Or rather, science they write.
Seven fiction writers have kindly agreed to contribute to a study focused on the relationships between science and literary fiction.
What do all these authors have in common? They write fiction where science is the specific background of the plot; their vector of transmission can be defined as documented literary fiction.
Selecting the writers for this research proved a delicate issue; therefore to tackle this question, the final choice was sustained by my own sensitivity towards both the style and subject of each novel. These authors touched me as a reader first before becoming a considered choice.
While doing research for some teaching material about the links between science and fiction, the large selection of fiction and non-fiction texts listed in this webzine Lablit.com proved particularly resourceful.
Indeed, it showed that a substantial number of writers contribute to the development of this recent literary genre.
The option to communicate via email with the seven writers who had initially agreed to reply to my questionnaire stemmed from my own approach as a PhD student. My research on the concept of intertextuality in Margaret Drabble’s fiction was primarily based on several interviews with her. This interactive technique contributed to the development of further research for my dissertation subject[1].
I decided thus to proceed with the same method for a new research theme based on literary documented fiction.
Literary documented fiction provides a representation of the scientific (or historical) experiment into literary experience. Fact and fiction intertwine into the subtlety of the narrative, and the artistic skill lies in the process of using the story to convey a message of authenticity.
The professional status of the authors selected for the interviews confers a scientific legitimacy to their stories and particularly for the reason that, beyond their novels, these writers feel the need to communicate about their work and about their artistic approach throughout numerous articles, essays and blogs. Their communication process certainly leads the reader to develop two-level access into the act of reading, where pleasure combined with a sense of learning intertwine with each other. The pleasure of reading their fiction and their comments about their fiction gives a non-scientist reader a sense of expertise whereby even a limited scientific competence can actually reach the deep meaning of the narrative: a sense of becoming an informed learner. As a regular contributor to Lablit.com, Pippa Goldschmidt states, “Literature can investigate science, and this investigation can uniquely add to our understanding.” [2]
In their fictional pact with their readers, the authors of documented fiction take their scientific sources in daily professional life; they focus their thematic on science (or history in the case of Tracy Chevalier). This implicit pact between reader and writer allows a narrative in which fact and fiction mingle. Nevertheless, the authors all take into account that their readers may have only a minimal knowledge of the scientific context or historical background in which the narration takes place. Therefore, their texts remain “open” texts – the reader does not have to mobilize inaccessible skills or develop unexpected cultural knowledge to get gripped by the narration. Yet, the expertise in their specific domain along with concern towards their readers lead these novelists to be both accurate in their scientific sources and attractive in their narrative. As Tracy Chevalier admits, “Much of the joy of writing historical novels comes from doing the research”. [3]
Long gone is the two-culture controversy…
Ann Lingard
Dr Ann Lackie is a former lecturer and researcher in zoology. She taught at the university of Glasgow before switching to writing under the pen name Ann Lingard. She created SciTalk, a free resource site where scientists share their knowledge with writers. In her novel Seaside Pleasures (2003) science, history and geography are parts of the story framework.
When you write, to what extent do you think about the reader? Do you ever get the temptation to teach when you write fiction? (I’m referring to one of your interviews where you mentioned “Once a teacher, always a teacher”[4].)
Did I say that? What a give-away! But rather than a question of teaching, it’s more that I want to share / show what has captured my interest or puzzlement or excitement (or my curiosity – see your question below). It’s probably only then that I think about the reader. When I’m immersed in what the characters are doing, how they are interacting with each other, then they and the story take over, and I’m certainly not thinking about or even be aware of a reader.
How do get your inspiration for your subjects? Is curiosity your main “fuel”?
Yes, curiosity, and interest in how people live their lives. Why would I want to write about a lame violinist, a woman living on an island, someone who is a mathematician, someone who is achondroplasic? Partly because I want to understand how they might live and conduct their lives, as individuals and as people who have to interact (or not) with other people, and their environment. That sounds cold and calculating: but I hope my fiction writing doesn’t come across that way. In the real world, I have been very involved in the last few years talking to people – listening to people – and writing about them in terms of their work (eg in Solway Shore Stories).
But, going back to ‘inspiration’ – it also comes from all kinds of places, small incidents, something I have seen, or heard on the radio.
