Douglas Adams and the world’s largest, fattest and least-able-to-fly parrot

Rodrigo B. Salvador

Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa. Wellington, New Zealand.

Email: salvador.rodrigo.b (at) gmail (dot) com

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The system of life on this planet is so astoundingly complex that it was a long time before man even realized that it was a system at all and that it wasn’t something that was just there.” ―Douglas Adams, 1990

Douglas Noel Adams was born on 11 March 1952 in Cambridge, UK, and grew up to become one of geekdom’s most revered icons. Adams is the author of… Well, that is pretty obvious and I should not have to write this down, but I will nonetheless, just because I won’t be able to sleep well otherwise. So bear with me for a moment – here goes: Adams is the author of the trilogy The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, the self-proclaimed world’s largest trilogy, with five books in total[1].

However, unbeknownst to many of his fans, Adams was also an environmental activist. He spearheaded or participated in several conservation initiatives, such as Save the Rhino International. His history with conservation started in 1985, when the World Wide Fund for Nature (better known as WWF) and British newspaper The Observer partnered up, sending writers to visit endangered species to raise public awareness (BBC, 2014). Adams travelled to Madagascar in search of a lemur species, the aye-aye (Daubentonia madagascariensis). As he put it, “My role, and one for which I was entirely qualified, was to be an extremely ignorant non-zoologist to whom everything that happened would come as a complete surprise” (LCtS: p. 1).

In Madagascar Adams met not only weird lemurs, but also British zoologist Mark Carwardine. They enjoyed the experience and decided to travel the world to see other endangered animals. I mean, Adams and Carwardine travelled the world, not the lemurs; the lemurs stayed in Madagascar as far as anyone can tell. According to Carwardine, “We put a big map of the world on a wall, Douglas stuck a pin in everywhere he fancied going, I stuck a pin in where all the endangered animals were, and we made a journey out of every place that had two pins” (BBC, 2014).

Their travels resulted in Last Chance to See, a BBC radio documentary series that aired in the end of 1989. The companion book (by Adams & Carwardine, 1990, henceforth abbreviated as “LCtS”) was published in the following year[2] (Fig. 1). As a matter of fact, Adams considered this book as his favorite work (Adams, 2005).

Figure 1. Cover art of the American edition of Last Chance to See (Harmony Books, New York, 1991).

Despite Adams’s calling himself an “ignorant non-zoologist”, world-renowned evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins politely disagreed, writing: “Douglas was not just knowledgeable about science. He didn’t just make jokes about science. He had the mind of a scientist, he mined science deeply and brought to the surface… humour, and a style of wit that was simultaneously literary and scientific, and uniquely his own” (Dawkins, 2009: p. xiii).

Last Chance to See describes Adam’s and Carwardine’s travels around the globe to see nearly-extinct species, such as the Amazonian manatee (Trichechus inunguis) and the northern white rhinoceros (Ceratotherium simum cottoni). As one could expect, nearly all the species are mammals, since most of the public are primarily concerned with cuddly and relatable species. I, however, will focus here on the only bird on their list that got an entire chapter for itself. And I’ll do that for various reasons: (1) I am not very normal, so I am not that fond of smelly mammals; (2) it is a success story and people like success stories; and (3) this is a very funny-looking bird, I promise you.

This bird is called kakapo.


Mark Carwardine first described the kakapo to Douglas Adams as “the world’s largest, fattest and least-able-to-fly parrot” (LCtS: p. 7). His description might seem a little disparaging at first, but it was meant in an affectionate way – you cannot help but smile when you see a kakapo. Besides, Carwardine’s description is actually spot-on (Fig. 2).

According to Adams, “[the] kakapo is a bird out of time. If you look one in its large, round, greeny-brown face, it has a look of serenely innocent incomprehension that makes you want to hug it and tell it that everything will be all right” (LCtS: p. 108).

Figure 2. Sirocco, a male kakapo, looking funny as kakapos usually do. Image extracted from New Zealand Birds Online (; credit: Dylan van Winkel.

The kakapo (or kākāpō, in Māori or Te Reo spelling) is a nocturnal flightless bird and its face resemble that of an owl, with the eyes positioned more to the front. For this reason, it is also known as owl-parrot or night parrot. Kakapos have green feathers, speckled with black and yellow (Fig. 3).

Figure 3. A kakapo looking unusually serious. Image extracted from New Zealand Birds Online (; credit: Colin Miskelly (2011).

Furthermore, kakapos are solitary birds, have a polygynous lek mating system (don’t panic, I’ll explain that later), lack male parental care, and breed in irregular intervals (with gaps of 2 to 7 years; Powlesland et al., 2006). Kakapos are so unique that ornithologists classified the species in its own family: Strigopidae. They are the very first lineage to have branched out of the parrot group (the Order Psittaciformes). Even their closest “relatives”, the kaka and the kea (also from New Zealand), are already considered to be very distinct from kakapos.

Being such an ancient lineage of parrots, researchers consider that it could have split off the rest of the parrot groups when New Zealand got separated from the what is now Australia and Antarctica around 80 million years ago (Gibbs, 2016). All the southern landmasses had been previously joined in the supercontinent Gondwana, which was made up of South America, Africa, India, Antarctica, Australia and Zealandia (Fig. 4) and was by that time finishing its separation.

Figure 4. The supercontinent Gondwana during the Triassic (circa 200 million years ago). Image modified from Wikimedia Commons; credit: LennyWikidata (2008).

This break up left Zealandia with no mammals and a bird “paradise” island started to take shape. It is considered that the kakapo followed the trend of oceanic island bird lineages (where nasty mammals are not present) to evolve larger and flightless forms (Powlesland et al., 2006). For instance, that happened with the lineages of the dodo, moa, and elephant bird.


I cannot overstate how weird kakapos are for a parrot – or for a bird, actually. Adams considered the kakapo the strangest and most intriguing of all the creatures he saw during his travels with Carwardine (LCtS: p. 105). So I’ll illustrate that by highlighting some aspects of its biology that are of broader interest or peculiar weirdness. If you, however, are looking for a complete guide to the species’ biology, do take a look at the work of Powlesland et al. (2006).

We already covered that kakapos are nocturnal and flightless, and thus have good hearing and sense of smell, alongside massive legs and feet to walk around and climb trees. Yes, they do not fly, but do climb trees to feed. Evolution works in mysterious ways, it seems. Elliot (2017) wrote: “They often leap from trees and flap their wings, but at best manage a controlled plummet.” I prefer, however, the way Douglas Adams put it: “it seems that not only has the kakapo forgotten how to fly, but it has forgotten that it has forgotten how to fly. Apparently a seriously worried kakapo will sometimes run up a tree and jump out of it, whereupon it flies like a brick and lands in a graceless heap on the ground” (LCtS: p. 109)[3].

It seems kakapos are not able to follow the suggestion of the Hitchhiker’s Guide: “There is an art, it says, or rather, a knack to flying. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss. (…) Clearly, it is this second part, the missing, which presents the difficulties” (Adams, 1982). Kakapos just constantly fail to miss the ground.

Overall, kakapos are quite large birds, weighing around 2 kg, but males may weigh up to 4 kg and be 40% larger than females (Eason et al., 2006; Elliot, 2017). Their life span is unknown, but is estimated at 60 to 90 years (Department of Conservation, 2018a, 2018b).

Kakapos are vegetarian and eat almost every possible parts of plants. In fact, they only breed in years with a good abundance of fruit (Cockrem, 2006; Elliot, 2017). In their current habitat, kakapo reproduction is tied with that of the rimu (Dacrydium cupressinum), an evergreen coniferous tree of the podocarp family (Fig. 5). These plants bloom together every 2 to 4 years (sometimes it takes more); the kakapos must wait for the rimu because they depend on its “fruits” (Fig. 6) to feed the chicks (Cockrem, 2006; Ballance, 2010).

Figure 5. A rimu tree is really tall for a flightless bird to climb. Image retrieved from Wikimedia Commons; credit: Kahuroa (2008).
Figure 6. A ripe rimu “fruit”, or better put, a seed sitting on a fleshy cup. Image retrieved from Wikimedia Commons; credit: Department of Conservation (2002).

Unlike any other parrot, kakapos are lek breeders. This behavior is common for other groups of birds and even other animals, though. It consists in males gathering relatively close to each other and starting a competition to show off to females. Birds can do this mainly by song or dance (or both), but might also include somersaults and flying maneuvers. Each female will chose the best performer (in their opinion at least) and successful males typically mate with more than one female during a single season.

Male kakapos sing to attract females. Or rather, they do something akin to “Pink Floyd studio out-takes” (LCtS: p. 111). The most common type of call produced by kakapos is called booming. This is a low-frequency (<100 Hz) resonant call, which can be heard up to 5 km away (Merton et al., 1984; Higgins, 1999). To produce this sound, male kakapos fill up internal air sacs; they can inflate until they look like a fluffy watermelon (Figs. 7, 8). Adams described the sound as a heartbeat, a powerful throb you felt before actually hearing it; and this gave the title to the kakapo’s own chapter in LCtS: “Heartbeats in the Night”.

Figure 7. A male kakapo booming – and looking like a watermelon. Image extracted from New Zealand Birds Online (; credit: Department of Conservation (image ref 10027966, photo by Ralph Powlesland).
Figure 8. How to camouflage as a watermelon in four easy steps. OK, now serious caption: postures of a male kakapo booming. Figure reproduced from Merton et al. (1984: fig. 4). The original caption reads: “(1) Normal stance; (2) Alert static pose between booming sequences; (3) Commencement of booming: inflation of thorax while giving preliminary ‘grunts’; (4) Maximum thoracic inflation during loud booming.”

Booming also serves to indicate the male’s overall location to the female. Once they are close by, males can produce a sharp metallic “ching” call to enable females to pinpoint their exact location (Powlesland et al., 2006). A good place to hear kakapo booming and chinging is New Zealand Birds Online (http://nzbirdsonline.

The female nests on the ground, either on a spot covered by dense vegetation or in natural cavities (Elliot, 2017). Kakapos usually lay 2 to 4 eggs and the female raise the chicks alone (Fig. 9; Cockrem, 2006; Powlesland et al., 2006). Young birds leave the nest within 2 to 3 months, but remain close to their mother’s home range until they are 6.5 to 8.5 months old (Farrimond et al, 2006; Powlesland et al., 2006).

