As intelligent as it is entertaining, this witty and surprisingly erotic novel reveals the beauty and drama of scientific inquiry as it informs us of the simple passions against which even the most brilliant mind is rendered powerless.
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As intelligent as it is entertaining, this witty and surprisingly erotic novel reveals the beauty and drama of scientific inquiry as it informs us of the simple passions against which even the most brilliant mind is rendered powerless.
A distant relative of the first geneticist, pea-pollinating Gregor Mendel, Ben has long used libraries as a refuge, and education as a way out (if not up). Still in his 20s, he's determined to identify the gene that made him "one of nature's practical jokes." Offered a post at the Royal Institute for Genetics, he immediately puts achondroplasia on the table. The director may well consider research into dwarfdom commercially unviable, but Ben knows better. His height will finally be of help: "There are lots of organizations interested," he insists. "The Little People of America, groups like that. When they see me coming they reach for their covenant forms."
Mawer interleaves Ben's research with the story of his affair (a "menage à une et demi") with the Institute's ill-fated assistant librarian, Jeane Piercey: "Mousy, of course. I feel that all librarians ought to be mousy. It should be a necessary (but not sufficient) qualification for the job. Mousy? Agouti? What, I wonder, is its genetic control? Perhaps it is tightly linked to the gene for tidiness." Mawer also juxtaposes Ben's passion with that of his legume-obsessed ancestor. Mendel, it turns out, pined for Frau Rotway, a married woman in the inevitable company of her own achondroplastic, a dachshund.
Mendel's Dwarf wears its considerable learning lightly--the author is a biologist--and readers will be alternately moved, charmed, and shocked by Ben's "astringent kiss of irony." Because the hero makes several difficult choices in the course of this fine novel, we admire his bravery, along with his resilience, at every turn. For Ben, the smallest gesture can become the largest (nods being "big absurd things, my head being about the same size as my body. You can't miss them. They are the gestural equivalent of screaming"). And alas, such acts are often poignantly beyond Ben's grasp: "I wanted to put my arm around her, of course, to bring her that fragile thing that we call comfort. But of course I couldn't reach." --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
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Dr. Benedict Lambert, Ben, a distinguished geneticist, is the great-great-great-nephew of Gregor Mendel, the Augustinian friar whose research in the inheritance characters in plants and hybridization provided the platform for modern genetics. Ironically, Ben has achondroplasia - he is a dwarf, a mutant as he calls himself, who "possesses a massive forehead and blunt, puglike features. His nose is stove in at the bridge, his mouth and jaw protrude. His limbs are squat and bowed, his fingers are mere squabs. He is one meter, twenty-seven centimeters tall."
Yet he is brilliant, so esteemed that he is called upon to address members of the Mendel Symposium some 100 years after his great-great-great uncle's death. Aware of the surprise, revulsion and pity in the eyes of his audience, he has steeled himself to ignore the "there-but-for-the-grace-of-God-go-I sort of stare," yet he is cagey enough to use their sympathy, "the guilt of the survivor," to win over his listeners.
Following his address Ben visits the monastery at Brno where Mendel worked. It is here that their life stories begin to interweave. Through Ben's voice we learn that they share a devotion to research, while each is hampered in his own way - the eccentric friar by his humble background and the parameters imposed by the Augustinian order he follows, while Ben is fettered by his physical deformity.
As men they are both frustrated sexually. Mendel, bound by vows of celibacy, finds his muse in the safely wed Frau Rotwang, wife of a wealthy cotton mill owner, to whom the friar shyly presents a plant he has bred and named for her - the Adelaide fuchsia. His gift is received with "A small exhalation of breath. A shock. It is the first time that he has ever hinted at her Christian name, the first indication that he even knows it."
Ben's desire for intimacy is hobbled by his physical appearance. He finds a modicum of comfort and dismissive acceptance with prostitutes: "It'll be extra for you. Sorry dear, but that's the way it is. Market forces....extra for gross deformities." The pain of that encounter is small compared with his unrequited love for Miss Jean Piercey, a librarian at London's Royal Institute for Genetics, where Ben is on staff, determinedly working to identify the gene for achondroplasia. Only a writer with the compassion and skill of Simon Mawer could elicit empathy rather than sideshow curiosity when describing their unlikely coupling.
