in the library and in company with scientists at work today, to get a grip on a range of topics from subatomic particles to cosmology. The aim is to deliver reports on these subjects in terms anyone can understand, and for the most part, it works. The most difficult is the nonintuitive material—time as part of space, say, or proteins inventing themselves spontaneously, without direction—and the quantum leaps unusual minds have made: as J.B.S. Haldane once put it, “The universe is not only queerer than we suppose; it is queerer than we can suppose.” Mostly, though, Bryson renders clear the evolution of continental drift, atomic structure, singularity, the extinction of the dinosaur, and a mighty host of other subjects in self-contained chapters that can be taken at a bite, rather than read wholesale. He delivers the human-interest angle on the scientists, and he keeps the reader laughing and willing to forge ahead, even over their heads: the human body, for instance, harboring enough energy “to explode with the force of thirty very large hydrogen bombs, assuming you knew how to liberate it and really wished to make a point.”

Loads of good explaining, with reminders, time and again, of how much remains unknown, neatly putting the death of science into perspective.

Pub Date: May 6, 2003

ISBN: 0-7679-0817-1

Page Count: 304

Publisher: Broadway

Review Posted Online: May 20, 2010

Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 1, 2003

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A quirky wonder of a book.



A Peabody Award–winning NPR science reporter chronicles the life of a turn-of-the-century scientist and how her quest led to significant revelations about the meaning of order, chaos, and her own existence.

Miller began doing research on David Starr Jordan (1851-1931) to understand how he had managed to carry on after the 1906 San Francisco earthquake destroyed his work. A taxonomist who is credited with discovering “a full fifth of fish known to man in his day,” Jordan had amassed an unparalleled collection of ichthyological specimens. Gathering up all the fish he could save, Jordan sewed the nameplates that had been on the destroyed jars directly onto the fish. His perseverance intrigued the author, who also discusses the struggles she underwent after her affair with a woman ended a heterosexual relationship. Born into an upstate New York farm family, Jordan attended Cornell and then became an itinerant scholar and field researcher until he landed at Indiana University, where his first ichthyological collection was destroyed by lightning. In between this catastrophe and others involving family members’ deaths, he reconstructed his collection. Later, he was appointed as the founding president of Stanford, where he evolved into a Machiavellian figure who trampled on colleagues and sang the praises of eugenics. Miller concludes that Jordan displayed the characteristics of someone who relied on “positive illusions” to rebound from disaster and that his stand on eugenics came from a belief in “a divine hierarchy from bacteria to humans that point[ed]…toward better.” Considering recent research that negates biological hierarchies, the author then suggests that Jordan’s beloved taxonomic category—fish—does not exist. Part biography, part science report, and part meditation on how the chaos that caused Miller’s existential misery could also bring self-acceptance and a loving wife, this unique book is an ingenious celebration of diversity and the mysterious order that underlies all existence.

A quirky wonder of a book.

Pub Date: April 14, 2020

ISBN: 978-1-5011-6027-1

Page Count: 224

Publisher: Simon & Schuster

Review Posted Online: Jan. 2, 2020

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2020

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