When James Watson and Francis Crick jointly received their Nobel in 1962 for their 1953-determination of the double helical structure of the DNA, other significant scientists who also aided in this discovery were left out (ever heard of Rosalind Franklin in this context as much as you may be aware of Watson and Crick?)  In fact, the discovery of the DNA’s helical structure was not a stand-alone scientific triumph. It was aided by other equally significant scientific contributions in genetics, X-ray crystallography, among others.

Watson and Crick’s discovery was first made known to the scientific world through the publication of their work “Molecular Structure of Nucleic Acids: A Structure for Deoxyribose Nucleic Acid” in Nature in 1953. However, in 1968, Watson published The Double Helix: A Personal Account of the Discovery of the Structure DNA. He describes the work in his preface as “recollections” of events and memories between 1951 and 1953, relaying for the reader an exhilarating journey of how the structure came to be discovered. The work demonstrates the human side of science, about how no scientific discovery occurs in a linear fashion as it may be perceived from scientific research that appears in journals, about the human frailties of scientists—their egos, biases, and sometimes even their happy-go-lucky attitudes! In short, through Watson’s personal account, we encounter a different version of the discovery of the DNA’s structure—different from high school textbooks.

What we have here is a story: a plot, several characters, conflicts, and drama, among other elements of a compelling narrative. And this is what makes science communication fascinating: these other narratives of science that make our scientific inquiries richer, more nuanced, and polyphonic in nature. For instance, consider asking: was Rosalind Franklin not acknowledged enough because she was a woman? Was it ethical for Watson and Crick to have accessed Franklin’s X-rays without her knowledge? The politics of who produces knowledge and how becomes a crucial question that emerges, not in the Nature-piece, but through Watson’s personal account.

So, think about what a training in reading elements of genre and narrative in literary studies will do to your training in the Sciences! Illustrated here is the faculty of science complemented by the faculty of humanities—a training in reading and writing at the foundational level to ask questions of the sciences. It is this exciting combination of literary studies and scientific inquiry, for instance, that leads you to a holistic inquiry and global competencies more broadly referred to as ‘Liberal Arts’. What we learn of Watson’s discovery is the intersection of human knowledge of science and language, and a narrative of human interest, a narrative you are least likely to encounter in conventional scientific communication. A training in the Liberal Arts, therefore, prepares you to ask questions of our world and our disciplinary affiliations, and generate critiques. It will remind us not to delude ourselves into believing that Watson and Crick were the two sole scientists, hard at work in their labs, who chanced upon this rather monumental scientific discovery in human history.

Dr. Gaana Jayagopalan
Associate Professor of English Language and Literary Studies,
Alliance School of Liberal Arts