Your Inner Fish

A growing drumbeat in science these days involves the importance of communication: How can the people who do the work that is changing our world, and our understanding of it, get their message out to the public?

Your Inner FishNeil Shubin, a University of Chicago paleontologist and anatomist, is an excellent role model in this regard. Shubin was part of the team that in 2006 discovered Tiktaalik roseae, a so-called “fishapod” that might have been one of the first vertebrates to crawl out of the water onto dry land. He wrote a best-selling 2008 book, Your Inner Fish, about what Tiktaalik can tell us about evolution.

Now, Shubin has transformed the message of that book into a three-part series that begins airing on PBS  at 9 p.m. CDT on April 9. Not only that, but he appeared on Thursday at a Science on the Screen event at the Reva and David Logan Center for the Arts on the U. of C. campus in Hyde Park to talk about Your Inner Fish. Science on the Screen is an occasional series the U. of C. sponsors that showcases its world-class scientists talking about feature and documentary films that deal with various aspects of science.

Shubin’s story is pretty thrilling. He and his colleagues spent four summers over six years searching in an exposed layer of rock in the Arctic that dates from the Devonian period, searching for fossils that could show how fish managed to adapt body parts that allowed them to walk out onto land. The researchers could only work during the few snow-free months of the summer, and they had to carry guns, because polar bears were a very real threat. Shubin told the Science on the Screen audience that his group found polar bear tracks in their camp when they got up in the morning.

A sizable chunk of the audience on Thursday was composed of children — I brought my younger daughter, a high school student. One of the fascinating bits we heard in Your Inner Fish is that Tiktaalik shared the basic limb structure (coming down from the shoulder, say) of “big bone, two bones, lots of little bones, digits” that various land vertebrates have diversified into wings, legs that end in paws and, in the case of primates, arms that end in hands.

The Pew Research Center recently found that about one-third of Americans reject the truth of evolution, often on religious grounds: The Bible says God created the earth in six days. Or, they buy the argument that evolution is just a theory about how the world began, of equal weight with creationism, say. One of the children in the audience asked Shubin how he feels about that. He said that what he likes about Your Inner Fish is that it presents evidence for evolution, and that evidence has the power to convince open-minded people of scientific truth.

Not every scientist has Shubin’s charisma — he is a lot of fun to watch in Your Inner Fish — but as I said above, he’s a great role model. The two other segments in the series are Your Inner Reptile and Your Inner Monkey, scheduled to air on April 16 and April 23. The series is part of Think Wednesday, a three-hour block of programming on nature, science and technology PBS began in January.

The Finkbeiner test

Longtime science writer Ann Finkbeiner wrote a terrific piece this year swearing off writing patronizing articles about female scientists, and it has been boiled down into what is being called “the Finkbeiner test.”

Finkbeiner advanced her manifesto in January in an article titled “What I’m Not Going to Do” on the blog The Last Word on Nothing*.

In March, Christie Aschwanden distilled Finkbeiner’s piece into a seven-point checklist on DoubleXScience, an online science magazine for women:

“To pass the Finkbeiner test, the story cannot mention

  • The fact that she’s a woman
  • Her husband’s job
  • Her child care arrangements
  • How she nurtures her underlings
  • How she was taken aback by the competitiveness in her field
  • How she’s such a role model for other women
  • How she’s the ‘first woman to…’

“Here’s another trick,” Aschwanden writes. “Take the things that are said about a female subject and flip them around as if they were said about a male. If they sound ridiculous, then chances are good they have no business in the story.”

I think it’s all about context. If you’re writing a breezy lifestyle story (or maybe even an obituary), the personal stuff is OK. But if you are writing essentially about your subject’s work, the Finkbeiner test should be pressed into service.

*“Science says the first word on everything, and the last word on nothing” – Victor Hugo

Of “witches,” books and rocket science

I enjoyed reading Nadezhda Popova’s recent obituary in the New York Times. Popova was one of the Russian “Night Witches,” female pilots who flew bombers, flimsy former crop dusters, during World War II.

And Quiet Flows the DonIt was a dangerous mission. German pilots who shot down one of the Night Witches, so called because of the “whooshing noise” their planes made, which evoked for the Germans the sound of a witch’s broomstick, received the Iron Cross, according to the story.

I loved that the writer, Douglas Martin, included the fact that Popova noticed a wounded fighter pilot, Semyon Kharlamov, who would become her husband, “in a horde of retreating troops and civilians,” because he was reading Mikhail Sholokhov’s And Quiet Flows the Don.

That book made a big impression on me when I read it. Its story reminded me of Boris Pasternak’s Dr. Zhivago, in that it centers on a man who is married to one woman but desperately in love with another. Instead of wealthy Russians whose lives are torn apart by World War I and the Russian revolution, though, it’s about Cossacks whose lives are torn apart by World War I and the Russian revolution. Sholokhov won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1965, though there is some controversy about his authorship.

I also liked that Martin, who got smacked around in the press for focusing on Yvonne Brill’s home life in his recent obituary of the rocket scientist who invented the propulsion system that maintains the orbit of the communication satellites we rely on on a daily basis, was confident enough in his own approach, even after that rumpus, to dwell on Popova’s private life in this story.

Though as a science writer, I am sensitive to the need to give women full credit for their professional accomplishments — usually the reason the obituary is written in the first place — the fiction writer in me believes that after 80 or 90 years, a person’s life is bound to add up to more than his or her work.