Currently, I’m rather inspired by dogs…
How accurate do you try to be in the non-fictional parts of your novels?
Oh, that’s very important. There’s nothing worse than reading a good novel and finding a glaring error. But actually, the best part of writing a novel is, for me, doing the ‘research’ (in a writer’s sense not a scientist’s, obviously!). I love delving into new subjects, finding people who are ‘experts’, talking and writing to them to find out more, visiting libraries, galleries and so on. It’s a form of ‘work avoidance’ – the actual writing is the hard work, the research is exciting and fun.
What sort of process do you set up to make sure your books get finished?
I don’t. They will get finished.
Do you think that a writer has – to a certain extent –- a pedagogic role?
The books that I most enjoy reading (other than quick-read holiday-time ‘trash’) are probably ones where I have learnt something new or had some new insights into ideas, or places, or a person. So I suppose that, yes, I admire writers who show (teach?) me something new – and this is what I aspire to, as well.
(I am very bored with self-referential novels about writers, or novels about the enclosed metropolitan world, where there is nothing new. Get out of the bubble – find out about something new, learn something new, and show it to your readers!)
Have you got a recipe to cross boundaries more easily in the academic world (apart from creating the SciTalk site)?
I’ve been out of academia for a long time now and the university system in the UK has changed dramatically. But these days scientists do seem to be very much better at talking about their subjects and enthusing audiences: I and my husband run our local ‘Cafe Scientifique’ and the speakers, especially the younger ones, are often extremely good – they have to talk for 30 minutes without slides (they can bring a few photos or objects to pass round if that helps). This is challenging but it’s an excellent way of crossing boundaries.
There seem to be many small attempts to bring scientists and artists, musicians, etc. together, all over the place; but there’s a lot of ‘re-inventing the wheel’, and often it’s not clear what use the outcome is. It’s often transient, often baffling, often one-sided.
Pippa Goldschmidt
Pippa Goldschmidt has a PhD in astronomy and worked at Imperial College for several years. She also has a Master’s degree in creative writing. Both her fiction and non-fiction writings develop the subject of the links between science and literature. Her début novel The Falling Sky (2013) explores the fascinating world of astronomy through the experience of a post-doctoral researcher.
When you write, to what extent do you think about the reader?
I find that the process of writing fiction involves different types of thought-processes. Initially when I first have an idea, I’m not thinking about the reader at all. I’m solely intent on getting the story down, developing the characters in the way that I see them and finding interesting language (at least interesting to me) to tell the story in. In the later stages of editing and redrafting I think more about the hypothetical reader, and how they will understand the work in all its facets. When I have a decent draft of the work I will test it out on a reader (usually another writer!).
Do you think that a writer has – to a certain extent – a pedagogic role?
If they do, then this is incidental. I think that literature can teach a lot about how people think, and how the world works. But this is secondary to its function as art. Fiction goes wrong when it becomes primarily concerned with teaching – for example this can lead to propaganda.
On the other hand, I have learnt a lot from fiction! One of my favourite books is ‘Half of a Yellow Sun’ by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie which is about the Nigerian/Biafran war. I learnt a huge amount about Nigerian history from this book, but its main appeal was the artistic/literary qualities.
How do get your inspiration for your fiction subjects? Is curiosity your main “fuel”?
I get inspiration from other types of writing, such as newspapers, science magazines, non-fiction books, and online blogs. I also watch a lot of documentaries and go to art galleries. But it’s difficult to say where an idea comes from. I have a lot of long-term preoccupations with aspects of science and also with Greek myths which inspire me.
I’m intrigued by the way that science is presented and written about, and the pervasive metaphors that are used to communicate it.
I’m also inspired by other fiction and also poetry – which helps me think not only about ‘content’ but also about ‘form’, how do other writers approach different subject matter?
And yes, I think curiosity is a main driver. I often ask myself ‘what if…’ I think writing fiction is a bit like doing an experiment, because I write the story to find out what happened after thinking up an initial question or a scenario.
Being an astronomer certainly helps in injecting scientific elements in the depths of a story; however, how accurate do you try to be in the non-fictional parts of your fiction?
I tried to be as accurate as possible, by checking the facts and ensuring that the story was as realistic as possible. Unfortunately there are still a couple of errors in the novel which irritates me.
