The Compatibility Gene by Daniel M Davis: "I am very rare but my wife is rather common"

The scientist Daniel M Davis has told the story of genetic compatibility - and the rejection that is its opposite - with great insight and decades of research. It's a field that may yield significant treasures in the decades to come.

The Compatibility Gene
Daniel M Davis
Allen Lane, 256pp, £20

“I am very rare but my wife is rather common.” This is not a sentence that would normally endear an author to you, let alone make you feel a little sorry for him. The thing is, it’s not great being exotic. Should Daniel M Davis get seriously ill, his chances of finding a transplant match are very bad. When he tells you that his wife is not one in a million but one in 100,000, you should feel good for her. Davis is one in four million, according to the genetic tests that the couple underwent. That’s very bad news, transplant-wise.

This all comes down to what Davis terms the “compatibility genes”. They are the set of genes that determine the make-up of your immune system and make you who you are.

We worry about where we came from. There is not a human civilisation on the planet that does not pay attention to its ancestors in some way. TV genealogy shows have probably amplified this trait, encouraging us to treasure our roots (or despair at them) in ever larger measure. So it’s no wonder we don’t cope well with the idea of organ transplantation: it messes with everything.

A study carried out in Sweden demonstrates the problem. In interviews with patients who had received someone else’s kidney, almost all of the subjects said that they felt it was best not to know too much about the donor. For some irrational, inexplicable reason, we are psychologically sideswiped by the idea that someone else’s meat has been installed inside our own. Some patients even worried about worrying about it, expressing a fear that too much “brooding” over the donor could lead their bodies to reject the foreign tissue.

We now know, thanks to a half-century of scientific sleuthing, that this isn’t true. Rejection of foreign bodies results from the activities of the compatibility genes. Davis’s enlightening book tells the extraordinary story of that discovery. As well as dealing with foreign tissue, the compatibility genes seem to influence our selection of biologically beneficial partners. It turns out that we look for complementary immune systems that enhance the chance of our offspring’s survival. Get it wrong at your peril: the compatibility genes are, it seems, frequently to blame in miscarriages. The contributions frommother and father have to be a good complementary pairing for a pregnancy to be successful. If Davis’s wife had chosen a more “common” man, she might have found herself with someone whose genes were too similar to her own, with adverse effects on the couple’s fertility. As Davis puts it, “Differences in our immune-system genes can influence who gets born.”

Sadly, science has not yet given us ways to cope with these differences. The best you can do is try to find a partner who somehow smells right. Evolution’s finest innovation might be the nose: we use it to check whether someone else’s immune system is complementary to our own.

Evolution is not perfect, however: given that as many as one in three pregnancies ends in miscarriage, cleary the smell is too subtle. Either that or we are all washing too thoroughly (or not doing enough investigative snogging).

It is almost ironic that the scientists who laid the foundations of this kind of research also had coupling issues. The Nobel laureate biologist Peter Medawar’s work elucidating what causes the rejection of transplants was so intense that he told his wife that she had claim on his love but not his time (and that he would be fine with an open marriage). The Danish biologist and sadomasochism fan Niels Jerne had a string of affairs before his wife (who had her share of lovers) committed suicide; it was only later, suppressing his grief with a gruelling work schedule, that Jerne uncovered the protective powers of antibodies. The Austrian Karl Landsteiner discovered the vital distinctions we know as blood groups. He also lived with his mother until she died. When he married shortly after that, the new Mrs Landsteiner faced the nightly distraction of her mother-in-law’s death mask on the bedroom wall. To her credit, the couple did manage to have a child.

Many more scientists are threaded through the pages of Davis’s thoughtful book and they all share one thing: the grinding heartbreak that is the slow progress of scientific discovery. It’s a heartbreak that Davis knows well; he is a leading figure in this subject. Though the science behind what causes our body to recognise itself and reject foreign material is more than 60 years old, he tells us, the conclusions we can draw from it are still fairly limited. Nonetheless, The Compatibility Gene is a fascinating, expertly told story of a field that may yield significant treasures in the decades to come.

Michael Brooks is the New Statesman’s science columnist 

The science behind our bodies' rejection of foreign material is 60 years old, Davis writes, but the conclusions we can draw are still limited. Photograph: Getty Images.

Michael Brooks holds a PhD in quantum physics. He writes a weekly science column for the New Statesman, and his most recent book is At the Edge of Uncertainty: 11 Discoveries Taking Science by Surprise.

This article first appeared in the 02 September 2013 issue of the New Statesman, Syria: The west humiliated

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The non-fiction novel that takes readers inside the head of Raoul Moat

Andrew Hankinson’s depiction of Moat’s unravelling is being marketed as biography/true crime, but its semi-fictional world is something more complex.

