69 pages • 2-hour read
Siddhartha MukherjeeA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Part 3 of the book explores advances in gene sequencing and cloning, which are central to the science of genetic engineering. In 1968, the Stanford biochemist Paul Berg turned to the study of viruses, seized by the idea that if he could equip a virus with a decoy foreign gene, the gene could be smuggled via the virus into the human genome to modify it. Berg chose the SV40 virus that infects humans and monkeys. Now all he needed to find were enzymes to cut the viral DNA (arranged in a necklace), and stitch it back together once the decoy was inserted. Pasting enzymes are easier to find, as almost all cells, across species, possess ligases or polymerases that direct repair and replication, but cutting enzymes are trickier, and found mainly in bacteria. Certain bacteria develop pincer-like enzymes in response to a viral infection. In the next infection, they recognize the virus’s DNA, and cut it at a crucial point, killing it.
In 1972, Berg and a postdoctoral researcher called David Jackson were successful at an experiment that would prove a landmark in gene cloning as well as the fight against diseases. They formed gene hybrids by joining the SV40 genome to DNA from the Lambda bacteriophage and E. coli. Borrowing the idea of recombination from the crossing over that happens during embryogenesis, the hybrids were named “recombinant DNA.”
Soon, graduate student Janet Mertz joined the team, and suggested inserting viruses in bacteria. Since bacteria carry extra chromosomes called plasmids, viral hybrids could colonize the plasmids and multiply within the bacterium, creating clones. Mertz and Berg’s experiments were met with skepticism, sparking fears about spreading disease.
In Cambridge, biochemist Frederick Sanger was busy with another, equally pertinent problem. After spending a decade trying to sequence a gene through proteins, in 1971, Sanger decided to “think like a gene” (218) and follow the steps of DNA as it built its copy. The method was initially flawed as the copying reaction was too fast to follow, but Sanger solved the hurdle by spiking the copying reaction with slightly chemically altered bases that jammed the process. Now, Sanger could study each step at the point of jamming. In 1977, Sanger unveiled the entire genetic sequence of a virus, comprised of only 5,386 base pairs.
Another critical breakthrough in gene sequencing was the discovery—by scientists Richard Roberts and Phillip Sharp, working independently—that unlike the continuous gene sequence of bacteria, the DNA modules (operons) in animals were interspersed with stretchers of filler DNA, as if the word “molecule” were to be written with ellipses as “mol …ec … ule.” The spaces were removed in the RNA, “mol …ec…ule” reverting to “molecule” in a process called gene splicing. The “waste” of DNA seemed odd at first, till it was discovered that the spaced-out modules were an evolutionary advantage, enabling DNA to split and combine in variant combinations. Due to their contribution to reading and writing DNA, the Nobel Prize in Chemistry in 1981 was jointly awarded to Sanger, Berg, and Walter Gilbert.
Despite the potential disease-fighting implications of gene sequencing and cloning, the techniques also triggered fears, resurrecting the old ghost of pernicious eugenics. In 1972, Berg attended a conference in Erice, Italy, where attendees raised fears about the hazards of genetic engineering. If genes could be manipulated, they could also be programmed to change eye color or intelligence.
To discuss the alarm around gene technologies, Berg organized his own conference in California, dubbed “Asilomar I.” Though the conference was meant to debate the merits and hazards of genetic engineering technologies, it did not achieve much.
Meanwhile, as proposals on gene-bacteria hybrids started pouring in from labs around the world, Berg himself became wary of certain experiments, such as one which proposed inserting the pathogenic herpes virus into bacterial cells. Berg now advised a moratorium on creating recombinant hybrids till all safety implications had been carefully considered. A thoughtful proposal, restricting certain hybrids and urging continuous review of recombination technologies, was passed at Asilomar II in 1975. Mukherjee considers Asilomar II “the graduation ceremony of the new genetics” (235) because it understood that genes had turned from subjects of study to practical tools.
Scientists Stan Cohen and Herb Boyer, who had also contributed to the discovery of recombinant DNA, parted ways in 1975, with Boyer joining the private sector. Soon, a venture capitalist called Robert Swanson approached Boyer to start a company that made medicines using gene-cloning techniques. Boyer agreed, and suggested the name “Genentech” for the venture. Genentech’s first product would be synthesized insulin.