What sort of process did you set up to make sure your novel got finished?
Well, it took a long time (about 6 years) to write the novel and I wasn’t aware of any sort of process at the beginning. I didn’t know anything about writing, I just knew that I wanted to write a novel about real science. The first draft took a few years to write and didn’t have any sort of plot, because I didn’t know the plot at that point. It took two more drafts before it was recognisably the book that is now published. And during the writing process I did a Master’s degree in creative writing, which helped me assess my own writing in a more rigorous and objective way.
My second novel has much more of a recognisable ‘process’ but I don’t think anything can guarantee that I will end up with a decent novel. So much of the initial stage is reliant on subconscious inspiration…
Have you got a “recipe” to cross boundaries more easily in the academic world in order to fill the gap between the “two cultures”?
I wish I did have a recipe, it would make my life easier! I know it is difficult to write good literature about science without becoming too didactic and losing sight of the essential artistic qualities of the writing. I have realised that it is easy to take for granted what you know and assume it is straightforward to understand, and that you really cannot include that much science in a work of fiction without losing your readers. I have a lot of bad fiction which makes the mistake of including too much science so that the characters simply become talking heads.
In the academic world – I’m not sure what would help people fill the gap. I suppose more science outreach and encouraging a greater awareness by scientists of the value of interdisciplinary work would help. Also, the education system (particularly in England) encourages kids to specialise in humanities or sciences at a ridiculously early age. Most children don’t study any science at all after the age of 16.
What was the purpose in using different narrative voices in The Falling Sky?
There is only one voice (Jeanette’s), but I used different registers – such as the dominant realistic voice as well as the more dream-like one, for the short pieces in italics. I wanted to show that Jeanette’s subconscious was also important and I also wanted to provide a bit of variety for the reader, a chance to read something a bit off-beat.
Rebecca Stott
Rebecca Stott is a novelist and non-fiction writer. She is also and professor of literature and creative writing. In her novel The Coral Thief (2009), she depicts the mysterious adventures of a promising young scientist. The novel weaves well-researched intellectual facts and scientific ideas of nineteenth century Paris.
When you write, to what extent do you think about the reader? Do you ever get the temptation to teach when you write fiction?
No – although I want to show my reader certain things and ideas that I find interesting I also know that as soon as I sound like I am teaching (what we call expository writing) I will lose my reader. So the aim is to work in ideas and information as naturally as possible so that people don’t notice they are being ‘shown’ things: science, history, philosophy etc. This often means taking a lot of material out in the last stages of the book – or sinking it. What you don’t want is any section that begins with a character saying ‘Let me tell you about…’. In real life people don’t tell each other about politics and things like that. They just talk about it. So the trick is finding a balance between what’s natural and introducing historical ideas and information.
How do get your inspiration for your subjects? Is curiosity your main “fuel”?
Yes. I write about things about which I am curious. In The Coral Thief for instance I wanted to know what it was like to be a student at the Jardin just after Waterloo. I wanted to know what Paris was like and so I end up bringing the place alive for me as well as for my reader.
In one of your interviews about The Coral Thief, you mentioned the obsession of detail, so how accurate do you try to be in the non-fictional parts of your novels?
I try to be absolutely accurate as far as the historical records allow. This means reading guide books, finding pictures, working out distances between one place and another. The thing is that if you get these things wrong someone will write and tell you! So it is much better to over-research the little details and make sure that you get the street lights right for instance than to have to write and answer someone who is an expert on street lights in Paris in the nineteenth century who is upset to find you’ve got it wrong and writes to tell you.
What sort of process do you set up to make sure your books get finished?
It’s a complicated process. I wrote Coral Thief in two years, thought I’d finished it and sent it to my agent. She sent it back and said she didn’t think it was ready yet. There were problems with the plot with some characters etc. So I did another version. Eventually she said she thought it was ready. It went to the publishers. They bought it. They liked it. But they wanted changes too. My American publisher wanted changes. Then there were the Italians. All the time their suggestions are only suggestions and they don’t always agree so the decision is always mine. But I generally find that publishers are really good at seeing things that can be altered or improved and I probably implement about half of them. Then there’s copy editing and fact checking. Then there is the proofreading. A book has many many different stages to go through. The trick is to keep as fresh a pair of eyes as possible and to try to stay true to your original vision for the book.
