The art of being a good writer

View Large Image | Download PowerPoint SlideWhen I was a first-year grad student, I had the audacity to write a letter to the great evolutionary biologist Ernst Mayr, pointing out some minor taxonomic errors in an article that he had just published. To my astonishment, he wrote back, saying: “You ask me to tell you whether you are ‘somehow making a mistake?’ Yes, you are. Nothing has hurt the prestige of systematics among the biological sciences more than the pendantry and nitpicking perpetrated by the lesser lights among the taxonomists. Try, in the future, to focus on important questions, on questions that are of interest also to non-taxonomists.”Since then, I have tried, but often failed, to heed Mayr's advice. At least I am in good company; I am not the only parasitologist who is occasionally guilty of missing the evolutionary forest for the parasitological trees. In particular, the authors of books on parasite evolution sometimes write as though they think that parasites are a special case with unique evolutionary properties. This trap is deftly avoided by Claude Combes, the author of The Art of Being a Parasite. This book is a rare gem that I think Mayr would have loved. The author is a renowned parasitologist who knows his conceptual and organismal subject matter. He is a gifted writer capable of making even complex phenomena seem simple.Combes reviews many of the major features of parasite evolution, from the origins of parasitism, to the evolution of complex life cycles, to coevolutionary dynamics, to emerging infectious diseases. He approaches parasitism from a broad perspective, ranging from parasitic genes, to herbivorous insects, to brood parasitic birds. The book is chock-a-block with fascinating examples of parasite adaptations. Among my favorites are the fungal parasites of blueberries, which trick insect pollinators into transporting spores from infected leaves by stimulating those leaves to produce nectar and reflect UV light, while the surrounding healthy leaves continue to absorb UV light. This is the stuff that makes evolutionary biology so exciting.Combes is careful to describe relevant concepts and facts in precise terms, while avoiding dry or pedantic prose. (Those of us who do not read French owe Daniel Simberloff a debt of gratitude for translating the original manuscript into English.) The author makes excellent use of simplified, schematic drawings of complex phenomena, such as the progression of stages in the evolutionary acquisition of parasitic lifestyles by prosobranch mollusks (each stage represented by the life history of an extant species).A minor complaint is the occasional use of anthropomorphic terminology. Although fun and, therefore, tempting, I worry that such language could be misleading, particularly for students unaccustomed to reading between the literal lines. Seasoned biologists are capable of applying necessary salt to notions such as ‘egoist’ host–parasite associations. But this approach is not really necessary to get the point across. I also winced at a few references to ‘more highly’ evolved taxa. For the most part, however, such language is avoided. Of course, a book of this length (<300 small-format pages) cannot possibly address concepts in complete detail. The inevitable consequence is that other sources must be consulted for an in-depth discussion.In conclusion, I heartily recommend Combes’ book to students and seasoned parasitologists, alike. It would be a fine choice for a short undergrad course in parasite evolution, or a beginning grad-level course, supplemented with some of the original literature.