So how do we summarize kakapos? Adams gives us a nice idea: “The kakapo (…) pursues its own eccentricities rather industriously and modestly. If you ask anybody who has worked with kakapos to describe them, they tend to use words like ‘innocent’ and ‘solemn’, even when it’s leaping helplessly out of a tree. This I find immensely appealing” (LCtS: p. 121).

Figure 9. Alice, a female kakapo, on her nest with her two chicks (circa 45 days old). Image extracted from New Zealand Birds Online (; credit: Department of Conservation (image ref 10048384, photo by Don Merton, 2002).

Box 1. Kakapo names

Since there are so few kakapo left and the whole population is managed, each bird has its own name. When Adams and Carwardine visited Codfish Island, they met a kakapo named Ralph. Later on, Adams himself got to name a kakapo Jane, after his then-girlfriend (Balance, 2010). You can check this amazing infographic (by DeMartini et al.) with all the names and family trees of known kakapos: Kakapo/Dashboard1?:embed=y&:display_count=yes&:toolbar=no&:showVizHome=no.

Presently, the most famous kakapo is Sirocco, who became a YouTube star after he tried to mate with Carwardine’s head during the filming of the Last Chance to See TV series (Carwardine, 2010). Today, Sirocco is 21 years old and is the official “spokesbird” for conservation in New Zealand (Department of Conservation, 2018b), a title given to him by then Prime Minister John Key.


Kakapos were present in New Zealand long before humans arrived there: some subfossil bones have been dated from 2500 years ago (Wood, 2006). They were very common and lived throughout both the North and South Islands (Tipa, 2006), with few natural enemies. They were successful in their pre-human environment, but that was soon to change.

Polynesian settlers arrived in Aotearoa[4] between 1200 and 1300 CE (Wilmshurst et al., 2010) and became known as the Māori. As typical of all humans, they brought domestic/pest species with them: dogs and rats.

As many island species, kakapos were only concerned with their known immediate predators; these mostly harmless birds were thus unprepared for a wave of invaders. Kakapos have the strategy of staying perfectly still when facing danger, which works fine against predators that rely on sight. However, this had little effect against dogs, which hunt by scent. The parrots were hunted for food and ornamentation (for instance, the Māori used the feathers in cloaks; Tipa, 2006) and the population declined. Polynesian rats also played a major role, preying upon defenseless kakapo eggs and chicks.

European settlers arrived on the 19th century and, as one might expect, colonization (and new mammalian predators, such as cats and mustelids) accelerated the species’ decline. The Europeans also brought naturalists, who collected specimens for study at museums (Fig. 10). British zoologist George Robert Gray officially named the kakapo Strigops habroptilus[5] in 1845. Later naturalists (some already born in New Zealand) went further, observing live parrots in the wild and studying their natural history.

Figure 10. Museum drawer full of preserved kakapo specimens, from the collection of the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa. Photo by the author (©Te Papa, all rights reserved).

Already in the 1890’s, naturalists became aware that the species was heading towards extinction, so the first efforts in conservation (transferring animals to islands in Fiordland; Fig. 11) were undertaken (Hill & Hill, 1987). They failed and eventually the species fade out from the thoughts of New Zealanders, being considered extinct or nearly so (Ballance, 2010).


That lasted until the work of Williams (1956), which summarized all knowledge about the kakapo and brought it back to the spotlight. With this renewed interest, expeditions were formed to find the species in the southernmost reaches of New Zealand.

A serious take on conservation efforts started again in the 1970’s, when a population of around 200 kakapos was found on Stewart Island (Fig. 11; Powlesland et al., 2006). A new process of translocation and monitoring then began. During the 1980s and 1990s, the animals were all moved to predator-free islands: Codfish, Maud and Little Barrier (Fig. 11; Elliot, 2017). When Adams and Carwardine visited Codfish Island in 1992, there were only around 40 kakapos left (Ballance, 2010; Carwardine, 2010).

Figure 11. Map of New Zealand showing the locations mentioned on the text. Image modified from Wikimedia Commons; credit: NordNordWest (2009).

However, things started to look brighter after a review in the management of the species (Elliot et al., 2001). A strong and focused policy and full support of the government were essential during the decades since (Jansen, 2006). The kakapo population started to recover and can now be considered one of the greatest successes among global conservation programs – and a good example of how our species can, in fact, clean up after its own mess.

The last report, from June 2017, counted a total of 154 birds (Elliot, 2017), a number exceeding previous population simulations (Elliot, 2005). Recovering the kakapo from the brink of extinction was a feat, but more challenges remain. Presently, the species is considered as “critically endangered” according to the IUCN’s Red List (BirdLife International, 2016). Although this seems better, it is good to remember that this is just one step away from the “extinct in the wild” status in this classification scheme (which the kakapo held during two issues of the Red List in the mid-1990s). Presently, kakapos only survives on offshore islands and there is still lot of work to be done until we have a viable, and self-sustaining population that does not need human management.

Maybe just panic a little bit…

The kakapo is not the only endangered species in the New Zealand – everyone has heard about kiwis, at least. So what about all the other threatened species, birds and otherwise, in the country? Jansen (2006: 190) ominously wrote: “While extinction of kakapo is now less likely than 10 years ago, the future of the 600+ New Zealand species listed as acutely and chronically threatened (…) and that presently do not receive any management is by no means secure.” So yes, there is still a lot of work to be done.

But why should we care if some species go extinct? Why should we strive so much to save them? Carwardine (LCtS: p. 205) gave what Dawkins (2009) considered to be the typical explanations for business-minded humans: (1) we mess with the environment, everything go haywire, and that ultimately affects our survival, and (2) living beings have their uses as food, drugs, etc. However, Carwardine then presented his preferred explanation, one more typical of scientists and that we say to each other over coffee: we try to save them because they are cool. Or, as Carwardine put it: “There is one last reason for caring, and I believe no other is necessary. It is certainly the reason why so many people have devoted their lives to protecting the likes of rhinos, parakeets, kakapos and dolphins. And it is simply this: the world would be a poorer, darker, lonelier place without them” (LCtS: p. 206).

“Up until that point it hadn’t really clicked with man that an animal could just cease to exist. It was as if we hadn’t realised that if we kill something, it simply won’t be there anymore. Ever. As a result of the extinction of the dodo we are sadder and wiser.” ―Douglas Adams, 1990


Adams, D. (1982) Life, the Universe and Everything. Pan Books, London.

Adams, D. (2005) The Salmon of Doubt: Hitchhiking the Galaxy One Last Time. William Heinemann, London.

Adams, D. & Carwardine, M. (1990) Last Chance to See. William Heinemann, London. [Edition used here: 2009, by Arrow Books, London.]

Ballance, A. (2010) Kakapo: Rescued from the Brink of Extinction. Craig Potton, Nelson.

BBC. (2014) Background. Last Chance to See. Available from: chancetosee/sites/about/last_chance_to_see.shtml [access date: 25 Sep 2018].

BirdLife International. (2016) Strigops habroptila.  The IUCN Red List of Threatened Species 2016. Available from: IUCN.UK.2016-3.RLTS.T22685245A93065234.en [access date: 25 Sep 2018].

Carwardine, M. (2010) Foreword. In: Ballance, A. Kakapo: Rescued from the Brink of Extinction. Craig Potton, Nelson. Pp. 9–10.

Cockrem, J.F. (2006) The timing of breeding in the kakapo (Strigops habroptilus). Notornis 53(1): 153–159.

Colfer, E. (2009) And Another Thing… Penguin Books, London.

Dawkins, R. (2009) Foreword to new edition of Last Chance to See by Douglas Adams and Mark Carwardine. In: Adams, D. & Carwardine, M. Last Chance to See. Arrow Books, London. Pp. xi–xvi.

Department of Conservation (DOC). (2018a) Kākāpō. Available from: https://www.doc.govt. nz/nature/native-animals/birds/birds-a-z/kaka po/ [access date: 26 Sep 2018].

Department of Conservation (DOC). (2018b) Sirocco the kākāpō conservation superstar. Available from: sirocco [access date: 27 Sep 2018].

Eason, D.K.; Elliott, G.P.; Merton, D.V.; Jansen, P.W.; Harper, G.A.; Moorhouse, R.J. (2006) Breeding biology of kakapo (Strigops habroptilus) on offshore island sanctuaries, 1990–2002. Notornis 53(1): 27–36.

Elliott, G.P. (2006) A simulation of the future of kakapo. Notornis 53(1): 164–172.

Elliott, G.P. (2017) Kakapo. In: Miskelly, C.M. (Ed.) New Zealand Birds Online. Available from: [access date: 26 Sep 2018].

Elliott, G.P.; Jansen, P.W.; Merton, D.M. (2001) Intensive management of a critically endangered species: the kakapo. Biological Conservation 99: 121–133.

Farrimond, M.; Elliott, G.P.; Clout, M.N. (2006) Growth and fledging of kakapo. Notornis 53: 112–115.

Gibbs, G. (2016) Ghosts of Gondwana: The History of Life in New Zealand. Fully Revised Edition. Potton & Burton, Nelson.

Jansen, P.W. (2006) Kakapo recovery: the basis of decision-making. Notornis 53: 184–190.

Higgins, P.J. (1999) Handbook of Australian, New Zealand and Antarctic Birds. Vol. 4: Parrots to Dollarbird. Oxford University Press, Melbourne.

Hill, S. & Hill, J. (1987) Richard Henry of Resolution Island: a Biography. John McIndoe, Dunedin.

Merton, D.V.; Morris, R.D.; Atkinson, I.A.E. (1984) Lek behaviour in a parrot: the Kakapo Strigops habroptilus of New Zealand. Ibis 126: 277–283.

Powlesland, R.G.; Cockrem, J.F.; Merton, D.V. (2006) A parrot apart: the natural history of the kakapo (Strigops habroptilus) and the context of its conservation management. Notornis 53: 3–26.

Tipa, R. (2006) Kakapo in Maori lore. Notornis 53: 193–194.