Do you think that a writer has – to a certain extent – a pedagogic role? Do you ever get the temptation to teach or to lecture when you write?
Not really. I don’t write to teach. I write to show or to resurrect. My job is to bring the streets and the characters and the time to life as much as I can with the information that is available in libraries and history books. That’s the delight. My curiosity drives it: what ‘was it like to walk down that street at 2am in the morning on the 27th of September, 1815 and you think you are being followed…?’ etc. Then I have to find out how the street was lit, what the night sounds might have been etc.
Have you got a “recipe” to cross boundaries more easily in the academic world in order to fill the gap between the “two cultures”?
Curiosity is the recipe. If you have really interesting questions like ‘how did Cuvier’s laboratory work?’ or ‘what did Cuvier like to read?’ then the question dictates where you go and it makes you cross boundaries in trying to answer them. I have always been a roamer of libraries because I have always been following very interesting questions. ‘Where and how was that piece of glass made? How did it travel from the glasshouse in Italy to the market in Cambridge in 1665?’ Those last two questions (at the heart of my novel Ghostwalk) took me four months to work out. To answer them I had to read books on the history of glassmaking and the glass trade, trade monopolies in the British glass industry in the seventeenth century, the aftermath of the civil war, books about the history of the drainage of the Fens and books about recipes for glass. Fascinating. All interesting questions make us cross discipline boundaries I think. And they also yield fascinating new stories and complex connections.
Tracy Chevalier
After working as a reference book writer, she devoted herself to a Master’s degree in creative writing and began her career as a novelist in 1997 with the novel The Virgin Blue. In 1999 she wrote her second novel The Girl with a Pearl Earring, which was adapted from cinema in 2003.
In 2016, her 8th novel, Remarkable Creatures was published, based on the life of Mary Anning, a nineteenth century fossil hunter.
When you write, to what extent do you think about the reader? And when you said “I feel comfortable looking into things I don’t know much about. I want to learn”, don’t you feel you somehow swap roles with the reader?
I think about the reader all the time. After all, I am writing for them. If an author doesn’t think about the reader, they are writing a journal, for themselves. I’m not like that.
It’s not a swap since the reader doesn’t become the writer, but I definitely become a reader as I’m writing. I’m always learning, and thinking about the story, questioning it, being entertained by it – just as a reader does.
You mentioned “All of my books start with a spark of an idea. I usually start by researching around that specific spark.” How do those sparks come to you?
I never know when that spark is going to arrive. It can come when I’m lying in bed looking at a painting (Girl with a Pearl Earring), or going on a tour of a cemetery (Falling Angels), or going to a dinosaur museum and reading about an unusual person (Remarkable Creatures). Usually if I try to think up an idea, I fail. It has to jump on me when I’m not expecting it. Right away I know it’s an idea for a novel. Rarely do I doubt it.
You also said “I start to write without having completed the research, because once you start writing, it opens up a lot of other questions that you need to do research on, and so I feel like my research process is never complete.” How accurate do you try to be in the non-fictional parts of your novels? What sort of process do you set up to make sure your books get finished?
I try to be as accurate as possible. Partly it’s my training – I was a reference book editor before I started writing, and it’s a point of pride to get things right. Also, I know that many people will read my novels about Mary Anning, or Highgate Cemetery, or Johannes Vermeer, and that is the only thing they will read about them, and will assume it’s fact. Though it isn’t all fact, I need to make what is factual as accurate as I can.
It can be hard to finish. I never feel I am 100 per cent on top of my subject. There are always things I don’t quite understand, or I read about but not enough. I have lots of unfinished books that are research for my past novels. Or I read stuff for a book and then forget it immediately afterwards. I read a lot of Charles Lyell’s Principles of Geology for Remarkable Creatures. Now? Can’t remember a thing!
I can’t let research become a reason not to finish. In the end, it is the story that is most important, and I have to drive through to the end and then let it go.
Is curiosity your main fuel/inspiration?
Yes, I suppose it is – that and wanting to communicate my curiosity to other people.
When you said “I don’t want to be a teacher, I want to be a storyteller”, don’t you think that any writer has – to a certain extent – a pedagogic role? What’s the point of writing otherwise?
