A new book by Pulitzer-winning physician-scientist Siddhartha Mukherjee will be released from Simon & Schuster on October 25, 2022.
The Song of the Cell begins with the discovery of cells and of germ theory, featuring characters such as Louis Pasteur and Robert Koch, who brought the cell “into intimate contact with pathology and medicine.” This intercourse would transform biomedicine, leading to the insight that we can treat disease by thinking at the cellular level. The slightest rearrangement of sick cells might be the path toward alleviating suffering for the organism: eroding the cell walls of a bacterium while sparing our human cells; inventing a medium that coaxes sperm and egg to dance into cellular union for in vitro fertilization (IVF); designing molecular missiles that home to the receptors decorating the exterior of cancer cells; teaching adult skin cells to remember their embryonic state for regenerative medicines.
Mukherjee uses the bulk of the book to elucidate key cell types in the human body, along with their “connective relationships” that enable key organs and organ systems to function. This includes the immune system, the heart, the brain, and so on. Mukherjee’s distinctive style features compelling anecdotes and human stories that animate the scientific (and unscientific) processes that have led to our current state of understanding. In his chapter on neurons and the brain, for example, he integrates Santiago Ramon y Cajal’s meticulous black ink sketches of neurons into Mukherjee’s own personal encounter with clinical depression. In one lucid section, he interviews Dr. Helen Mayberg, a pioneering neurologist who takes seriously the descriptive power of her patients’ metaphors, as they suffer from “caves,” “holes,” “voids,” and “force fields” that render their lives gray. Dr. Mayberg aims to stimulate patients’ neuronal cells in a manner that brings back the color.
Beyond exposing the insight and inventiveness that has arisen out of cell-based thinking, it seems that Mukherjee’s bigger project is an epistemological one. The early chapters of The Song of the Cell continually hint at the potential for redefining the basic unit of biology as the cell rather than the gene. The choice to center biomedicine around cells is, above all, a conspicuous choice not to center it around genes (the subject of Mukherjee’s previous book, The Gene), because genes dominate popular science communication.
This choice of cells over genes is most welcome. Cells are alive. Genes are not. Letters—such as the As, Cs, Gs, and Ts that represent the nucleotides of DNA, which make up our genes—must be synthesized into a word or poem or song that offers a glimpse into deeper truths. A key idea embedded in this thinking is that of emergence. Whether in ancient myth or modern art, creation tends to be an emergent process, not a linearly coded script. The cell is our current best guess for the basic unit of life’s emergence, turning a finite set of chemical building blocks—nucleic acids, proteins, sugars, fats—into a replicative, evolving system for fighting stasis and entropy. The cell’s song is one for our times, for it is the song of biology’s emergence out of chemistry and physics, into the “frenetically active process” of homeostasis.
Re-centering our view of biology has practical consequences, too, for how we think about diagnosing and treating disease, and for inventing new medicines. Centering cells presents a challenge: which type of cell to place at the center? Rather than default to the apparent simplicity of DNA as a symbol because it represents the one master code for life, the tension in defining the diversity of cells—a mapping process still far from complete in cutting-edge biology laboratories—can help to create a more thoughtful library of cellular metaphors to shape both the practice and communication of biology.
Further, effective problem solving is often about operating at the right level, or the right scale. The cell feels like appropriate level at which to interrogate many of the diseases that ail us, because the senses that guide our own perceptions of sickness and health—the smoldering pain of inflammation, the tunnel vision of a migraine, the dizziness of a fluttering heart—are emergent.
This, unfortunately, is sort of where Mukherjee leaves the reader, under-exploring the consequences of a biology of emergence. Many practical and profound questions have to do with the ways that each scale of life feeds back on the others. In a tome on Cells and “the future human” I wished that Mukherjee had created more space for seeking the ways that cells will shape and be shaped by the future, of humanity and otherwise.
We are entering a phase of real-world bioengineering that features the modularization of cellular parts within cells, of cells within organs, of organs within bodies, and of bodies within ecosystems. In this reality, we would be unwise to assume that any whole is the mere sum of its parts.
For example, when discussing the regenerative power of pluripotent stem cells, Mukherjee raises the philosophical thought experiment of the Delphic boat, also known as the Ship of Theseus. The boat is made of many pieces of wood, each of which is replaced for repairs over the years, with the boat’s structure unchanged. Eventually none of the boat’s original wood remains: Is it the same boat?