Williams, G.R. (1956) The kakapo (Strigops habroptilus, Gray): a review and re-appraisal of a near-extinct species. Notornis 7: 29–56.

Wilmshurst, J.M.; Hunt, T.L.; Lipo, C.P.; Anderson, A.J. (2011) High-precision radiocarbon dating shows recent and rapid initial human colonization of East Polynesia. PNAS 108(5): 1815–1820.

Wood, J.R. (2006) Subfossil kakapo (Strigops habroptilus) remains from near Gibraltar Rock, Cromwell Gorge, Central Otago, New Zealand. Notornis 53: 191–193. 


I am very grateful to Colin Miskelly, Dylan van Winkel, the Department of Conservation, and the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa for allowing the usage of their photographs herein. 


Dr. Rodrigo Salvador is a biologist specializing in the classification and evolution of land snails. Yes, you might say, that has nothing to do with kakapos. But it so happens that the universe conspires to keep him entangled with bird work. As a scientist, he learned with Douglas Adams that knowing the right question is sometimes more important than knowing the answer.

[1] Or six, if you count And Another Thing… by Eoin Colfer (2009).

[2] Later, in 1992, a CD-ROM set was published, with photos and audio of Douglas Adams reading the book. In 2009, BBC released a TV series of Last Chance to See, in which British comedian Stephen Fry took the place of the late Adams.

[3] However, he soon changed the tone to blame flying birds instead: “There is something gripping about the idea that this creature has actually given up doing something that virtually every human being has yearned to do since the very first of us looked upwards. I think I find other birds rather irritating for the cocky ease with which they flit through the air as if it was nothing” (LCtS: p. 120).

[4] The Māori name for New Zealand.

[5] Strigops means “owl-faced”, while habroptilus means “soft feather”.

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What is the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything?

Deep Thought


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This is quite definitely the answer to the ultimate question. The problem, though, is that no one ever actually knew what the ultimate question was. As such, the next step for this research is to design an even more powerful computer, which can calculate the question to the ultimate answer.


Adams, D. (1979) The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Pan Books, London.


This is a little homage from the editors of the Journal of Geek Studies to Douglas Adams, one of the most influential authors in geekdom. This is the forty-second article in the history of the Journal, so this seemed rather appropriate. Don’t panic, and always know where your towel is.


Deep Thought is the second greatest computer in the Universe of Time and Space. After calculating the answer to the ultimate question for seven and a half million years, and designing the computer to find the ultimate question, it now spends its time watching television.

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The plants of J.R.R. Tolkien’s legendarium

Walter S. Judd1,2 & Graham A. Judd3

1Department of Biology, University of Florida. Gainesville, FL, U.S.A.

2Florida Museum of Natural History. Gainesville, FL, U.S.A.

3Independent researcher. South Saint Paul, MN, U.S.A.

Emails: lyonia (at) ufl (dot) edu; gjudd (at) me (dot) com

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Many readers of The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings believe that the events of these books occur in an imaginary world and thus have no connection with the world around us. However, John Ronald Reuel Tolkien sought to correct this misconception, stating that Middle-earth “is just the use of Middle English middle-erde (or erthe), altered from Old English Middangeard: the name for the inhabited lands of Men ‘between the seas.’” He went on to say that “imaginatively this ‘history’ is supposed to take place in a period of the actual Old World of this planet” (Tolkien, 1981, Letter No. 165). His writings should not be considered escapist, but instead are meant to reconnect us to important elements of our internal and cultural landscape. They should also influence how we interact with other individuals and with the world in which we live — including the landscapes of our natural environment — and especially plants! The importance of plants in the Tolkien’s Middle-earth is thus considered in detail in our book, Flora of Middle-Earth: Plants of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Legendarium, recently published by Oxford University Press (Judd & Judd, 2017), which we introduce here, along with an introduction to the importance of plants in connection with Tolkien’s imaginative world.

Flora of Middle-Earth (book cover, showing forest of Lothlórien)

Our book focuses on one of the major components of our environment — the Green Plants — organisms to which many in our modern, highly technological world have become blind (Wandersee & Schussler, 2001; Allen, 2003). Indeed, some have argued that we are now disconnected from the entire natural world (Yoon, 2009). Plants are ecologically diverse and range dramatically in size — from microscopic, aquatic, green algae to the tallest flowering trees or conifers. They are critically important in maintaining a healthy biosphere — and in fact, without plants, animal (and, of course, human) life would be impossible. They provide our food, construction materials for our homes, add beauty to our surroundings, and even provide the air we breathe. In Tolkien’s legendarium, plants are the primary concern of Yavanna Kementári, the Giver of Fruits and wife of Aulë, who has lordship over all the substances of which the Earth is made. As related in The Silmarillion, she is the “lover of all things that grow in the earth, and all their countless forms she holds in her mind, from the trees like towers in forests … to the moss upon stones or the small and secret things in the mould” (Valaquenta: p. 27). Understandably, she is held in great reverence by the elves, as are the natural environments she oversees. We believe Tolkien’s reference was comparable.

Tolkien’s descriptions of Middle-earth are richly detailed, including succinct verbal sketches of many of its plants, and thus create a realistic stage for his dramas. His detailed treatment of plants plays a major role in the creation of this stage — providing the distinctive landscapes and natural locales of Middle-earth — from the tundra and ice-fields of the north, to the extensive prairies of Rohan, and the coniferous forests of Dorthonion, as well as the broad-leaved forests of Doriath or Fangorn and wetlands such as the Gladden Fields. The dominant species within each plant community are always mentioned, especially the trees, which Tolkien, like Yavanna, held most dear (see The Silmarillion: chapter 2). Thus, it is critical for our appreciation and understanding of Middle-earth to envision these scenes accurately. These plants, however, do more than merely provide descriptive detail, enhancing the veracity of the tales of Middle-earth. The plants within Tolkien’s legendarium are actually part of the story, and in ways that are more deeply significant than merely evident in the actions of Ents — anthropomorphized trees — that “speak on behalf of all things that have roots, and punish those that wrong them” (The Silmarillion: p. 45). Their significance can be seen in the numerous connections between plants and important individuals in the myths and history of Middle-earth. For example, in the First Age (and earlier), how are we to understand the Two Trees of Valinor, fashioned by Yavanna, and why is it important that Thingol, the elven ruler of Doriath, was called the king of beech, oak, and elm? Why was his daughter, Lúthien, when first observed by Beren, dancing among the hemlock-umbels under the beeches of Neldoreth? And what is the link between her feet and the leaves of lindens? Why did hawthorns obscure the entrance to the Hidden Kingdom of Gondolin? During the Second Age, why did the elves give Aldarion, soon to become the sixth king of Númenor, a White Tree — Nimloth — and what is the connection between this tree and the White Trees of Gondor? Why did the elves bring to Númenor several different fragrant trees from Eressëa — and what did these trees look like?  In the Third Age, how was pipe-weed integral to the culture of the Shire, and why was athelas (kingsfoil) useful in the hands of the king of Gondor? How did these two herbs get to Middle-earth? What is the connection of willows and the Withywindle valley (in the Old Forest), and should willows, therefore, be viewed negatively? Why does Quickbeam love rowan-trees, and why were mallorn-trees important to Galadriel and the elves of Lothlórien? What did mallorn-trees look like? And finally, how should we envision the herbs elanor and niphredil, and what made these two plants so sacred to the elves? Of course many additional questions come quickly to mind, and we deal with these in our book.

It is obvious from even a cursory reading of The Lord of the Rings that the book was written by a person who was botanically knowledgeable — but more than that — a writer who really loved plants! (In fact his introduction to the world of plants occurred very early in his life when he was taught botany by his mother.) But we don’t need to merely accept this from our interpretations of his writings. Tolkien tells us of his appreciation of plants. He said in his letter to the Houghton Mifflin Co.: “I am (obviously) much in love with plants and above all trees, and always have been; and I find human maltreatment of them as hard to bear as some find ill-treatment of animals” (Tolkien, 1981: Letter No. 164). We agree: his love of plants is obvious, and it is apparent on nearly every page of The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings. Only a writer whose eyes were open to the diversity of the natural world could have accomplished such a task — closely integrating plants into his imagined world, and, as a result, including nearly all the trees of England (and also most European trees) within the Middle-earth of the First through the Third Ages. Because the species of trees (as well as shrubs and herbs) growing in England and other European regions are for the most part members of widely distributed genera that also occur in temperate North America and Asia, especially eastern and southeastern Asia, we can find the plants of Tolkien’s Middle-earth in the forests and fields around our homes. Thus, a major goal of this book, in addition to increasing our appreciation of the imagined landscapes of Middle-earth, is to increase our respect for and understanding of the plants that grow in the natural environments that exist around us. Tolkien appreciated the beauty and diversity of the natural world, and its destruction through urbanization and industrialization angered him (unfortunately, modern followers of Saruman are not hard to find!). Thus, one of our goals is to increase the visibility of and love for plants in our modern culture. And, taking the Ents (i.e., sentient trees, indwelt by spirits “summoned from afar”; The Silmarillion: p. 45) as our role-models, we hope to foster the desire to protect the forests and meadows near our homes (and across the world). Finally, the wild plants of forest and field are not our only concern. In our book we have also described the cultivated plants of vegetable and flower gardens as well as agricultural fields, addressing the interesting and long history of plants and people (or hobbits and elves!). We should appreciate not only wild plants (as do the Ents) but also the plants of orchards and cultivated fields (like the Entwives). In the end, the fact that an investigation of the plants of Tolkien’s Middle-earth reconnects us with the plants of our own world should not be surprising. Tolkien, in his essay On Fairy-Stories, said that “Recovery” is one of the goals of fantasy, and by this he meant “a re-gaining — regaining of a clear view” and “seeing things as we are (or were) meant to see them.” Thus, in “experiencing the fantastic, we recover a fresh view of the unfantastic, a view too long dulled by familiarity” (Flieger, 2002: chapter 3).