Sure, of course. But I don’t want the pedagogic part of the book to swamp the simple pleasure of reading a story and wanting to know what happens. That is my primary task. If someone reads Remarkable Creatures to find out what happens to Mary Anning and Elizabeth Philpot, that’s great. If they learn a bit about fossils and deep time and the role of women in the 19th century, even better.
One of my colleagues, a professor of geology, read Remarkable Creatures (French version) and was amazed to see the lack of recognition from the scientific community towards Mary Anning at the time. Did you write this novel with the purpose of developing gender awareness from the part of the (masculine) readers?
It’s more complicated than that. First, I try not to have a specific agenda when writing. That can kill a book dead. Second, the majority of readers of novels are women, so I am never going to be targeting male readers. Finally, I was drawn to Mary Anning’s story in part because she was a woman working in a man’s world, but also because she was working class in a middle class world. It is really difficult to say which had the greater impact on Mary’s life. She was just a surprise in every way. So the book is about both gender and class, and also about the unique qualities of genius. Mary has it; Elizabeth doesn’t. Elizabeth is the reader, looking at this surprising genius.
I am surprised your male colleague is surprised. Women made little impact on science for hundreds of years, and that is only now changing. Mary was treated by the scientists of the time as a servant rather than a colleague – a skilled servant, and there was respect for her talent, but they never would have seen her as equal to them.
Jennifer Cryer
Jennifer Cryer holds a PhD in biochemistry and one in creative writing. Her novel Breathing on Glass (2012) explores the strong relationships between two sisters in an exciting scientific background. The novel is set in the world of biotechnology, in particular the exploration of stem cell research.
When you write to what extent do you think about the reader?
I feel that the reader is an important “character” in a novel. If the story is not engaging to the reader it won’t even be read so I think it is important to construct a novel in a way that is understandable and satisfying to the reader. In this context I found writing about science had particular difficulties, alongside all the usual ones of keeping the reader interested, of making the characters interesting if not appealing, and of presenting the information necessary to understand the plot in timely fashion. I felt constantly aware that many readers would not understand and perhaps be bored by the technicalities of the scientist’s work although I was keen to include some as an illustration of their difficulties and to convey a sense of the way in which they approached their work problems influenced the way in which they negotiated their private lives.
Do you think that a writer has – to a certain extent – a pedagogic role?
No. I think that a novelist’s primary responsibility is to their narrative; to identify an appropriate story and to make it enthralling and meaningful. It’s very tempting to inform the reader but unless it is done with consummate skill, I feel that tutoring detracts from the fiction, draws attention to the author and alienates the reader.
How did you get your inspiration for your fiction subject? Was curiosity your main fuel?
I think that my primary inspiration for a novel which mixed human relationships and science came from my own experience. When my children were young, I noticed that I “took off” my scientific persona along with my white coat when I returned home to care for them and I became interested in why I had unconsciously adopted this pattern and wanted to explore the rationale for it in a family situation.
Being a scientist certainly helps in injecting scientific elements in the depths of a story, but how accurate do you try to be in the non-fictional parts of your fiction?
I try, but perhaps don’t always succeed, to be completely accurate. I enjoy reading stories that are very consistent within their frame of reference because they have a sense of coherence that makes a story feel possible and I feel that errors are glaring to the informed reader and make the story appear trivial.
What sort of process did you set up to ensure that your novel got finished?
I began the novel with a project plan that was an outline of the plot and characterization of the protagonists. As I wrote, I didn’t follow the plan inflexibly but as the characters met new situations I let their personalities lead their responses to them. This created a “fuller” version of the initial story, and the minor characters, but I did guide the plot back on course in order to retain control of the storyline and to ensure that the writing did get finished
Have you got a “recipe” to cross boundaries more easily in the academic world in order to fill the gap between the “two cultures”?
Sadly, not. I have found that many people working in the humanities don’t enjoy engaging with science, because they are self-conscious about their perceived lack of knowledge and that many people working in science don’t want to engage too closely with the humanities because they feel that they lack the language to explore them. Education makes great demands on the specialist in any field and I think that people don’t have the time to broaden their understanding.
In a 2013 article you said “Science is much too important, too influential in our lives, for society to leave it to the white coats” [5]. Do you think it is important to bring science out of the labs?