In the 1970s, insulin, which is vital for the treatment of diabetes, was prohibitively expensive, since it was extracted from cow and pig pancreas, thousands of pounds of innards yielding only a pound of the hormone. The trouble in creating synthetic was that the insulin molecule was notoriously hard to manipulate, its genetic structure too complicated. Boyer surpassed the problem by an approach so simple it seemed childish: He decided to create an insulin molecule using DNA chemistry, triplet by triplet. Starting his experiment with the simpler hormone somatostatin, Boyer synthesized its DNA, hooked it to a bacterial gene, and inserted the recombinant into a bacterial plasmid. Fooled by the presence of the bacterial gene, the bacteria replicated the human protein, which could then be cleaved away. With this alteration, Boyer achieved the synthesis of somatostatin. In May 1978, Genentech—in a fierce race with competitors—synthesized insulin in bacteria. It was granted a patent for synthetic insulin in 1982.
The idea that heredity could be manipulated had a devastating consequence in the form of eugenics, but the actual manipulation of genes was yet a distant dream in the first half of the 20th century. The worst of eugenics was the manipulation of the phenotype, human beings. However, in Part 3, Mukherjee explores the world’s response to the knowledge that now tools were being developed to manipulate genes at the cellular level, possibly causing changes that can be heritable. Gene manipulation technologies opened up a whole new set of concerns, especially in the shadow of World War II, illustrating The Ethics of Eugenics and Gene Editing in Policy and Medicine. If eugenics planned to breed blonde hair and blue eyes through controlled marriages, gene editing may breed these traits by removing, say, the very gene for black hair itself.
The ethics of gene editing are particularly fraught because they pit scientific developments against caution. Mukherjee describes how one scientist at the second Asilomar conference reacted against the proposed moratorium, hissing, “You fucked the plasmid group” (230). Such scientists are quasi-Promethean figures in the book, signifying creativity and audacious thinking, while the more reserved characters are more wary of potential ethical misuse of scientific discoveries. The narrative does not take sides here, holding together two oppositional truths. It is true that the Asilomar conferences slowed down advances in gene editing that could have been useful, especially in medicine. It is also true that a measured approach is important, since “who could ensure that genetic technologies would not be schooled and perverted by powerful forces—as once before on that continent” (226). The “once before on that continent” is especially important here, since it reflects how the scepter of Nazism permanently changed the relationship between science and policy.
The ethics of using gene technology in medicine are particularly complex, as genetic therapies can also bring tremendous relief to patients. To illustrate this, Mukherjee shows that though insulin was a superhit drug for Genentech, the medicine which would bring gene-cloning technology to the forefront was a different one: Factor VIII, the crucial protein missing in hemophiliacs. The treatment of hemophilia requires regular injections of the concentrated factor. As the AIDS epidemic emerged in the US in the early 1980s, it was first assumed to affect only gay men, leading the disease to be briefly termed gay-related immune deficiency or GRID. However, the large number of hemophiliacs affected by the disease quickly dissolved that notion, making it clear it was spread through blood-products as well. To avoid hemophiliacs contracting such infections, Genentech used recombinant technology to synthesize factor VIII. Though recombinant factor VIII could not save the lives of most hemophiliacs affected by AIDS, factor VIII injections are now the staple of hemophilia treatment.
The text contains several allusions to literature and culture to amplify its subtext and meaning. For instance, Mukherjee refers to insulin as “the Garbo of hormones” (239), the mystique attached to the actor a metaphor for the hormone’s inscrutability. He prefaces the text of Chapter 20 with a quote by the science fiction writer Arthur C. Clarke, stating that advanced technology and magic are indistinguishable. The allusions link the world of hard science to the continuum of society and culture.
In another example of the human anecdotes that are meant to make the text accessible for a general audience, Mukherjee recounts a conversation with Marianne Dieckmann, one of Berg’s associates. On the beach close to Dieckmann’s lab, Mukherjee asks her if the disagreements at Asilomar were worth anything. Dieckmann illustrates her point by drawing a line in the sand with a toe. Asilomar, she tells Mukherjee, signified that the line between theory and application in genetics had been breached. Now that science could enact genetics, the need for vigilance was all the more important. Asilomar’s quarrels were not fruitless; they showed that scientists were aware of their tremendous responsibility.



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