If the plants of Tolkien’s legendarium are the trees, shrubs, and herbs of our own world, one might ask: What about plants such as elanor, niphredil, alfirin, simbelmynë, mallorn-trees, or the White Tree of Gondor? Are these simply the creation of Tolkien’s imagination, or do they also have links to our own world. The answer, we think, is both — certainly these plants, as Tolkien explained, “are lit by a light that would not be seen ever in a growing plant” (Tolkien, 1981: Letter No. 312) in our world — so they arise, some more and others less, out of his imagination and are used in specific ways in the story in order to clarify aspects of elven, human, or hobbit culture. They are artistic creations, enhancing the wonder and mystery of Tolkien’s imaginative world. But it is also important to keep in mind that perhaps all of the imaginative plants of Middle-earth are based, at least in part, on species of our own world. For example, Tolkien suggested that niphredil — if seen in the light of our world — would be “simply a delicate kin of a snowdrop,” while elanor would be “a pimpernel (perhaps a little enlarged) growing sun-golden flowers and star-silver ones on the same plant” (Tolkien, 1981: Letter No. 312). As early as 1956, Tolkien commented that “Botanists want a more accurate description of the mallorn, of elanor, niphredil, alfirin, mallos, and simbelmynë” (Tolkien, 1981: Letter No. 187), and we trust that many readers today have a similar desire. We have, therefore, done the necessary detective work to connect these imaginative plants with their sources and provide such accurate descriptions. We believe that this botanical knowledge will enrich the experience of those who have read (or are reading) Tolkien’s works. Our book explores the interactions between plants and the speaking-peoples of Middle-earth — such as humans, hobbits, elves, or ents — whether such plants are the common oaks, pines, or grasses found in the sunlight of our world or are those plants lit by a more imaginative light, such as niphredil or elanor. Thus, we attempt in our book to synthesize information from diverse realms: Tolkien’s writings, etymology (the evolution of words), botany and plant systematics (the study of plants and their evolutionary relationships), and artistic endeavors. We hope that Tolkien would approve of our attempt, as he suggested that the gold and silver light of Valinor, pouring from the Two Trees (Telperion and Laurelin), represents the “light of art undivorced from reason, that sees things both scientifically … and imaginatively” (Tolkien, 1981: Letter No. 131).

In the book we provide detailed treatments of the 141 plants of Middle-earth, and for each of the 100 most important plants of Tolkien’s imaginative world, we include (1) the common and scientific names, along with an indication of the family to which the plant  belongs; (2) a brief quote from one of Tolkien’s works in which the plant is referenced; (3) a discussion of the significance of the plant in the context of Tolkien’s legendarium; (4) the etymology, relating to both the English common name and the Latin (or Latinized) scientific name, and where relevant, the name in one or more of the languages of Middle-earth; (5) a brief description of the plant’s geographical distribution and ecology; (6) its economic importance; and (7) a brief description of the plant. Most of these also are provided with a woodcut-style illustration (as an aid to identification), along with an inset illustrating one of the events in the history of Middle-earth in which the plant played a role.

Niphredil (based upon the snowdrop, Galanthus nivalis, in the plant family Amaryllidaceae) with inset (vignette) showing Aragorn and Arwen on Cerin Amroth. Illustration from Flora of Middle-Earth.

It is our goal that the inset illustrations (vignettes) be functional, decorative, and fit visually into the lore of Middle Earth. By abstracting the images with a woodblock aesthetic, Graham, the second author and illustrator, was able to simplify the complexity of the plant pictured, providing a clearer view of the diagnostic features of each plant than a photograph would have offered. In his botanical illustrations, only the information needed to identify each plant is provided, and this same concept inspired his approach to the vignettes and narratives depicted. The tales and lore of Arda have been imagined by all of us, conceived and casted in movies, and depicted by talented and amazing artists. From the Hildebrandt brothers to Cor Blok, these artists and actors have shaded our original conceptions of what these characters, such as Bilbo or Gandalf, look like. Because of this we seek to create an abstracted view, offering silhouettes rife with symbols, pulling heavily on descriptions from the Tolkien’s books to color our conceptualization of these well-fabricated characters. Keeping Tolkien’s concerns in mind, we do not want to infringe on the viewer’s ideation of the characters, but we feel it is very important to provide the framework for people to see the narrative, while still allowing them to project their own conceptualizations onto the image.

Traditionally, when we think of fantasy illustrations, we think of images framed like classic historical paintings or Greek dramas. By focusing on the flora over the fauna, we had to restructure how we approached the composition of each scene. So often plants are only the background that our grand actors stride across, but in contrast, we want to highlight how these narratives played out in the botanically rich and vibrant world that Tolkien imagined. This led Graham to a fundamental restructuring of the composition of each image, so the action or drama of the characters is often deemphasized, with the vignette focusing on how the action would have settled into the environment.

In conclusion, we hope that our book will create a visual reference — and legitimacy — for both the plants growing in our forests, meadows, and marshes, as well as those that we have received as gifts from Tolkien’s imagination.


Allen, W. (2003) Plant blindness. Bioscience 53(10): 926.

Flieger, V. (2002) Splintered Light: Logos and Language in Tolkien’s World. 2nd edition. Kent State University Press, Ohio.

Judd, W.S. & Judd, G.A. (2017) Flora of Middle-Earth: Plants of J. R. R. Tolkien’s Legendarium. Oxford University Press, New York.

Tolkien, J.R.R. (1977) The Silmarillion. George Allen and Unwin, London. [Cited here from the 2nd Edition, 2001, Houghton Mifflin, Boston].

Tolkien, J.R.R. (1981) The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien, edited by H. Carpenter, with the assistance of C. Tolkien. George Allen and Unwin, London / Houghton Mifflin, Boston.

Wandersee, J. & Schussler, E. (2001) Towards a theory of plant blindness. Plant Science Bulletin 47(1): 2–9.

Yoon, C.K. (2009) Naming Nature: The Clash between Instinct and Science. W.W. Norton & Co., New York.


Walter S. Judd is a Distinguished Professor Emeritus in the Department of Biology, University of Florida and also has an affiliate appointment in the Florida Museum of Natural History. His research focuses on the systematics and evolution of the flowering plants. He has published over 230 refereed articles and has described numerous new species of plants. He is also a co-author of the textbook, Plant Systematics: A Phylogenetic Approach.

Graham A. Judd has a MFA in Printmaking and received a Jerome Foundation Fellowship for Emerging Printmakers at Highpoint Center for Printmaking. He currently teaches at Augsberg College and Minneapolis College of Art and Design.

Check other articles from this volume


Making a vampire

Veronika N. Laine

Netherlands Institute of Ecology (NIOO-KNAW). Wageningen, The Netherlands.

Email: veronika.laine (at) gmail (dot) com

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The modern vampire is often portrayed as a human transformed into a vampire due to a bloodthirsty spirit[1], demons[2], viruses and other pathogens[3], magic or some unknown reason[4].  Neither fiction nor more realistic accounts have shed light on the precise molecular mechanisms of how the transformation happens until the novel trilogy and TV series called The Strain (Fig. 1) introduced some ways as to how the transformation could happen. In The Strain, parasitic worms carry a virus that causes the vampiric changes to happen through a modification in the expression of genes. This change even creates new organs such as the stinger.

Figure 1. Promotional poster of The Strain TV series, directed by Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan. Image retrieved from: IMP Awards (http://www.impawards. com/).

For obvious reasons, no actual experimental studies have been conducted with vampires and so the exact origin and evolution of vampirism remains unknown. A full genome-wide association study or transcriptome analysis would be preferred to recognize the exact genes behind the vampiric traits, but getting enough samples from vampires will most likely be difficult. Thus, the “candidate gene” approach might be the best method for reaching some conclusions or, if there is enough material, a whole genome sequencing and comparison to human genomes.

In this article I will explore some thoughts on how we could make a vampire in the lab and which part of the genome we would need to alter in order to see the necessary changes. Imagine if genetic engineering would be so advanced that when you tweak little bits of the human genome here and there, you could make whatever traits, even vampiric ones, appear (or disappear) any way you like. Unfortunately, reality is seldom as easy, as it has been shown in movies such as Gattaca (Columbia Pictures, 1997), Splice (Warner Bros., 2009) and the X-Men series (20th Century Fox, 2000–2017), although the genome editing method CRISPR (Cong et al., 2013; Hsu et al., 2014) has lifted genomic modification to a completely new level and has already been used in removing diseases in humans (Ma et al., 2017). Alternatively, what if vampires already existed and we could get our hands on their genome sequence? Which genes would be affected by the transformation? Intriguingly, there are real life examples of species and conditions that could be thought of as vampiric and we can find potential candidate genes for vampirism from these traits. These “vampire building blocks” could then be used in constructing a lab vampire (at least hypothetically).

The myth of vampires has been around for thousands of years and the descriptions of vampirism vary between times and cultures. The vampires we know today date back to the 17th century and they have been covered by every platform in our popular culture. A good summary of the evolution of vampire myths can be found in Harris (2001).

The exact way in which humans transform into vampires depends on the source of the story you are reading and it often remains a mystery. In the extensive study of the science of vampirism, Dr. Pecos and Dr. Lomax (2001–2017) from the late Federal Vampire & Zombie Agency (FVZA) suspected that it is a human vampirism virus (HVV) that causes the transformation. The origin of the virus is suspected to be the vampire bats and their fleas, which sounds very plausible since bats are known to be carriers of many diseases such SARS, ebola and rabies (Biek et al., 2006; Smith & Wang, 2013), and it was also suggested in the movies Daybreakers and the Underworld series. Furthermore, rabies has been suggested to be the actual origin of the modern vampire myth (Gomez-Alonso, 1998).

In this article, I will present real life examples of vampiric traits and hypothesize possible molecular mechanisms and candidate genes that could be mutated after the transformation. I will concentrate on the following three vampiric traits that are common to many descriptions of vampires:

  1. Hematophagy (that is, feeding on blood)
  2. Immortality
  3. Sunlight avoidance


For many people, bloodsucking is the first vampiric trait that comes to mind. Blood is a nutritious fluid tissue, full of proteins and lipids and it is easy to consume. In nature, blood consumption has evolved in several unrelated species throughout the animal kingdom. Among invertebrates, leeches, mosquitos and fleas are the best known examples, and some fish (lampreys) are also known to feed on blood. There are several bird species that practice hematophagy, such as the oxpeckers, hood mockingbirds and vampire finches. Among mammals, the best known hematophagic species are the vampire bats.

