Society owes a debt to Henrietta Lacks. Modern life benefits from long-term access to a small sample of her cells that contained incredibly unusual DNA. As Rebecca Skloot reports in her best-selling book, “The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks”, the story that unfolded after Lacks died at the age of 31 is one of injustice, tragedy, bravery, innovation and scientific discovery.
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Every month OUP editor and author Jonathan Crowe answers your science questions in the monthly SciWhys column. Got a burning question about science that you’d like answered? Just email it to us, and Jonathan will answer what he can.
Today: how do organisms develop?
By Jonathan Crowe
Each of our bodies is a mass of cells of varying types — from the brain cells that give us the power of thought, to the cardiac cells that form our heart and keep our blood circulating; from the lung cells that take in oxygen from the air around us, to the skin cells that envelop the organs and tissues that lie within. Regardless of their ultimate function, however, each of these cells has come from a single source — the fertilised egg. But how can the complexity and intricacy of a fully-functioning organism stem from such humble beginnings?
At heart, the growth of any organism relies on the repeated growth and division of cells. A cell grows, then splits into two. Each of those cells grows, then splits into two… and so the cycle continues. Before long, we’ve gone from having one cell to two, from two to four, and then to eight, to sixteen, etc. In fact, after ten ‘cycles’ we already have over 1000 cells. (We still have some way to go to generate the millions of cells that form an embryo, but you get the idea.)
Initially, the egg divides to from a hollow ball of cells. However, living creatures aren’t hollow. Instead, they have a clear inside and outside, with the inside usually comprising some kind of gut, which passes the length of the body, from mouth to anus. So how do we go from a hollow ball to something with a clear internal structure? Well, imagine holding a sponge ball between the fingers of two hands, and then pushing in the bottom of the ball with your thumbs. The bottom of the ball folds up and in, almost forming a ‘tunnel’ into the ball. Our hollow ball of cells does the same thing: the cells at the bottom of the hollow ball move up and inside to form a tunnel. These cells will go on to form the digestive tract, which (as our experience tells us) runs right through the inside of our bodies.
Shortly after, a strip of cells along the back of the ball of cells roll up to form a furrow. The cells forming this furrow will go on to form the nervous system, with the furrow itself becoming our spinal cord. And, again, this fits with our experience: our spinal cord does indeed run up and along our back.
The previous paragraphs reveal an important feature of the development of a living organism. It’s not just a question of having lots of cells: to have a fully-functioning organism, we need different cells to do different things – to have different functions. After all, our bodies would be quite useless (not to mention odd-looking) if we were composed entirely of lung cells. Instead, as a population of cells grows, it also clusters into groups with common functions, forming different tissues and different organs.
So how does a cell know what kind of cell it should become? At the simplest level, it depends on the cell’s location – its position in the embryo. But how can cells tell where they are? Do they have some kind of cellular GPS system? Actually, in a way they do. Just as the GPS feature of a mobile phone can tell us our location by picking up a signal from a satellite, cells can also receive signals from their surroundings, which vary according to their location. And, because cells at different positions in the embryo — top or bottom, front or back, left or right — receive different signals, they behave in different ways.
Our everyday experience tells us that our behaviour is modified by signals in the world around us – the most obvious example being the traffic lights that tell us when to stop or go when driving. In a cellular world,
This is the third post in our latest regular OUPblog column: SciWhys. Every month OUP editor and author Jonathan Crowe will be answering your science questions. Got a burning question about science that you’d like answered? Just email it to us, and Jonathan will answer what he can. Today: How is the information in a gene used by a cell?
By Jonathan Crowe
In my last two posts I’ve introduced the notion that DNA acts as a store of biological information; this information is stored in a series of chromosomes, each of which are divided into a number of genes. Each gene in turn contains one ‘snippet’ of biological information. But how are these genes actually used? How is the information stored in these genes actually extracted to do something useful (if ‘useful’ isn’t too flippant a term for something that the very continuation of life depends upon).
Many (but not all) genes act as recipes for a family of biological molecules called proteins: they literally tell the cell what the ingredients for a particular protein are, and how they should be combined to create the protein itself. (Proteins have a range of essential roles in the human body. Some act as building materials for different components of the body, such as the keratin we find in our hair and nails. Others act as molecular transporters: haemoglobin, which is found in our red blood cells, carries oxygen from our lungs to other parts of the body. A family of proteins called the enzymes are arguably the most important, however. Enzymes cajole different chemicals in our body into reacting with one another. Without enzymes, our bodies would be unable to generate energy from the food we eat (and you’d not be reading this blog post).)
So, somehow, the information stored in a DNA molecule is deciphered by the cell and used as the recipe for a protein. But how?
To answer this question, let’s take a journey inside the cell. We can imagine a cell to be like a factory, but one that has been divided into a series of physically separated compartments. Unlike a factory filled with air, a cell is filled with a jelly-like fluid called the cytoplasm, which surrounds the various compartments enclosed within it. In an earlier post I likened a genome to a biological library. And, inside the cell, this library is stored within a particular compartment called the nucleus.
I mentioned earlier that genes often act as recipes for proteins. But here comes a bit of a quandary: chromosomes – and the genes they contain – are locked away inside the cell’s nucleus. By contrast, proteins are manufactured by the cell in the cytoplasm, outside of the nucleus. So, for the genetic information to be used, it has to get out of nucleus and into the cytoplasm. How does this happen? Well, if we’re in a library with a book that contains information we really need, but we’re unable to take the book out of the library, we might make a photocopy of the page that holds the information we’re after. To get the information it needs out of the nucleus and into the cytoplasm the cell does something remarkably similar. The chromosome containing the gene of interest has to stay inside the nucleus, so the cell makes a copy of the gene – and that copy is then transported to where it is to be used: out of the nucleus and into the cytoplasm.
The copy of the gene generated during this cellular photocopying is made not of DNA but of a close cousin called RNA. RNA is made of three of the same building blocks as DNA – A, C and G. Instead of the T found in DNA, however, RNA uses a different block represented by the letter U (for ‘uracil’). Despite this
