A post more picturesque than scientific

There’s an interesting piece, "Molecular Self-Loathing", in the Oct 1-7 issue of The Economist. On a personal note, the degree of self-loathing programmed into my molecules is, apparently, this: I turn first to Lexington, notice there’s a cartoon of an aging hippie hitchhiking, thumb out; a car with a USA license-plate is passing him by. I read the whole thing. (To save yourself that trouble, do the following: say "He didn’t think that was so groovy", in a Monty Burns voice. Favorite line: "For their part, the Republicans have been trying to get beyond Richard Nixon’s ‘southern strategy.’")

The molecular self-loathing piece is about a novel theory that two eating disorders, bulimia and anorexia, may to some degree be autoimmune system-related. Correlations were found between "levels of autoantibodies to melanocortins": positive correlation with anorexia, negative with bulimia (no correlation for control groups.)

So what is a melanocortin? I dunno, but here’s what it says: "small protein molecules that carry messages between nerve cells in the brain. They are involved in regulating a variety of complex behaviours, including social interactions, stress responses and – most importantly in this context – food intake." So focus on them makes sense regarding eating disorders, clearly.

Now what determines levels of autoantibodies? Well, they are the little platoons of your autoimmune system. So when it attacks something, there are more of them. When not, less. It can attack things it’s supposed to attack, or – if things get out of whack – things it is not. (Possibly because the former have mimicked the latter.)

At this point insert all standard caveats about correlation and causality, I suppose, but the researchers are evidently exploring the possibility that levels of certain gut bateria, which are molecular mimicks, might effect ups and/or downs in autoantibody levels, which might effect melanocortin levels. So you might be able to treat eating disorders by killing (or nurturing) gut bacteria? I guess.

What makes this prima facie implausible is, of course, the understanding that eating-disorders "go hand in glove with particular personality characteristics which are not directly related to the disease. In anorexics, striving for perfection and conscientiousness … In bulimics, such trains include risk-taking behaviour and problems with impulse control."

But – I guess this is really what is being explored – there might be bacteria that might inflict a disorder on you only if you have a certain personality. They might drive your levels high enough, or drag them low enough, but (probably) only if you were already high or low. I hope there isn’t any bacteria that causes compulsive loves-to-hate-to-read-Lexington readers to, say, nervously scratch all their skin off. I should stay away from bacteria that affects lexingtocortin levels.

I guess the form of these hypotheses mirrors the Nobel-winning ulcer-cause theory. But again, I wouldn’t really know.

Why am I posting about things of which I know nothing? Because I turned to ask Belle: what precedent? There must be literary precedent. An SF story about diseases that strike only people with certain personalities? She correctly answered: Lanark. Yes! Alasdair Gray’s masterpiece. (Finally, a magical realism for phlegmatic Glaswegians!)

Our hero has arrived in the city. Medical examination mantadory. "We need records to identify you."

The medical room was in a hut reached by a passageway. I undressed behind a screen and was examined by a casual young doctor who whistled between his teeth as he wrote the results on my card. I was 5 feet 7 3/4 inches high and weighed 9 stone 12 pounds 3 1/2 ounces. My eyes were brown, hair black, blood group B (111). My only bodily markings were corns on the small toes and a patch of hard black skin on the right elbow. The doctor measured this with a pocket ruler and made a note saying, "Nothing exceptional there."

I asked what the hard patch was. He said, ‘We call it dragonhide, a name more picturesque than scientific, perhaps, but the science of these things is in its infancy. You can dress now." I asked how I could get it treated. he said, "There are several so-called medical practitioners in this city who claim to have cures for dragonhide. They advertise by small notices in tobacconists’ windows. Don’t waste money on them. It’s a common illness, as common as mouths or softs or twittering rigor. What you have there is very slight. If I were you I’d ignore it."

I asked why he had not ignored it. He said cheerfully, "Descriptive purposes. Diseases identify people more accurately than variable factors like height, weight, and hair colour."

Speaking of unscientific observations, I just happened to notice Lanark‘s Amazon sales ranking is currently as follows:

Today: #68,938 in Books
Yesterday: #418,873 in Books

I often glance at sales rank, out of the idlest of curiosities. It seems like some sort of index of something – some pulse of the literary culture. But this suggests that, once you get down to a certain level, the pulse probably just flutters and fluctuates? Well, anyway. Lanark is sure a hell of a lot better book than probably most of some 68,000 titles I could maybe mention. Come to think of it, Belle and I used to play a game, when we got the NY Times in paper form on Sundays. (Not convenient in Singapore.) Check the non-fiction bestsellers, and if half of them are plausibly books whose most important sentences are not falsehoods the culture’s autoimmune system is doing OK. In general the not-really-non-fiction to actually non-fiction ratio is the veridical malaise index. How do you rate the week?

Still bored? We did something pretty funny over at J&B. You can come see.