Plant RNAs Found in Mammals

[ksmith]

When I was working out the Janiverse and trying to formulate some handwavy justification for human-idomeni hybridization, I considered that the influence of a new environment–simple exposure to the air, soil, and water of other worlds–would begin to nudge humans and idomeni toward some combination state by affecting metabolism, gene mutation, etc. Change would be glacially slow, but if the two races shared the same environments long enough, they would eventually, eventually, blend to form a single race. John Shroud sped up the process, Jani’s continued exposure to idomeni environments flipped on genetic switches that he had turned off, and the results played out over the course of five books. I never worked out the grand master template for it all–I’m not sure whether humans and idomeni developed naturally from a single ancestor or were designed by some elder race that also left behind the Gateways. I only developed enough backstory to move Jani’s immediate tale forward.

Then I poke around online when I should be doing other things, and I find stuff like this and realize that I could have done a lot more with the genetics/environmental influence slice of the tale.

MicroRNAs from common plant crops such as rice and cabbage can be found in the blood and tissues of humans and other plant-eating mammals, according to a study published today in Cell Research. One microRNA in particular, MIR168a, which is highly enriched in rice, was found to inhibit a protein that helps removes low-density lipoprotein (LDL) from the blood, suggesting that microRNAs can influence gene expression across kingdoms.

And then there’s this post from Ed Yong’s blog, Not Exactly Rocket Science.

Japanese people have special tools that let them get more out of eating sushi than Americans can. They are probably raised with these utensils from an early age and each person wields millions of them. By now, you’ve probably worked out that I’m not talking about chopsticks.

The tools in question are genes that can break down some of the complex carbohydrate molecules in seaweed, one of the main ingredients in sushi. The genes are wielded by the hordes of bacteria lurking in the guts of every Japanese person, but not by those in American intestines. And most amazingly of all, this genetic cutlery set is a loan. Some gut bacteria have borrowed their seaweed-digesting genes from other microbes living in the coastal oceans. This is the story of how these genes emigrated from the sea into the bowels of Japanese people.***

The heavier weight science would have pushed the story in a different direction; it might have morphed into that grand, sweeping, multigenerational tale that I’ve always dreamed of writing. Maybe I didn’t trust myself enough to get things right, or found the socio-political effects of hybridization more interesting at the time. I think that now, the same ingredients would combine to make a very different tale.

I also think that given these discoveries, the existence of GMO’s in the food chain make me a helluva lot more uncomfortable than they did, say, this morning.

Now, it’s late. Gaby just came in from outside. She must have been hunting through the weeds for some critter or other because the hair on one side of her face is matted with sticky seeds and I have no idea how in hell I’m going to pick them out.

***(Yong’s post made it into The Best American Science Writing of 2011, and if you aren’t already following him on Twitter or subscribed to his blog’s RSS feed, you should right that wrong immediately. Just saying.)

Mirrored from Kristine Smith.

Comments

[torrilin.livejournal.com]

Well, since you didn't pin stuff down in detail... I uh... assumed that kind of thing was what you were talking about. It's a really good example of how handwavium applied properly can make a story hold up better.

[kristine-smith.livejournal.com]

Thanks--that's good to know. My universe-building--or lack of same--took a beating from some. I tried to illustrate the past through the actions of the present, and while that worked for some readers, it didn't for others.

But part of my rethinking involves the challenge of setting out a chewy scientific idea or twelve while at the same time assembling a tale that moves. My Red/Blue/Green Mars. My Fire Upon the Deep. Touch of arrogant ambition there, maybe. Blame lack of coffee. It's one of my weaknesses, the feeling that I need to apologize for thinking big.

[torrilin.livejournal.com]

See, I don't get the love for Robinson. I read Red Mars and... hyperacids? HYPERACIDS???? For the love of god man, what do you mean by that? It perhaps doesn't help that my chemistry background is rather good, and at the time I read the book, a friend was doing his Ph.D work which involved aqua regia and carbon nanotubules. So I got knocked right out of the book trying to figure out what a reasonable chemist might call a hyperacid, and why that would be a scientific advance noteworthy enough to be a throwaway. Seriously, those hyperacids kept us busy for days trying to figure it out.

The other thing that threw me was the colony size. It was something on the order of 1000 people. With scads of screening since of course being a colonist was a very prestigious position, and of course you had to be a terribly good scientist, and of course you had to be very psychologically stable... and um, they were intending it to be a self supporting colony. Self supporting means there's enough genetic diversity and enough people that you don't turn your colonists into cheetahs. Which Robinson only got 'round to noticing in the last chapter. Since I'd been wondering this for basically the whole book, it was um...

That one especially threw me when the entire book basically had a plot because all the colonist characters were stark raving mad.

I don't think there's anything wrong with big or ambitious. But Robinson's execution was laughably bad. I can see why people really liked it, but... to me it screamed of too much time spent reading Galaxy magazine in the 1970s. Too familiar, and too much stuff that I know well, so it is very easy to see the holes.

Vinge starts out with a world that is weird. Everything is strange and foreign, so it's harder to figure out the rules. This makes it easier on him, and he can focus on the story. Fewer bibs and bobs to distract the reader from what Vinge wants the reader looking at. And in the Janni books, you were definitely working in that style. Leaves lots more room for an ambitious story.