Adding Style to Scientific Papers

It's a shame that most nonscientists probably would be bored silly by the fundamental unit of scientific communication: the paper describing original research. The content of such work is often anything but dull; yet even scientists have to admit that the quality of presentation can vary. That's why the standard format prevails of abstract, introduction, materials, methods, results, and discussion. This structure aims to ensure that the information will be organized in a rational and comprehensible manner. The format is helpful, and should not be discarded. Still, a rogue thought sometimes arises that the wonderfully engaging pursuit of science deserves better treatment. Surely, most researchers would welcome an enhancement of their reading experience as they peruse the latest exploits of their peers. No one wants scientific papers to eschew the science, but this doesn't mean that they can't also aspire to stylistic excellence. They could use just a touch of the literary, particularly at the beginning, to draw in the reader. Genre theory points out that theses, grant proposals, research papers, and other scientific texts differ in their language and structure because they have different readerships. The same applies to literary genres, including detective stories, romances, and mysteries. But one individual could be a reader in all of these genres, scientific and literary. Cross-fertilization can work, if employed with care. Witness the following three papers, selected from an issue of Nature. A little touch-up to their introductions shows what can be achieved by adding that all-important frisson of excitement to reports already rife with drama. "T-box gene tbx5 is essential for function of the pectoral limb bud" (in which a gene is knocked down to infer its function). Slightly reworked as the hard-boiled detective yarn, Day of the Zebrafish: Monday, midnight. The lab's a graveyard. Or to the untrained eye, maybe a seafood joint after hours, what with the zebrafish circling in their tanks like tomorrow's sushi. I'm beat, but the Folgers-fueled 36-hour stint was worth it, bumping off the walls of my Magnificent Mile bedsitter, chain-smoking, telling myself, "There's gotta be a way." Sure, I'm just another postdoc looking for a decent break in a tough institution, but I know these fish like a macrophage knows dead tissue. And then at daybreak, bang, it hit me--time for the heavy artillery. I hustled to the lab and pulled out the antisense, and before you could say "functional knockdown," the T-box hit the dirt. "Subendothelial retention of atherogenic lipoproteins in early atherosclerosis" (in which an interaction on artery walls is found to precipitate disease). Tweaked and presented as the romance, An Affair to Forget: At first, it all seemed so natural, so right. How were they to know that the mysterious, irresistible attraction drawing them together with the breathless insistence of molecular bonding could end this way? Their parents had not only failed to intervene, they had actively encouraged the union. No wonder; the lipoproteins and the proteoglycans had been interacting for centuries, and potentially had much to gain from one another. If only these particular lipoproteins hadn't been so filthy rich with apoB. They just didn't belong, no matter how hard they tried, in the rundown artery wall environs of the proteoglycans. What might have been a match made in heaven turned out instead to be a heart-breaker with "atherosclerosis" written all over it. "Density dependent mortality and the latitudinal gradient in species diversity" (in which insects and pathogens preying on seeds are investigated as causes of lessened tree diversity). Polished into an installment of the Professor L Mystery Series, "Death in a Crowd." Laboring up the hillside on a spring morning that seemed unseasonably warm for North Carolina, Professor L paused to wipe her brow and gaze at the familiar yet unfailingly lovely tableau stretching below her. Automatically, her trained eye identified several of the temperate forest taxa that were the focus of her excursion, even as she mentally recited their Latinate appellations: Acer pennsylvanicum, Fraxinus americana, Quercus rubra. But closer to where she stood, near the tall hill's summit, something was missing. Indeed, some of her beloved species had all but disappeared. Acer rubrum was especially scarce. She bent down and carefully scraped out an excavation of soil at the foot of a lone A. rubrum. And there it was, a small seed bank. But after a diligent search of the vicinity that employed every trick and technique gathered in a career of sleuthing, nowhere did she espy seedling emergence. Sighing, Professor L picked up one of the innumerable beetles traversing these earthen highways and held it close to her gaze. Quietly, she gave voice to the suspicion that had been troubling her all day: "Could this be a case of density-dependent mortality?" Steve Bunk (sbunk@the-scientist.com) is a contributing editor.

Adding Style to Scientific Papers

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Steve Bunk

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March 2003

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