As the pair of biographies unfolds, the men's scientific discoveries are meticulously recounted. Although delivered clearly and succinctly, at times the complexities of such information as "You follow the riflips with radioactive DNA probes," may tend to intimidate. Yet, Mendel's Dwarf is an aurora borealis of ideas, a spectacular exploration of nature's cruelty, humankind's demand for conformity, the unremitting search for knowledge, and our unquenchable thirst for love.
Despite the lucidity of his prose and the ingeniousness of his tale, Mr. Mawer's crowning achievement surely is Ben, who tries to hide his vulnerability behind an armor of paradox. Raised by a father who never looked straight at him, "Always his glance was aslant, tangential, as though that way he might not notice," Ben develops his own way of coping: "You guard against self-pity, build bastions of cynicism, dig ditches of irony and sarcasm; but sometimes, just sometimes, the barriers are breached." In the breaching of these barriers the story reaches its cosmically tragic finale.
Winner of the United Kingdom's distinguished McKitterick Prize for fiction, Mr. Mawer is introduced to an American audience with Mendel's Dwarf. It is an auspicious, deeply affecting debut.
Lambert is an intelligent, acerbic, somewhat bitter character -- he has learned through his life to endure the polite and not-so-polite stares, the prejudices, the patronizing smiles of so-called 'normal' people. He has even learned to use his all-too-obvious condition in his studies and lectures -- making self-effacing jokes to lull his audience into a sense of relaxed cameraderie and submission, only to turn around and make a stabbing point with the determination and aim of Captain Ahab going after Moby Dick.
There is a love story here as well, in Lambert's relationship with Jean Piercey Miller. It is told very movingly -- it allows us to see fondness and emotion flourish in the heart of one who has been hardened by the treatment he has received at the hands of the world. There is also a purely erotic side, darker. It is tinged with a definite sadness, for we can see other, less healthy emotional undercurrents in both characters as well -- there is joy and sorrow in the cup from which they drink.
The book is written to include a series of flashnacks, allowing us a glimpse into the life of Georg Mendel, the Austrian friar who is also by chance (or by fate?) a distant relative of Dr. Lambert -- his great great great uncle. The difficulties encountered by Mendel in his day in gaining deserved attention for his pioneering work present an apt parallel to Lambert's modern-day struggles.
Near the book's climax, Lambert delivers a lecture on eugenics that is worth reading over several times -- given the current level of progress in the Human Genome Project, he presents some thoughts that we would do well to consider.
The novel presents an intelligently conceived, relevant story in an entertaining, engrossing way -- the book picks up its pace distinctly as it moves along, and the characters are well-drawn and compelling, making it difficult to put down.
The novel's theme shifts between the current love story of Benedict and a librarian, Jean (get it?), and Mendel's activities and researches with peas and corn. Interesting and difficult questions are raised by way of this story:
1) Why was Mendel's research largely ignored in its time although it was the obvious solution to questions raised by Darwin about evolution? (It had the scintillating title, "Research in Pea Plants," and the Darwin-Huxley-Fisher group were more interested in descriptive natural history and the British Empire than in Pascal's triangle and probability quotients.)
2) How was eugenics used as a rationale for the British Empire and by Hitler for the Holocaust, and are we still doing it?
3) Is it even possible to avoid unnatural selection in our time? (Isn't the practice of birth control a form of eugenics?)
There are footnotes and references throughout, but be careful. I checked a reference to a journal, Trends in Genetics, May 1995 via PubMed, but although I found the journal, could not locate the article he cites.
There is suspense throughout, even to Benedict's final dilemma. The book might have been called Benedict's Choice, but the author was too imaginative for that.
Aside from enjoyment, this book might be an excellent selection for a course called Science in Literature. Teenagers, especially, would identify with Benedict's loneliness and would be interested in the social and ethical dilemmas raised by our knowledge of modern genetics.
Being a dwarf, Dr Lambert is practically a lonely person. Read more