I think that everyone can benefit from an understanding of the way that science works, in the same way that everyone can benefit from an understanding of the way that story-telling, or medicine, retail, money or any of the other facets of a complex society work. Our world is multi-dimensional and all these things influence the course of our lives. I don’t think there is a great need for everyone to understand all of the technicalities of science but everyone should understand and contribute to the way in which science proceeds and how its benefits should be exploited.
Jennifer Rohn
Jennifer Rohn is a cell biologist at University College London and is the author of numerous science articles and blogs. On top of her career as a scientist she is also the author of novels that immerse the readers into the world of science. In Experimental Heart (2008) and The Honest Look (2010), the readers get immersed into the fascinating world of biotechnology, and her third (Cat Zero [2018]), explores academia. She is also the editor of this very webzine, Lablit.com.
When you write, to what extent do you think about the reader? Do you ever get the temptation to teach when you write fiction?
I think about the reader constantly. Some literary authors think it is a sign of weakness to ‘cater’ to the reader – these writers believe that the point of writing is to create art that pleases themselves primarily (think, for example, of people who criticize certain Booker Prize winners for being too “popular”). I couldn’t disagree more. I think that a successful novel is one that should engage the reader, and that should tell a good story that inspires the reader to care about the characters and keep reading. Therefore a good storyteller will put themselves in the reader’s shoes and ask, will this make sense, will it resonate? Will it keep the pages turning?
When putting complex ideas like science into a plot, one must pay particular attention to the level that one should be pitching. My readers will include non-scientists, so I feel very strongly that the science present in the novel must be correct but understandable. This requires a lot of thought about word choice and how to phrase the sentences. Dialogue is a particular problem, as you don’t want scientist characters to speak to one another with language they wouldn’t use in real life. After I write a science novel, I give it to a number of non-scientist readers to check that the science is understandable; when it isn’t, I revisit the text and send it out again. I keep up this iterative process until I am satisfied that the science is at the right level.
I don’t write fiction to ‘teach’ science. Instead, I write fiction to illuminate the complicated lives of scientists, to reveal their humanity. Readers may learn some scientific facts from reading my books, but that is not my object.
How do get your inspiration for your subjects? Is curiosity your main “fuel”?
My subjects are all based on the real life that I see around me in the scientific world. The books are not autobiographical by any means, but the ideas, situations and problems are adapted from my own experiences working in a lab for many decades, and the characters are a blend of real-life and fictional persona. For example, my idea for The Honest Look stemmed from the fact that I was, at the time, working in a biotech company based on a scientific premise that seemed too good to be true. As a novelist, I started to wonder what would happen if the premise indeed turned out to be wrong. Although in real life the premise was sound, The Honest Look became an in-depth exploration of that what-if situation: what happens when scientists invested in a particular theory are confronted with proof that the theory is wrong? Very interesting outcomes, it turns out…
In Experimental Heart, the narrator asks his friend: “… do you think we became scientists after being subconsciously influenced by [our family’s] interest?” Do you have an answer to the general question of the background’s influence on a potential “scientific calling”?
I have no ready answers. In my own case, my interest came out of nowhere: my parents were both artists and there were no scientists in our family or amongst my family’s friends.[…]
“For me, then, my interest in science was fostered as early as the toddler years, mostly by encouragement from parents who were inspired by the world around them.”[6]
Being a scientist certainly helps in injecting scientific elements in the depths of a story, but how accurate do you try to be in the non-fictional parts of your fiction?
It is very important that all the science described in my story is either perfectly true, or if not, at least follows the laws of science and nature that we know at the moment. So for example, in Experimental Heart, we hear about a gene called FRIP. FRIP does not exist in real life, but is reminiscent of a number of actual genes that do similar things in the cells of our body. It is no different to any novelist who will fictionalize various other aspects of real life – for example, the hero taking a bus route through London that doesn’t actually exist, but the bus “behaves” like a normal London bus.
What sort of process did you set up to make sure your books got finished?
I didn’t really need a process for the first two: I was obsessed by the writing and wrote every day for as long as I could. Both novels were finished in draft form in matter of months, and while the editing took much longer, it still happened every day. Unfortunately my life has grown more complicated since then, with a more demanding job and a small child, so I have not written regularly for some years. I hope one day to return to the writing rhythms of my past life.