In July 2010, just weeks after becoming Prime Minister, David Cameron expanded upon his vision for the “Big Society” that he had first unveiled at the 2009 party conference. It promised a “big advance for people power”, in which individuals would be responsible for their actions. “To be British is to be sceptical of authority and the powers that be,” he told conference. “There is a ‘we’ in politics, and not just a ‘me’.”

That same month, just two days after being released from HMP Durham for the assault of a child, the self-employed gardener and former doorman Raoul Moat shot and injured his ex-girlfriend Samantha Stobbart and killed her boyfriend Chris Brown, who he wrongly believed to be a policeman. Moat went on the run, shooting a policeman at point-blank range, then fleeing to the rural Northumberland town of Rothbury. For a week, the story of this exotically named, delusional man who left behind a wealth of material, including letters and four-hour-long Dictaphone recordings, was given joint top billing with Cameron’s “Big Society” – soon to be as dead and buried as Moat, who, cornered by police after a seven-day hunt, killed himself.

The journalist Andrew Hankinson’s depiction of Moat’s unravelling is being marketed as biography/true crime, yet really is a non-fiction novel, in which writer and reader squat inside a mind that moves from irrational anger and self-pity to despondency. Moat’s is a solipsistic narration, in which he is the perennial victim – of circumstance, enemies, authoritarian bureaucracy, police harassment and past lovers. There is little room here for the outside world. Like most outlaws, Moat believed that everyone had failed him. “All my life I wanted death,” he laments.

The real-life Moat story, however, was more than that of a lone fugitive. It was also about rolling news coverage and Facebook groups, some of which celebrated Moat as a Ned Kelly-type folk hero – a “#ledge”. When Cameron denounced him in parliament he inadvertently elevated Moat to a clearer anti-authoritarian position: the antithesis of a “Big Society” citizen, in fact. It is also the story of the Northumbria Police force, which did its very best to show that it had everything under control when it really didn’t.

And, bringing an element of farce to a tragedy, it featured the subplot of a thoroughly leathered Paul Gascoigne – the most exciting and idiosyncratic footballer of his generation – tearing through the countryside in a taxi with a fishing rod, a dressing gown and a rotisserie chicken in an attempt to bring a sense of calm to the situation. “All I want to do is shout, ‘Moaty, it’s  Gazza! Where are you?’” he explained en route during a live radio phone-in. “And I guarantee he will shout his name out: ‘I’m here.’” Gascoigne’s pantomime intervention added to the chaos: now another disenfranchised northern male was running amok. The parallels were evident: Gazza’s career had been beset by injury and alcoholism, Moat’s bodybuilder’s physique was no longer in prime condition after weight loss in prison. Both were separated from their families and prone to self-examination. Onlookers knew it could quite easily have been Gazza holed up in those woods.

Other exponents of the non-fiction novel such as Norman Mailer and Gordon Burn would surely have put all this in, yet Hankinson chooses not to cover any of the peripheral subplots, instead using a second-person narrative to burrow deep into Moat’s paranoia, sourcing all his text from real material. This narrative sacrifice in favour of a singular voice gives the book thrust and authenticity of voice, and manages to show the nuances of a man who was articulate and often capable, and had reached out to social services on many occasions for help. None of which excuses Moat’s action – but it does explain his choices. Where the tabloids favoured the simplicity of the textbook “cold-blooded killer”, Hankinson’s portrait lets the reader make his or her own judgement. Clearly Moat was a bully, and yet he was not born that way. Few are. “There’ll be books written about all this, and you’ll be made out to be some crazed fucking maniac,” he says to himself, with both foresight and grim resignation.

Elsewhere the semi-fictional Moat brushes over past transgressions and labours over the tiniest slights in such repetitive, droning detail that the reader’s sympathy soon wanes. The book’s strength lies in the real-life Moat’s keenness to confess – to be heard, finally, beyond death – through these nocturnal monologues, recorded in his tent after yet another meal of charred burgers. From these remnants, Hankinson deftly assembles the man’s inner workings, lending credibility to his portrait while, beyond the myopic commentary, we know, although we don’t see it, that the outside world is closing in. Critics might ask: why give voice to a loser? Perhaps because in the right hands any real-life story is worth telling, and history should never just record the heroes and victors. The losers play their part, too.

Ben Myers’s novel “Beastings” recently won the Portico Prize for Literature

You Could Do Something Amazing With Your Life [You Are Raoul Moat] by Andrew Hankinson is published by Scribe (211pp, £12.99)

Ben Myers’ novels include Pig Iron and Richard, a Sunday Times book of the year. His writing has appeared in The Guardian, NME, Mojo, Time Out, 3:AM Magazine, Caught By The River and many others. www.benmyersmanofletters.blogspot.com

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war