Several changes in the genome are needed in order for animals to survive exclusively on blood. One of the key features is to prevent the victim’s blood from coagulating while feeding. In vampire bats the plasminogen activator (PA) genes have gone through gene duplication, domain loss and sequence evolution (Tellgren-Roth et al., 2009). These genes are expressed in the saliva glands of vampire bats and the proteins they produce help to process the blood of birds and mammals. In humans, these genes protect against heart attacks by producing proteins that clear the blood vessels by degrading blood clots. The hairy-legged vampire bat’s (Diphylla ecaudata) PA genes resemble the PA genes of the closely related non-blood feeding bat species. These bats feed on the blood of birds and it seems that the activation of PA in saliva glands is enough to keep the bird blood flowing. However, in the two bat species that feed on mammal blood, common vampire bats (Desmodus rotundus) and white-winged vampire bats (Diaemus youngi, which also feed on birds), the PA genes have gone through more extensive modifications in order to better tackle the natural inhibitors of PA proteins in mammal blood. A transcriptome and proteome study of common vampire bats found additional genes expressed in the salivary glands (Francischetti et al., 2013). Furthermore, by comparing vampire bats and leeches to non-blood feeding species, Phillips & Baker (2015) found additional genes related to blood feeding, such as ectonucleoside triphosphate diphosphohydrolase-1 (ENTPD1), which has not before been linked to secretory expression. They also suggest that alternative splicing of genes has been an important mechanism for these species to rapidly evolve to feeding on blood.

In addition to blood coagulation, the vampire bats needed to overcome the bitter taste of blood. Bitterness in nature often means that the substance is poisonous and should be avoided. However, in all of the three vampire bat species there is a greater percentage of non-functioning DNA in the bitter taste receptor genes than in other bat species. These results suggest that these genes have been relaxed from selective constraint in vampire bats, which has led to a reduction of bitter taste function (Hong & Zhao, 2014).

Lastly, the problem with consuming blood is the ratio between amount of nutrition needed and the liquid consumed.  A typical vampire bat can consume half of its weight in blood in one feeding. The blood is then rapidly processed and the excess liquids are urinated within two minutes of feeding in order for the bat to take flight. Conceivably, the same effect would not be very convenient for vampires. If the vampire weighed for example 70 kg, it would need to consume 35 kg of blood in one feeding and urinate the excess liquid almost immediately, because the bladder can only hold about half litre of liquids. Furthermore, humans have about 5 kg of blood on average, so vampires would need to suck dry about seven people per night and urinate between victims, something that has not been discussed or shown in vampire stories, except in The Strain, where vampires defecate the blood while drinking. To compensate for the low intake of nutrients, vampires might slow down their metabolism and go to a hibernation mode and thus avoid the need to suck several litres of blood in one go. It would also enable fasting through hard times. In many stories, vampires have managed to survive without blood for days (see below).


Vampires are often regarded as undead; they are dead but behave like living beings, which in turn gives them eternal “life”. In this paper, I am not going to discuss whether vampires have a heartbeat or if they breathe (for that we would need actual vampire specimens); I will instead concentrate on how actual immortality could be achieved by giving real life examples.

First, we need to define what immortality is. The concept of biological immortality means that there is no mortality from senescence, which is biological aging. This of course means that the organism is not truly immortal, it can die through injury or disease. Vampires are often presented as highly resilient beings who can survive disease and injuries, but there are things that still kill them, like sunlight, a wooden stake through the heart, fire or beheading.

What is then the ultimate cause of senescence? It is still unclear how the process of senescence happens exactly, since it is a very complex phenomenon. This subject is under heavy research, especially in regard to how we could slow down or even reverse aging (de Keizer, 2017; see movies Self/less [Focus Features, 2015] and Mr. Nobody [Wild Bunch, 2009] for further thoughts). The research has been concentrating on gene expression changes, chemical and DNA damage, and telomere shortening. Telomeres are repetitive regions at the end of chromosomes. Every time cells divide, the ends of the chromosomes are progressively clipped in the replication process. Because the repetitive sequences in the telomeres are not protein coding, the clipping does not affect cell functions. When the telomeres are gone after a certain number of divisions, the cells stop dividing (Hornsby, 2007). However, cells have ways of replenishing the telomeres with an enzyme called “telomerase reverse transcriptase”. The drawback is that the majority of adult somatic (that is, non-reproductive) cells do not express telomerase, but it can be found for example in embryonic stem cells, male sperm cells, epidermal cells and in most cancer cells. In vampires, this enzyme might be active also in the adult somatic cells but this might pose an increased cancer risk. However, vampires might have ways to avoid cancer, as discussed below.

The way senescence happens is not universal; there are species where aging is negligible or cannot even be detected. There are two well-known examples of truly immortal species, the immortal jellyfish (Turritopsis dohrnii) and the animals from the Hydra genus. The immortal jellyfish, originally from the Caribbean Sea and now spread around the world, can use the process known as transdifferentiation to rejuvenate itself from its sexually mature free-swimming medusa form to sessile polyp form when the conditions turn harsh for the animal. When conditions are suitable again, the immortal jellyfish again transforms to its medusa form. This cycle can in theory continue forever, making the species immortal in the biological sense. However, this does not save the jellyfish from predators and diseases. The immortal jellyfish also appeared in the TV series Blacklist (Sony Pictures Television, 2013–present), where its cells were injected into humans in order to generate immortality. In the real world, science is not that advanced yet and it is also highly unlikely that it would be this easy to achieve immortality.

Hydras have been under more research than the immortal jellyfish. Hydras are simple freshwater animals (also cnidarians, like the immortal jellyfish) whose cells can continually divide and not undergo senescence. One gene, “Forkhead box O” (FOXO) has been extensively studied in hydras (and also in other species, like the nematode Caenorhabditis elegans, mice and humans) (Boehm et al., 2012; Martins et al., 2016). In hydras, this gene is the main player behind the renewal of the cells. In other species, this gene has been linked to aging and longevity in many studies. In an essay by Schaible & Sussman (2013), the authors suggested that during the evolution of the FOXO gene, its function changed from Hydra’s life span extending role to many other pathways related to maintenance, which altered the gene’s rejuvenating functions in multicellular eukaryotes such as humans. Thus it might be that in vampires this gene (or actually all the FOXO genes – mammals have four of these genes) have retained the original function of FOXOs.

In the mammalian world, naked mole rats (Heterocephalus glaber) and Brandt’s bats (Myotis brandtii) are exceptionally long-lived compared to other small sized mammals. Naked mole rats are known for some very peculiar characteristics. They can survive anoxic conditions, they have delayed ageing and live up to 32 years, and the species is highly resistant to cancer, among other things, making them a very interesting species for scientists to study. In studies of the longevity and cancer resistance of this species, scientists found that a gene called INK4, which is the most frequently mutated gene in human cancer, produced a new product through alternative splicing. This protein isoform (that is, protein variant), called pALT(INK4a/b), prevented the mutated cells from clustering together and thus made the naked mole rats more resilient to cancer (Tian et al., 2015). In another study by the same group, extremely high-molecular-mass hyaluronic acid was found in naked mole rat fibroblasts (the most common cells in the connective tissue of animals). The molecular weight was over five times larger than that of human or mouse hyaluronic acid. It was speculated that a higher concentration of hyaluronic acid evolved to keep the skin elastic in underground tunnels. In addition to skin elasticity, long hyaluronic acid molecules wrap around cells tightly, preventing tumor cells from replicating (Tian et al., 2013). Whole genome sequencing revealed additional genes that could be linked to longevity in this species (Kim et al., 2011).

Brandt’s bats are known to live for over 40 years, making it the most long-lived mammal of its size. In the whole genome study of the species, Seim et al. (2013) suggested that a combination of different adaptive characteristics such as hibernation, low reproductive rate, cave roosting and an altered growth hormone/insulin-like growth factor 1 axis could extend the Brandt’s bat’s lifespan. Furthermore, FOXO1 gene was expressed in high levels in Brandt’s bat suggesting a possible role also in the longevity of this species. Hibernation in general has been linked to survival of different species allowing them to withstand extreme conditions (Turbill et al., 2011; Wu & Storey, 2016). The molecular difference between hibernators and non-hibernators seems to be in gene regulation rather than a difference in the DNA sequence itself. Differential expression was detected in the genes that were involved in metabolic pathways, feeding behavior, and circadian rhythms (Faherty et al., 2016). Hibernation or some other kind of dormant state seems to be present in vampires as well, helping them to get through tough times. In the Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice, the vampires go to a hibernation-related state to cope with changing times. In the Underworld movies, two of the elders are kept in hibernation while a third reigns over the vampires. The reign goes in cycles, each of elders having their turn over the vampires and slave lycans. This cycle has social reasons, but it also gives rest for the elders from their immortal life.


Vampires are creatures of the night and sunlight is often regarded as deadly to them; in many occasions, they burst into flames whenever in contact with sunlight. It is an adverse trait for vampires and most probably emerged through pleiotropism. Pleiotropism is a phenomenon where one gene affects two or more unrelated traits (Paaby & Rockman, 2013). Mutations in genes causing immortality or blood consumption could also cause death by sunlight (antagonistic pleiotropy). Real life examples of bursting into flames due to sunlight are obviously not found, but sun can cause problems to people with certain conditions. Sunlight can cause severe allergic reactions, people can suffer from blood disease called porphyria, or have a rare recessive genetic disorder called “xeroderma pigmentosum”.

“Sun allergy” is an umbrella term for a number of conditions where rash and blisters occur on skin that has been exposed to sunlight. Some people have a hereditary type of sun allergy, such as hereditary polymorphous light eruption, others a non-heritable type, such as solar urticaria. In some cases, symptoms only occur when triggered by another factor, such as certain medications or skin exposure to certain plants. The allergic reaction to sunlight occurs in the same way as in any other allergic reaction, although it is still not clear what the triggering component is. Somehow, the immune system recognizes the sun-altered skin as foreign to the body, which in turn activates the immune defences against it. If vampires suffer from sun allergy, could strong antihistamines and a high sun protection factor sunscreen help them survive under the sunlight, in the same way as people with sun allergies? As death is a very severe reaction to sunlight, it is likely that vampires do not suffer from a sun allergy but from something more serious.