Do you think that a writer has – to a certain extent – a pedagogic role? Do you ever get the temptation to teach or to lecture when you write?
Not ever. I think readers are turned off by obvious preaching and I try to avoid it at all costs. The beauty of fiction is that it is a stealth media for introducing ideas and concepts, but you definitely don’t want to lecture your reader or be obviously pedagogical.
Apart from your tremendous involvement in the webzine Lablit.com, have you got a “recipe” to cross boundaries more easily in the academic world in order to fill the gap between the “two cultures”?
I am not really convinced that the so-called ‘two culture’ divide really exists. There are many nonscientists interested in science – you encounter these people in various initiatives set up in London and other major cities. Non-scientists meet in pubs to hear scientists talk, attend events and cafes and even comedy nights devoted to science. Interest in science is seen as trendy and vital. Clearly, many scientists are also interested in music and the arts – this has always been the case. It is quite fashionable to suggest that there is a divide, but it feels artificial and untrue to me.
In Experimental Heart, the reader can feel a distortion between subjective time and objective time.
Indeed, the rhythm slows down when the narration focuses on the personal development of the narrator’s life and feelings and its pace gets back to “real” time when the narrator’s work and science experiments are described. How intentional was this split or was it just … experimental?
I did not realise this was even happening! Many things that happen when I write are not intentional, but end up resonating with readers nonetheless. This is one of the many mysteries of the subconscious creative process.
Rebecca Nesbit
Rebecca Nesbit is a writer with a profound interest in ecological issues. Her background includes a PhD in butterfly migration. She writes fiction and non-fiction articles. Her début novel is A Column of Smoke (2010), a story about human relationships with a scientific background on the controversial issue of GMO.
When you write, to what extent do you think about the reader? Do you think that a writer has – to a certain extent – a pedagogic role?
I think about the reader quite a lot, and I’m often aware that my readers will have very different background knowledge so it will be hard to please everyone. I’m both thinking about whether I need to explain some science/scientific equipment/lab situation, and about how subtle I can be. If I want to show that a character feels a particular emotion or thinks about something in a particular way, how much do I need to spell it out?
One of my main motivations is to give people a glimpse into a different world. GM crops is a particularly interesting one as lots of images from NGOs are of evil scientists, so I wanted to show a very different reality. This does mean that I actually have to keep reminding myself this is a work of fiction, not science communication. I’m here to tell an enticing story, not to preach to people.
How do get your inspiration for your subjects in your novel and short stories? Is curiosity your main “fuel”?
I actually find it very easy to come up with ideas. If someone asks me for a short story it might only be a few hours before I have one planned out. I tend to think of a phrase or a situation which appeals to me and ask myself how I can make a story around it. Who would be in that situation? What could the character be wanting? Who else would be involved, and would they have conflicting interests? My ideas often start with real life – a conversation I heard on the train, or a difficult situation I found myself in. Sometimes I start with ethical issues I want to explore, hoping to help people empathise with an alternative point of view.
In A Column of Smoke, Sally the narrator can trace back her love of science from a specific school event when she was around 12 years old. Do you have an answer to the general question of the background’s influence on a potential “scientific calling”?
My family point to different stories of my origins of being a scientist – tracking snails in the garden, seeing the insects in my grandparents’ water trough… I think for me it was a cumulation of lots of such events and influences, and it’s probably the same for most people. Like many people, my interest in science started out as an interest in nature.
This is something I deal with in my day job too. I am part of the Nobel Prize Inspiration Initiative, taking Nobel Laureates to meet students at universities around the world. Some of them share their stories of early inspiration. It’s interesting that there are multiple examples of Nobel Laureates who also had Laureate fathers. Yet that are others who explicitly went against their parents’ wishes to become scientists. Randy Schekman for example has a great story about buying his first microscope.
Being a scientist certainly helps in injecting scientific elements in the depths of a story, but how accurate do you try to be in the non-fictional parts of your fiction?
I think it very much shows that I’m a scientist – I try to be very accurate in the portrayal of science and scientific life, yet am happy to use artistic license when dealing with, for example, legal issues. This has changed a bit in the current novel I am writing, which goes further beyond what I am familiar with so has required far more research.