Mukherjee raises the Delphic boat in one paragraph at the end of the chapter on stem cells, as a metaphor related to the possibility of stem cell-enabled regeneration in perpetuity. He does not follow any of the threads of potential answers. Given the current state of cellular engineering, about which Mukherjee is a world expert from his work as a physician-scientist, this book could have used an entire section dedicated to probing this question and, importantly, the ways this thought experiment falls apart.
We are entering a phase of real-world bioengineering that features the modularization of cellular parts within cells, of cells within organs, of organs within bodies, and of bodies within ecosystems. In this reality, we would be unwise to assume that any whole is the mere sum of its parts. Wholeness at any one of these scales of life—organelle, cell, organ, body, ecosystem—is what is at stake if we allow biological reductionism to assume away the relation between those scales.
In other words, Mukherjee succeeds in providing a masterful and compelling narrative of the lives of many of the cells that emerge to enliven us. Like his previous books, it is a worthwhile read for anyone curious about the role of cells in disease and in health. And yet, he fails to offer the broader context of The Song of the Cell.
As leading agronomist and essayist Wes Jackson has written, “The sequence of amino acids that is at home in the human cell, when produced inside the bacterial cell, does not fold quite right. Something about the E. coli internal environment affects the tertiary structure of the protein and makes it inactive. The whole in this case, the E. coli cell, affects the part—the newly made protein. Where is the priority of part now?” [1]
Beyond the ways that different kingdoms of life translate the same genetic code, the practical situation for humanity today relates to the ways that the different disciplines of modern life use values and culture to influence our genes, cells, bodies, and environment. It may be that humans will soon become a bit like the Delphic boat, infused with the buzz of fresh cells to repopulate different niches within our bodies, for healthier, longer lives. But in biology, as in writing, a mixed metaphor can cause something of a cacophony. For we are not boats with parts to be replaced piecemeal. And nor are whales, nor alpine forests, nor topsoil. Life isn’t a sum of parts, and neither is a song that rings true.
[1] Wes Jackson, "Visions and Assumptions," in Nature as Measure (p. 52-53).
In Ethiopia, Samuna’s three donkeys help her transport produce to market and to collect the water essential to her family, neighbours and livestock. Donkeys are more endangered than people realize, experts say.
“That's the reason why some breeds begin to disappear because humans were not really interested in having that specific breed anymore,” Gambini says. Nonetheless, in Africa, India and Latin America millions of rural families still rely on these hardy creatures for agriculture and transportation. And the only two wild donkey species—Equus africanus in Africa and Equus hemionus in Asia—are also dwindling, due to losing their habitats to human activities, diseases and slow reproduction rates. Gambini’s team wanted to create a way to preserve the animals for the future. “Donkeys are more endangered than people realize,” he says.
There’s much more to donkeys' trouble though. For the past 20 or so years, they have been facing a huge existential threat due to their hide gelatin, a compound derived from their skins by soaking and stewing. In Chinese traditional medicine, the compound, called ejiao, is believed to have a medicinal value, so it’s used in skin creams, added to food and taken in capsules. Centuries ago, ejiao was a very expensive luxury product available only for the emperor and his household. That changed in the 1990s when the Chinese economy boomed, and many people were suddenly able to afford it. “It went from a very elite product to a very popular product,” says Janneke Merkx, a campaign manager at The Donkey Sanctuary, a United Kingdom-based nonprofit organization that keeps tabs on the animals’ welfare worldwide. “It is a status symbol for gift giving.”
Having evolved in the harsh and arid mountainous terrains where food and water were scarce, donkeys are extremely adaptable and hardy. But the Donkey Sanctuary documented cases in which an entire village had their animals disappear overnight, finding them killed and skinned outside their settlement.
The Chinese donkey population was quickly decimated. Unlike many other farm animals, donkeys are finicky breeders. When stressed and unhappy, they don’t procreate, so growing them in large industrial settings isn’t possible. “Donkeys are notoriously slow breeders and really very difficult to farm,” says Merkx. “They are not the same as other livestock like sheep and pigs and cattle.” Within years the, the donkey numbers in China dropped precipitously. “China used to have the largest donkey population in the world in the 1990s. They had 11 million donkeys, and it's now down to less than 3 million, and they just can't keep up with the demand.”