Porphyria, a group of blood diseases, have been suggested as a possible explanation for vampire myths but these ideas have been rejected in later papers (Winkler & Anderson, 1990). However, the mechanism behind porphyria could still shed light on why sunlight would be poisonous for modern vampires. In the cutaneous forms of porphyria where the skin is mostly affected, sunlight can cause pain, blisters or open sores to the patients. The disease is often hereditary due to a mutation in one of the genes that make the heme molecule (a component of hemoglobin, the red pigment in our blood): ALAD, ALAS2, CPOX, FECH, HMBS, PPOX, UROD, or UROS (Badminton & Elder, 2005). These genes could also be suitable candidates for vampire sunlight avoidance.

There is an even more severe sunlight sensitivity illness, the rare hereditary condition called “xeroderma pigmentosum” (XP). In extreme cases, the patients need to avoid all exposure to sunlight as it can cause severe sunburn with redness and blistering. If not protected from the sun, people with XP have a high risk of developing skin cancer. XP patients’ eyes are also very sensitive to sunlight and some of the patients have neurological problems such as seizures and hearing loss. The condition is caused by mutations in the genes that repair DNA damage. This causes a deficiency in DNA repair after ultraviolet damage to cells, which in turn accumulates abnormalities to the DNA causing the cell to become cancerous or die. In most of XP cases, mutations occur in these four nucleotide excision repair related genes: POLH, XPA, XPC or ERCC2 (Schubert et al., 2014). In addition to porphyria genes, these are also potential candidates for vampires’ adverse reactions to sunlight.


Obviously, the transformation from human to vampire would affect many genes, some of the changes being bigger than others, which makes the genetic modification of human to vampire even more difficult. From the real life examples, the PA (blood coagulation) and FOXO (immortality) genes seem to be strong candidates. Furthermore, it is also possible to find more suitable genes to test and to investigate interactions between hematophagy, immortality and sun avoidance genes by using network analysis such as Genemania (Warde-Farley et al., 2010). For example, when inserting the human ortholog (roughly put, the equivalent gene) of bat PA gene, the plasminogen activator, tissue type (PLAT), the FOXO genes FOXO1 and FOXO3, and the four XP genes, POLH, XPA, XPC and ERCC2 to Genemania, it is possible to see how the genes are linked and what additional genes might be involved (Fig. 2).

Figure 2. Gene interaction network of the genes PLAT, FOXO1, FOXO3, POLH, XPA, XPC and ERCC2 done with Genemania. Showing 20 related genes with 27 total genes and 207 total links. Input genes are indicated with stripes.

In many of the traits mentioned above, we assumed that mutations in these candidate genes would be the cause of the vampiric traits. However, mutations are not the only possible cause. Epigenetic changes are functional changes in the genome that do not involve modifications in the DNA. Such mechanisms are, for example, DNA methylation and histone modification. External or environmental effects can cause DNA methylation and change gene expression. In vampires, both mutations and epigenetics could be possible players, causing changes and vampiric traits. Furthermore, if vampirism is caused by a virus or a parasite, we need to take into consideration the possible ways the pathogen could affect the human cells, which is a topic of its own.


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I would like to thank Dr. Olaf Thalmann and Angela Boeijen for insightful comments and Nina Haglund for language revision. 


Dr. Veronika Laine is a molecular biologist working currently with the great tit and she is especially interested in behavior, genes, pleiotropism, bats, kittens and vampires, especially Eric Northman. She plays too much video games.

[1] The Queen of the Damned, by Anne Rice (1988).

[2] Old folklore; Buffy the Vampire Slayer (20th Television, 1997–2003).

[3] Daybreakers (Lionsgate, 2010); the Underworld film series (Lakeshore Entertainment, 2003–2016); The Strain (20th Television, 2014–2017).

[4] Dracula, by Bram Stoker (1897); The Vampire Diaries (Warner Bros., 2009–2017); The Twilight Saga (Summit Entertainment, 2008–2012); True Blood (HBO Enterprises, 2008–2014).

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Frankenstein, or the beauty and terror of science

Henk van den Belt

Philosophy Group, Wageningen University, The Netherlands.

Email: henk.vandenbelt (at) wur (dot) nl

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In January 2018, it will be two hundred years ago that Mary Shelley’s gothic novel Frankenstein; or the Modern Prometheus was first published. However, international commemorations have already started and the so-called Frankenstein Bicentennial Project has been launched by Arizona State University. Instead of awaiting the bicentenary of the first publication, meetings have been organized to celebrate the famous occasion on which the idea of the novel was first conceived by Mary Shelley (then still Mary Godwin). That was during a memorable nightmare in the early hours of June 16, 1816, while she was staying in a villa on the shores of Lake Geneva. In mid-June 2016, therefore, an international workshop entitled ‘Frankenstein’s Shadow’ was held in Geneva to commemorate this event and to determine the contemporary relevance of Mary’s novel for understanding and assessing new developments in the modern life sciences. After all, in many contemporary debates references to her horror story are still routinely being made. Genetically modified crops, for instance, are often condemned as ‘Frankenfoods’ and life science researchers are frequently accused of hubris or attempting to play God, just as Mary’s protagonist Victor Frankenstein supposedly did. Indeed, the mere mentioning of his name readily brings to mind such associations among laypersons, or as Marilyn Butler writes, “Readers, filmgoers, people who are neither, take the very word Frankenstein to convey an awful warning: don’t usurp God’s prerogative in the Creation-game, or don’t get too clever with technology” (Butler 1993: 302).


The circumstances in which Mary first conceived the idea of her novel may help to illuminate the significance and meaning of her literary creation. In the late spring of 1816 a remarkable entourage, next to Mary Godwin, assembled on the shores of Lake Geneva: the romantic poets Lord Byron and Percy Shelley (Mary’s lover and later husband), Mary’s step-sister Claire and doctor John William Polidori. The then 28-year-old Byron was the oldest of the company; Mary was still only 18, but had already lost her first child as an unmarried teenage mother. It was a time, just after Napoleon’s defeat, that British citizens could again freely travel through Europe. Each of the participants had their own reasons to flee from the United Kingdom. Byron was haunted by creditors and scandals. Percy Shelley had abandoned his wife and child and made himself unpopular through his overt atheism. Claire had persuaded Percy and Mary to follow Byron in his travels, because she had a crush on the noble poet (her attempt to win his love would however be in vain). Young doctor Polidori had been recruited by Byron to be his travel companion and private physician, but also cherished literary ambitions himself (in 1819 Polidori would publish The Vampyre: A Tale, another product of the Geneva 1816 summer and a source of inspiration for Bram Stoker’s Dracula). The choice of Geneva as the place to stay had been partly inspired by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, the proud “citizen of Geneva”. In the footsteps of their romantic precursor, Byron and Percy Shelley wanted to experience the majestic sublimity of the natural landscape around Geneva. In the nearby hamlet of Cologny, Byron had rented a spacious residence, Villa Diodati; Percy and Mary stayed with Claire at a more modest dwelling in the neighbourhood, but regularly visited Byron to spend days and evenings at his villa.


Figure 1. Villa Diodati on the shores of Lake Geneva. Painted by Jean Dubois. Image extracted from Wikimedia Commons.

It appeared as if the summer of 1816 did not want to become a real summer. In the introduction to the revised 1831 edition of her novel, Mary looked back: “But it proved a wet, ungenial summer, and incessant rain often confined us for days to the house.” (Shelley, 2003 [1831]: 6–7). Incidentally, this was not a purely local weather condition. In North America, the year 1816 would even go down in history as “the year without summer”. We know now that these meteorological abnormalities had to do with the most violent volcanic eruption of the last one thousand years, to wit, the eruption of the Tambora on the Indonesian island of Sumbawa in April 1815. The enormous amounts of volcanic ash spread throughout the earthly atmosphere massively reflected sunlight and disturbed global weather processes for three years in a row (D’Arcy Wood, 2014).


Figure 2. Possible depiction of the eruption of Mount Tambora on Sumbawa in 1815. Author unknown; image extracted from Scientific American Blog Network (2012).

Confined by incessant bad weather and illuminated by candlelight, Byron and his guests at Villa Diodati tried to keep boredom at bay by reading ghost stories to each other. At some moment Byron proposed a kind of contest in which each of the participants had to come up with a ghost story of their own. Mary accepted the challenge, but was not immediately able to think of a suitable story. A few days later she eagerly eavesdropped on an exciting discussion between Byron and Percy about the nature of the principle of life and the possibility of artificially creating life, until she finally went to sleep in the small hours of the night. In bed, she lost herself in a dream. This was to become one of the most famous nightmares in the history of literature and must have occurred in the early hours of June 16, 1816. In the 1831 introduction, Mary described her nightly vision thus:

“I saw – with shut eyes, but acute mental vision – I saw the pale student of unhallowed arts kneeling beside the thing he had put together. I saw the hideous phantasm of a man stretched out, and then, on the working of some powerful engine, show signs of life, and stir with an uneasy, half vital motion. Frightful must it be; for supremely frightful would be the effect of any human endeavour to mock the stupendous mechanism of the Creator of the world. His success would terrify the artist; he would run away from his odious handy-work, horror-stricken”

―Shelley, 2003 [1831]: 9.


Figure 3. The ‘Monster’; frontispiece of the revised 1831 edition of Frankenstein. Theodor von Holst (1831); image extracted and modified from Wikimedia Commons.