What sort of process did you set up to make sure your book got finished?
Something that was really important for me was being part of a writing group. We met every month to share what we’d written which meant I always had a deadline to work to. It also gave me confidence – I think the voice in your head that says ‘this is rubbish’ is a real barrier for many people. Having positive, constructive feedback was really helpful and gave me the motivation to ignore that voice of self-doubt and decide to finish the book.
I have also done things such as set targets or rules for myself – when I was blogging regularly I said I would write a post every Tuesday night. If I was out on Tuesday I would do it on Wednesday, but I wouldn’t just plan to ‘write something soon’. I actually started the book in about 2006 and gave up. There were lots of reasons, including lack of support and the chaotic way I had approached it, writing whichever bit I fancied rather than writing it chapter by chapter. When I came back to it a few years later I didn’t like any of what I’d written first time round – not a single sentence made it into the final book even though the storyline barely changed. It was good practice though. I like to encourage anyone who’s interested to give fiction a try. It’s a great hobby even if you don’t aspire to be published so ‘I don’t think I’d be any good’ shouldn’t be a barrier to having a go.
Apart from your regular involvement in the webzine Lablit.com, have you got a “recipe” to cross boundaries more easily in the academic world in order to fill the gap between the “two cultures”?
I’d like to see us move away from a ‘two cultures’ vision, and also to move away from the view which is often perpetuated at school – you’re either an arts person or a science person. I don’t like discussions of ‘scientists and the public’ being framed in a very ‘them and us’ way. We are all people, all members of the public, and we share interests and motivations.
I think there are some great outreach programmes run by universities, whether this is school visits, science fairs, online videos or interactions with the media. The more that academics give insights into their world the better.
In A Column of Smoke, Sally feels torn between the pursuit of her career and moral questions. Do you think that the question of ethical issues should be part of education in science?
Definitely, and I’m glad to hear that it increasingly is. There are lots of ethical issues surrounding science. For a start, pretty much all research is ‘dual-use’ – it can be used for good or bad. Explosives are an obvious, simple example. There are also some ethical issues in the process of doing science, such as the use of animals or human subjects in medical research. Many new discoveries or technologies come with both benefits and risks, which need to be considered, and these are often unequally distributed within society. AI is an obvious example of something which has both huge potential and huge risks. Perhaps what’s most fascinating for me is who gets to choose. If scientists say GM is safe yet many members of the wider public disagree, should EU countries still opt out and say they won’t grow them? How much does someone have to know for their opinion to be valuable on a scientific topic? Should scientists be trying to influence the opinion of the wider public, or simply to present their research and information about how they do it?
The reference novels used for the interviews are the following:
Ann Lingard, Seaside Pleasures, Littoralis Press (2003)
Pippa Goldschmidt, The Falling Sky, Freight Books (2013)
Rebecca Stott, The Coral Thief, Orion Books Ltd (2009)
Tracy Chevalier, Remarkable Creatures, HarperCollins (2009)
Jennifer Cryer, Breathing on Glass, Abacus (2012)
Jennifer L. Rohn, Experimental Heart, Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory Press (2008)
Jennifer L. Rohn, The Honest Look, Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory Press (2010)
Rebecca Nesbit, A Column of Smoke, Brambleby Books (2014)
[1] Claudine Peyre. Three interviews with Margaret Drabble, 1989, 1992, 2011, CercleS, 21 http://www.cercles.com/n21/peyre.pdf.
[2] Pippa Goldschmidt. Filling in the blanks – Why novels excel at bringing scientific practice to life, 24 August 2018 in Liblat.com
[3] Tracy Chevalier. My Writing Day -from procrastination to the magic of bringing characters to life, 17 September 2016, The Guardian
[4] It’s good to SciTalk – Ann Lackie on her life, her novels and a new organization that brings writers and scientists together, 8 November 2005, lablit.com
[5] Jennifer Cryer, www.walesonline.co.uk/lifestyle/science-passion-collide-book-breathing-5379796 (Aug 3d 2013)
[6] Jenny Rohn’s view on her the appeal of science on women. http://www.theguardian.com/science/occams-corner/2015/dec/10/boys-toys-hair-dryers-gender-parity-lab
