I have always suspected Mendel's theory of genetic inheritance to be truly beautiful science. His experiments with pea-plants during the late 1850's, in a monastery greenhouse in the Czech town of Brno, are beautiful in their simplicity. The elegance of his conclusions owes much to empirical method, detailed research, a mind able to apply statistics to botany, and - above all - endless patience.
Gregor Mendel's story is a sad one. Born into an impoverished agricultural family, and with a crippling level of anxiety and insecurity, Mendel struggled to earn his education. Frequent bouts of depression, and debilitating test-anxiety, troubled his future prospects until a friendly teacher suggested he join St. Thomas' monastery, which had a reputation as a supportive and highly intellectual community in the Augustinian tradition. There, he found a welcoming library, like-minded souls, and a cosy greenhouse (the only place to keep warm in the medieval monastery). In particular, he found solace in gardening. A kindly abbot built a glasshouse especially for Gregor to potter in and tend to his expanding collection of pea-plants.
Mendel was fascinated by the way peas could pass on certain characteristic to succeeding generations, and he devised a series of experiments to ascertain whether there was any general rule to heredity. In this way, over a period of six years, Mendel discovered that particular traits could be 'dominant' or 'recessive', and he distinguished between a phenotype (how genes are physically expressed) and a genotype (underlying genetic makeup), thereby laying the ground for a modern understanding of genetics. In his time, however, Mendel was largely ignored. He printed 40 copies of his paper, which he presented before Brno's men of science, but its importance was not understood. Either it was too difficult to understand or it was ignored. One of the recipients was Charles Darwin, but the paper remained uncut upon a high shelf and was never read by Darwin. The only recipient to reply did so in a spirit of malignant envy, viewing Mendel as a rival who had to be thwarted, which he successfully did by misdirecting Mendel's subsequent research and making the monk doubt everything his theory had proved. Mendel gave up his research and died in obscurity. It would take a further 50 years before botanists working on the same problem came across his paper, citing him simultaneously. Each one craved the recognition that rightfully belonged to Gregor Mendel, and it was only to take the wind out of the sails of the first botanist to lay claim to Mendel's theory that other botanists advanced Mendel's name.
'A Monk and Two Peas' is a riveting narrative but a little over-written bu author Robin Marantz-Henig. It is, however, clear and concise; a perfect introduction to Mendelian genetics for the general reader. It may be too speculative and hyperbolic for historians of science, who would presumably know much of the material anyway, but for anyone more interested in the stories behind the science it is engaging and vividly written.