So Mary finally had her ghost story. On Percy’s instigation, she would elaborate and rework the story during the following months and years into a full-fledged novel. On the precise way the “thing” was brought to life, the book remains understandably somewhat vague. But there is a strong suggestion that electricity played an indispensable role in infusing the spark of life into the lifeless thing. In the 1831 introduction Mary referred to so-called ‘galvanism’, which enjoyed much interest at the time. At the beginning of the 19th century several sensational experiments had been made before public audiences with the newly developed Voltaic battery, showing that electric currents could be used to arouse muscular contractions and thereby to call forth motions of the body parts of dead animals or even human cadavers. It seemed as if those body parts could be “reanimated” in this way. In one notorious demonstration performed in 1803 before a London audience, Galvani’s nephew Giovanni Aldini administered an electric current to the face of a freshly executed murderer, whereupon “the jaw of the deceased criminal began to quiver, and the adjoining muscles were horribly contorted, and one eye was actually opened” (London Morning Post, January 1803, quoted in Lederer, 2002: 14). It was not too far-fetched, therefore, to think that the mysterious principle of life had something to do with electricity. At any rate, electricity in the guise of lightning plays a major role in the depiction of the ambient atmosphere of the novel. Thus, after receiving the news about the death of his younger brother, Victor Frankenstein witnessed a ”beautiful yet terrific” thunderstorm spectacle with dazzling flashes of lightning going to and fro above the Alps, the Jura and Lake Geneva (Shelley, 2003 [1831]: 77). The electrically charged atmosphere provided a fitting background to the vicissitudes in which Frankenstein and his creature got embroiled. Mary had derived this element of the novel from the exceptional weather conditions she actually experienced in Geneva. As she wrote in a letter to her half-sister in England: “The thunder storms that visit us are grander and more terrific than I have ever seen before” (Mary’s letter to her half-sister Fanny Imlay, dated 1 June 1816; see Shelley, 1993 [1816]: 174).


Figure 4. ‘Galvanic’ experiments on executed criminals performed by Dr. Giovanni Aldini (1804). Image extracted from Wikimedia Commons.


It is not difficult to associate electricity with fire through lightning and heavenly fire. In the title of her novel Mary alluded to the Greek myth about Prometheus, the Titan who had stolen fire from the gods to give it to humankind and who was severely punished for this act. Similarly, Victor Frankenstein brought disaster upon himself and his loved ones by indulging in the “unhallowed arts” of “bestowing animation upon lifeless matter” and by creating a human-like being. He aspired “to become greater than his nature [would] allow” (Shelley, 2003 [1831]: 54), or in other words, to play God. For Byron and Percy, however, Prometheus was also the iconic rebel hero who dared to defy the existing divine order in the name of promoting human happiness. In their eyes this endeavour should not even stop short of attempting to overcome death. Mary was apparently less enamoured by the Greek demigod celebrated by her romantic companions and was acutely aware of the possible downsides of “Promethean” ambitions. Or at least she was more ambivalent. As the biographer and historian Richard Holmes noted, the romantic generation of the Age of Wonder (1770–1830) had to discover both “the beauty and terror of science” (Holmes, 2009). Mary portrayed Victor Frankenstein as an investigator who is so much obsessed by his research project that he completely neglects his social obligations vis-à-vis his family, his friends and his fiancée. For her, the outstanding example of a passionately obsessed researcher was the English chemist Humphry Davy, whose main achievements were in the domain of electrochemistry (another connection with electricity and ‘galvanism’!). In the first decade of the 19th century, Davy isolated new chemical elements like sodium and potassium with the help of the Voltaic battery. In his public lectures he also sketched an enticing prospect of the endless possibilities of chemical research that would bestow on man “powers which may be almost called creative” (Davy, 1802: 319). From reading these lectures Mary had concluded that scientists might at times be driven by a truly obsessive preoccupation. In this respect, Davy set the example for Victor Frankenstein: “So much has been done […] – more, far more, will I achieve: treading in the steps already marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation” (Shelley, 2003 [1831]: 49) ‒ this was how Victor Frankenstein described his new ambition after a university professor had pointed out the virtually unlimited possibilities of modern chemistry to him.


Figure 5. Humphry Davy isolated sodium and potassium by using the Voltaic battery. Magazine engraving (19th century), colored; image extracted from fineartamerica.


For some commentators, Frankenstein’s moral transgression was not that he undertook the over-ambitious or hubristic attempt to bestow life on inanimate matter and thereby usurped the divine privilege. He must rather be blamed for the fact that, once his work finally met with success, he immediately ran away from “his odious handy-work”. He thereby left his creature, which he himself had brought into the world, to its own fate – devoid of any parental care. The middle part of the novel, which follows the creature’s life and vicissitudes, is a morality tale in its own right. From the outset, contrary to the portrayals in most movie versions, the creature is not a ruthless monster. It wants to do good and needs the company of fellow beings and their affection and recognition. However, the saying that when you do good, good things will happen to you did not apply to the creature. Due to its hideous appearance, it repeatedly met with rejection. Its attempt to remind Frankenstein of his parental duties was also to no avail. Only as a result of all these hostile responses did the creature become a monster, intent on revenging the injustices done to it with acts of violence. In an early review of the novel, Percy Shelley summarized the simple moral lesson thus: “Treat a person ill, and he will become wicked.” (Percy Shelley, 1993: 186). Seen in this light, Frankenstein’s greatest moral shortcoming was that he failed to assume responsibility for his own creature and to give it the care that it needed and deserved.


Figure 6. Another reading of the Frankenstein tale. Image extracted from Wikimedia Commons.

The American philosopher of technology Langdon Winner was the first to use this interpretation of the Frankenstein novel as a clue for dealing more responsibly with new technologies in general: “the issue truly at stake in the whole of Frankenstein [is] the plight of things that have been created but not in a context of sufficient care” (Winner, 1977: 313). His generalized ethical message is therefore that researchers who develop new technologies must be willing to assume responsibility for the vicissitudes of their creations, help them to acquire a suitable role in society and provide adequate follow-up care if necessary. Their task is by no means completed once a new technological prototype leaves the laboratory. With so much emphasis nowadays on the necessity of responsible research and innovation, Winner’s message finds wide resonance. Similar interpretations of the Frankenstein tale have been propounded by Stephen Jay Gould (1996) and Bruno Latour (2012). Gould gives a pointed formulation of this new reading of Mary Shelley’s novel:

“Victor Frankenstein […] is guilty of a great moral failing […] but his crime is not technological transgression against a natural and divine order […] Victor’s sin does not lie in misuse of technology, or hubris in emulating God; we cannot find these themes in Mary Shelley’s account. Victor failed because […] he did not take the duty of any creator or parent: to teach his own charge and to educate others in acceptability.”

―Gould, 1996: 61.

Gould’s flat denial that the themes of hubris in emulating God and transgression against a natural and divine order are nowhere to be found in Mary Shelley’s account is quite astonishing. Traditionally, for many readers her novel is precisely also about these themes: they are by no means a later invention of Hollywood adaptations. Mary’s introduction to the 1831 edition directly contradicts Gould’s denial (see the passage quoted above). Thus the Dutch literary critic Pieter Steinz, for one, reaffirmed the traditional reading of Frankenstein: “The moral is clear, and it is more relevant than ever in the 21st century, which is dominated by the advancing genetic and bio-technologies: do not play God and beware of the dangers of technology” (Steinz 2002).

I therefore take it that the themes of hubris, transgression and playing God on the one hand and Victor’s moral failure to take responsibility and proper care for his creature on the other are both contained in the novel, so that there is no need to embrace one element and completely dismiss the other. A nuanced and balanced view, in which the two strands of interpretation are indeed combined, can be found in Mary Threapleton’s introduction to a 1963 pocket edition of Frankenstein:

“In the course of the story, Frankenstein is horribly punished for […] presuming to overstep man’s proper bounds. His brother, his best friend, and his bride all fall victim to the monster he has created. He is punished not only because he has dared to create it, but also because he fails to assume due responsibility for it. He gave the monster life, but he was too horrified to guide it, to make it into a power for good.”

―Threapleton, 1963 (emphasis mine).


The Frankenstein Bicentennial Project, set up by researchers from Arizona State University, nevertheless promotes a reading of Mary Shelley’s novel based one-sidedly on the interpretations of Winner, Gould, and Latour, while dismissing the traditional interpretation focusing on hubris and the dangers of playing God as singularly unhelpful. As some researchers affiliated with this project declare in a recent publication:

“The moral of Frankenstein is not a warning about ungodly technoscientific creation; it is a warning against taking a position that does not consider matters of care and concern for those technoscientific creations. […]  Frankenstein’s failure to care for his creation is his downfall – not his act of technological innovation. […] The lack of care for new creations is what ultimately destroys us, not the creations themselves.”

―Halpern et al., 2016: 4, 6.

Although the authors admit that they read the Frankenstein novel “against the grain of many popular interpretations, which see it as a story about the abominations created when man decides to play God” (ibid., 4), they do not explain why they deem the common understanding incorrect as an interpretation of Mary Shelley’s story. However, the protagonists of the Frankenstein Bicentennial Project may have good reasons for considering invocations of hubris and playing God “unhelpful tropes” for their own agenda of promoting responsible innovation, as these tropes tend to deny that “the human actors are responsible for their own decisions and for what they do with the fire of creativity” (ibid., 7). Indeed, one may readily admit that the standard objection of ‘playing God’, routinely raised against new developments in the modern life sciences, has been reduced to a facile journalistic cliché or an alarmist slogan, as I have argued myself in an earlier article (van den Belt, 2009). Still, this does not justify treating these themes as completely foreign to a proper understanding of Shelley’s gothic novel, the more so, as the latter’s use of the expression “unhallowed arts” clearly suggests that the very attempt to bestow life on lifeless matter may indeed be seen as “ungodly”. The real interpretative challenge is to explain how the two different readings of the novel (hubris and playing God versus Frankenstein’s moral failure to take care of his creature) can be reconciled, for there surely exists a tension between them.

If the goal is to promote responsible (research and) innovation – the underlying agenda of the Frankenstein Bicentennial Project ‒ , it also will not do to declare public fears about hubris and playing God simply out of court. After all, an important part of the new agenda is to take public concerns about new technological developments seriously and to somehow address them in the further course of the innovation process. The general public may also be concerned, and rightly so, about the “Promethean” or “hubristic” projects often being contemplated by contemporary life scientists. However much people nowadays may admire their creativity and imagination, as Mary Shelley and her contemporaries did in an earlier age, they will also feel overwhelmed when the flights of the biotechnological imagination become a little too audacious. As Richard Holmes argues, it was Shelley’s romantic generation which first had to face the beauty and terror of science (Holmes, 2009). It seems that we are still their cultural heirs.