To keep the ejiao conveyor going, some producers turned to the illegal wildlife trade. Poachers began to steal and slaughter donkeys from rural villages in Africa. The Donkey Sanctuary documented cases in which an entire village had their animals disappear overnight, finding them killed and skinned outside their settlement. Exactly how many creatures were lost to the skin trade to-date isn’t possible to calculate, says Faith Burden, the Donkey Sanctuary’s director of equine operations. Traditionally a poor people’s beast of burden, donkey counts are hard to keep track of. “When an animal doesn't produce meat, milk or eggs or whatever edible product, they're often less likely to be acknowledged in a government population census,” Burden says. “So reliable statistics are hard to come by.” The nonprofit estimates that about 4.8 million are slaughtered annually.
During their six to seven thousand years of domestication, donkeys rarely got the full appreciation for their services. They are often compared to horses, which doesn’t do them justice. They’re entirely different animals, Burden says. Built for speed, horses respond to predators and other dangers by running as fast as they can. Donkeys, which originate from the rocky, mountainous regions of Africa where running is dangerous, react to threats by freezing and assessing the situation for the best response. “Those so-called stubborn donkeys that won’t move as you want, they are actually thinking ‘what’s the best approach,’” Burden says. They may even choose to fight the predators rather than flee, she adds. “In some parts of the world, people use them as guard animals against things like coyotes and wolves.”
Scientists believe that domestic donkeys take their origin from Equus africanus or African wild ass, originally roaming where Kenya, Ethiopia and Eritrea are today. Having evolved in the harsh and arid mountainous terrains where food and water were scarce, they are extremely adaptable and hardy. Research finds that they can go without water for 72 hours and then drink their fill without any negative consequences. Their big jaws let them chew tough desert shrubs, which horses can’t exist on. Their large ears help dissipate heat. Their little upright hooves are a perfect fit for the uneven rocky or other dangerous grounds. Accustomed to the mountain desert climate with hot days and cold nights, they don’t mind temperature flux.
“The donkey is the most supremely adapted animal to deal with hostile conditions,” Burden says. “They can survive on much lower nutritional quality food than a cow, sheep or horse. That’s why communities living in some of the most inhospitable places will often have donkeys with them.” And that’s why losing a donkey to an illegal skin trade can devastate a family in places like Eritrea. Suddenly everything from water to firewood to produce must be carried by family members—and often women.
Workers unloading donkeys at the Shinyanga slaughterhouse in Tanzania. Fearing a future in which donkeys go extinct, scientists have found ways to cryopreserve a donkey embryo in liquid nitrogen.
TAHUCHA
One can imagine a time when worldwide donkey populations may dwindle to the point that they would need to be restored. That includes their genetic variability too. That’s where the frozen embryos may come in handy. We may be able to use them to increase the genetic variability of donkeys, which will be especially important if they get closer to extinction, Gambini says. His team had already created frozen embryos for horses and zebras, an idea similar to a seed bank. “We call this concept the Frozen Zoo.”
Creating donkey embryos proved much harder than those of zebras and horses. To improve chances of fertilization, Gambini used the intracytoplasmic sperm injection or ICSI, in which he employed a tiny needle called a micropipette to inject a donkey sperm into an egg. That was a step above the traditional IVF method, in which the egg and a sperm are left floating in a test tube together. The injection took, but during the incubating week, one after the other, the embryos stopped dividing. Finally, on day seven, Gambini finally spotted the exact sight he was hoping to see. One of the embryos developed into a burgeoning ball of cells.
“That stage is called a blastocyst,” Gambini says. The clump of cells had a lot of fluids mixed within them, which indicated that they were finally developing into a viable embryo. “When we see a blastocyst, we know we can transfer that into a female.” He was so excited he immediately called all his collaborators to tell them the good news, which they later published in the journal of Theriogenology.
The one and only embryo to reach that stage, the blastocyst was cryopreserved in liquid nitrogen. The team is waiting for the next breeding season to see if a female donkey may carry it to term and give birth to a healthy foal. Gambini’s team is hoping to polish the process and create more embryos. “It’s our weapon in the conservation ass-enal,” he says.