Thus the emphatic assertion that “[t]he lack of care for new creations is what ultimately destroys us, not the creations themselves” is rather unfortunate in that it arbitrarily restricts the scope of meaningful social debate. It suggests that the public should refrain from discussing the desirability of the many new “creations” technoscientists are about to bring into the world and only see to it that proper care is offered afterward once they have been introduced. If we think about some of the wild ideas that currently circulate among synthetic biologists (e.g., proposals to resurrect the woolly mammoth or Neanderthal man and schemes for “gene drives” or for changing the nucleotide ‘letters’ of the DNA alphabet), it immediately transpires that this is too narrow a view.  Indeed, synthetic biologists and other life science researchers often set such bold targets that the audacity of the biotechnological imagination constitutes the contemporary equivalent of what was traditionally called hubris. Of course, their scientific and technological aims should not simply be rejected out of hand, but deserve to be seriously discussed – a discussion that might nonetheless be properly informed by cautionary tales about “Promethean” ambitions like Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein story.

A final critical point about the interpretation endorsed by the Frankenstein Bicentennial Project is that their notion of responsibility vis-à-vis new technologies is largely modelled on the idea of care – the care Victor Frankenstein failed to bestow on his creature. Now we know fairly well what care means as long as we are talking about parental care towards children. So the creation of an artificial human being would presumably entail taking (parental) care for the new creature, however hideous it may look. But it is far less clear what the idea of care involves when we are talking about the creation of non-human life-forms; and even less so when talking about inanimate technologies. Bruno Latour’s call to “care for our technologies as we do for our children” (Latour, 2012) is simply begging the question. In sum, a proposed ethics of care for responsible innovation sounds nice, but also remains somewhat vague.


Figure 7. The monster demands a mate! Poster for the movie Bride of Frankenstein (Universal Pictures, 1935). Image extracted from Wikimedia Commons.


There is one episode in Mary Shelley’s novel where Victor Frankenstein finally appears to become a responsible agent and to act responsibly, but this very episode is ignored and not discussed by the proponents of responsible innovation. I am alluding to the dramatic moment at a later stage in the novel when he is at first inclined to comply with his creature’s wish to have a female companion created for it, but then has second thoughts and refuses the request. He had already been working on the creation of a female being, but then decided to destroy her in her unfinished state rather than complete the job. The considerations that led him to this decision look very much like what today would be called an invocation of the Precautionary Principle. The creature had suggested that it might leave Europe and go with its female mate to an uninhabited part of South America, but Frankenstein pondered the possible long-term consequences with much anguish:

“Even if they were to leave Europe, and inhabit the deserts of the new world, yet one of the first results of these sympathies for which the demon thirsted would be children, and a race of devils would be propagated upon the earth, who might make the very existence of the species of man a condition precarious and full of terror.”

―Shelley, 2003 [1831]: 170–171.

Thus Frankenstein’s refusal to create a female mate can be seen as an act of responsibility after all, based on precautionary motives. As Leonard Isaacs writes, “Like most tragic protagonists Frankenstein has learned from his experience. With a painfully acquired sense of the wider consequences of his actions, he takes on the heavy responsibility of opposing the development of second-generation monsters” (Isaacs, 1987: 71; Isaacs draws an interesting parallel between Frankenstein and J. Robert Oppenheimer, who after the development of the atomic bomb was under pressure to develop a ‘second-generation’ nuclear bomb). The possibility of uncontrolled reproduction is a biological hazard that also has to be taken into account when we create transgenic and synthetic organisms today. Later on Frankenstein justified his decision on the basis of a kind of utilitarian reasoning in terms of the greatest happiness for the greatest number:

“In a fit of enthusiastic madness I created a rational creature, and was bound towards him, to assure, as far as was in my power, his happiness and wellbeing. That was my duty; but there was another still paramount to that. My duties towards the beings of my own species had greater claims to my attention, because they included a greater proportion of happiness or misery. Urged by this view, I refused, and I did right in refusing, to create a companion for the first creature.”

―Shelley, 2003 [1831]: 219–220.

Incidentally, this whole reasoning is of course predicated on the assumption that the artificial creature was not a member of the human species. From the very outset, its taxonomic status had been somewhat ambiguous. While Frankenstein’s intention had indeed been to create an artificial human being (Shelley, 2003 [1831]: 54), his initial speculations were also focused on creating a new species: “A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me. No father could claim the gratitude of his child so completely as I should deserve theirs” (ibid., 55). It is safe to conclude that the human status of the artificial creature has been problematic from the start.

From the viewpoint of an ethics of care one could argue that Frankenstein should have complied with the creature’s demand to have a female companion created for it, given his parental duty to assure its happiness and wellbeing and given that the creature after many attempts had failed to acquire a recognized place in human society. On the other hand, it cannot be denied that there is also ethical merit in Frankenstein’s decision to decline the creature’s wish. At the very least, then, the whole episode could be an interesting test case for probing our moral intuitions about what would be truly responsible action in the given situation.

Two researchers recently formalized Victor Frankenstein’s reasoning by setting up mathematical models of species interaction, in particular modelling situations of “competitive exclusion” between two species. They conclude that “[Frankenstein’s] rationale for denying a mate to his male creation has empirical justification” and that “the central horror and genius of Mary Shelley’s novel lie in its early mastery of foundational concepts of ecology and evolution” (Dominy & Yeakel, 2016). This is a rather surprising new reading of the novel.

We may finally wonder why the proponents of responsible innovation have passed in silence over the entire episode of the novel. Perhaps it is because a (presumably) responsible decision not to create a new entity would not fit their presumption that is not the “new creations themselves”, but only our own lack of care for them that can bring us down.


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Harry Potter and the Draconian Laws

Pedro F. Abud

University of São Paulo Law School; São Paulo, Brazil.

Disinfo Squad, Ministry of Magic.

Email: pedro.m1 (at) bol (dot) com (dot) br

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Anyone would say that a world where brooms and carpets cross the skies, unicorns roam the forests and people depicted in portraits talk to you is wonderful, literally magical. However, not everything is as beautiful as it looks – just you wait for the effect of the polyjuice potion to wear off and you’ll see what is hidden behind the reality created by British author J.K. Rowling.

Spells can fix a pair of glasses, turn water into butterbeer, inflate boring aunts and even ignore the immutable law of Lavoisier, creating matter from nothing. However, spells can also be used in not-so-benign activities, as cursing people, destroying things, being inflated by rude nephews and even killing. So in the same way that our international conventions prohibit certain weapons from being used in wars (such as cluster bombs, and chemical/biological warfare; The Biological and Toxin Weapons Convention Database, 1925), so some charms (Imperius, Cruciatus and Avada Kedavra, collectively called “Unforgivable Curses”) are prohibited from being practiced (Rowling, 2000: ch. 14). As expected, in the same way that not all countries participate in our conventions, not all wizards follow such rules.

Let’s make a brief intermission now. It is true that wizard society has medieval features. However, since it has always been inserted within a community of non-wizards, it was expected to have incorporated the values that were gradually acquired by the international community. Moreover, there are some rights that are guaranteed to all persons, regardless of the country where they live on or its governmental system, which is called “customary law” (ICRC, 2015).

Now back to the spells. The lack of control over spells seen in the books, no matter the severity of the curse, is quite paradoxical, given the intense regulations over magic practiced by minors. Wizards under 17 years old are not allowed to use magic outside their school (unless facing exceptional circumstances), and a Trace Spell detects such activities. To give you an idea, a notification is sent almost immediately to the juvenile offender, which, depending on the gravity of the situation, must then go to the Ministry of Magic (Rowling, 1998: ch. 2; Rowling, 2003: ch. 2). In other words, we may conclude that there is the technical capability to perform this type of identification, namely the age of the offender, the spell used and location. But why the same technique is not used with the Unforgivable Curses is a mystery.

By the way “Mystery” is, incidentally, the name of one of the Ministry of Magic’s departments. An institution so lacking in transparency, and theoretically with such advanced surveillance capabilities of their society (a magic Orwellian Big Brother) is to raise all sorts of suspicions about it. Denying the return of Voldemort (a powerful evil wizard; Rowling, 2003: ch. 4), attempting to use a minor as a mascot in this conflict (Rowling, 2005: chs. 16 and 30), and protecting people who make large donations to them (Rowling, 2003: ch. 9), are just some examples of the Ministry’s flaws.

We could also bring up the prison system of the wizards. The main reference is the prison of Azkaban, which is guarded by creatures known as Dementors, whose ability is to absorb all the happiness of those who are around them, and whose “kiss” sucks a person’s soul, leaving her in an eternal lethargic state (Rowling, 1999: chs. 10 and 12). A fate, perhaps, even worse than death. Since the 18th century, Cesare Beccaria, an important Italian criminal scholar, wrote on the humanity of penalties, their social function, and the necessary proportionality between crime and punishment (Beccaria, 1764). In this regard, we see that the world of Harry Potter is over 200 years late in comparison to the so-called “muggles” (the name given to non-wizards), which in 1789 had already promulgated the famous Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen (Déclaration des Droits de l’Homme et du Citoyen). So, because of their outdated and ineffective system (even innocents have been sent to Azkaban; Rowling, 1999: ch. 19), serious insecurities of the criminal point of view are raised, and the cruelty of sanctions hurts human dignity.

And talking about fundamental rights, we note that some of the creatures that inhabit this universe so fabulous end up enslaved (such as house-elves) or have suffered plenty of persecutions (such as goblins). Other creatures, like the centaurs, suffer severe prejudice. A considerable amount of wizards extends this prejudice to other creatures, like half-giants and werewolves, and in some cases even to wizards that are not “pure-blood”, resembling the most foul ideologies ever seen in our world.

In contrast, in our current legal system, other animals have been receiving a human-like treatment, as evidenced by the laws of countries like England (the first one to create animal protection rules; Department for Environment, Food & Rural Affairs, 2013) and Argentina, where a court recently awarded human rights to an orangutan (BBC News, 21 December 2014).

As previously stated, there are exceptions in every group, and it could not be different for the wizards. Also, it is yet to be seen a government without any failures. So, dear reader, take lightly those critics of a muggle who is still waiting for his owl to arrive with his Hogwarts’ letter.


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Rowling, J.K. (2003) Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Bloomsbury, London.

Rowling, J.K. (2005) Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Bloomsbury, London.

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