Orang-utans are found only in Borneo and Sumatra, and 90 per cent of them
have been lost over the past century. The total population was estimated at less
than 40 000 even before the latest upsurge in logging and the forest fires that
have ravaged Borneo since 1997.

The Suaq Balimbing orang-utans live in an area of tropical forest teeming
with biting insects. “It’s a horrible place for research, a fetid swamp, but
it’s orang-utan paradise,” says primatologist Ian Singleton of the University of
Kent at Canterbury, who has recently returned from the area. Not only can the
orang-utans wield tools but they are more gregarious than most.

The research station lies within the Gunung-Leuser National Park. This is
part of the Leuser Ecosystem, an area of tropical rainforest extending over 2.5
million hectares. But the resignation of Indonesia’s President Suharto in May
last year has created an unstable situation. “Because of the political
uncertainty, everyone is making the most of what they can get,” says Singleton.
Loggers have been openly flouting regulations and removing many of the large
trees that provide the orang-utans with their food.

The apes are especially vulnerable to habitat disturbance. Even selective
logging has a drastic impact on populations. Females are almost totally
sedentary, and when large feeding trees are removed they become malnourished.
According to Kathryn Monk of the Zoological Society of London, a scientific
co-ordinator with the Leuser Management Unit, half of the research area has
already been affected by logging. Even if the apes survive, she fears that the
disturbance could endanger their unique social behaviour and tool use.

Some research students have even been threatened by loggers. “In the past
week, we’ve had meetings with local people and local and provincial government.
Everyone is giving their support,” says Monk. “But in the longer term, we are
concerned about encroachment throughout the whole park.”

I don’t think it’s unfair to say that most scientific papers are an
incredibly dull read. Part of the problem is related to their purpose, which is,
first and foremost, to inform. Experiments are meant to be repeatable, so
absolute clarity is king.

But as Robert Day argues in How to Write and Publish a Scientific
Paper (Cambridge University Press, ÂŁ12.95, ISBN 0521658799), the need
for clarity may constrain the use of metaphors, similes and other literary
frills has to be kept to the minimum. But this alone cannot account for the
mediocrity in most academic science writing. The problems are far more prosaic.
Woeful grammar, verbosity and unnecessary jargon can drown out the most
startling scientific message.

For this, the fifth edition, Day has added a few extra chapters on electronic
publishing and the Internet. It remains an excellent guide to the basics. But
here’s a puzzle. This book was first published in 1979 and has, Day assures us,
proved immensely popular. Yet as far as I’m aware, today’s scientific papers are
no more readable than they were twenty years ago. So what does this say about
Day’s book? Has no one made it past the introduction?

AT THE table, a grey object sat alone on a plain white plate. It was the size
of a large potato and definitely of animal origin. Not speaking much French, I
had taken pot luck with the menu. Now the sight of the thing in front of me
prompted a primal feeling of familiarity, though I couldn’t put a name to it. It
was only when I had tasted the first tender morsel that my mind woke up to the
horrifying reality. This was a sheep’s brain, and I had just swallowed a
mouthful of neurons.

These days, I still have an aversion to the brain, not just in French
restaurants, but also in a scientific context. It can’t be because the brain is
the spiritual home of biological jargon. Like all biologists, I was raised on a
diet of weird words. No, the experience in France must be to blame. All the
same, the subtitle of Debra Niehoff’s The Biology of Violence
—”How understanding the brain, behaviour and environment can break the
vicious circle of aggression” intrigued me enough to overcome my aversion.

Niehoff begins by making it clear that the human brain is an extremely
malleable organ. Genes lay down some of the brain’s architectural foundations,
but to keep its owner on an even keel it needs appropriate input from its
environment. Fearful and traumatic experiences, particularly during childhood,
leave a deep imprint on the memory. As Niehoff explains, they can reset
neurological switches, leading to maladaptive and violent behaviour. Stressful
environments can, quite literally, scar circuits and synapses.

This is all fascinating stuff. Unfortunately, Niehoff frequently gets too
bogged down in the details. Exhaustive accounts of the physiological and
behavioural studies that demonstrate the feedback loops underlying neurological
development. This may interest the specialist, but brain virgins and
victims of culinary trauma are likely to find it hard going. Not until the final
chapter does Niehoff get to what most readers will have been waiting
for—the recipe for reform promised on the cover.

Our society attempts to deal with violent people by putting them in prison.
This may satisfy our lust for revenge—but there is a catch, says Niehoff.
Prisons put already stressed brains into an environment of extreme stress and
aggression, so it is little wonder that when violent criminals are released they
often re-offend.

Biology offers a remedy, she says. The brain’s physiological malleability
means it can, in some cases, be coaxed through cognitive behavioural therapy or
the use of drugs back to a more benevolent state. A violent person may be
reformed.

We should go further, argues Niehoff, and tackle violent behaviour by dealing
with its causes, rather than imprisoning offenders and then attempting to change
their behaviour. Early diagnosis of the tell-tale symptoms of violence, followed
by therapy during childhood, can divert young and wayward brains from the path
that leads into the heart of darkness.

In essence, Niehoff argues that a culture of caring, rather than one of
persecution, makes sound biological sense. It is a plea to reason. But Niehoff’s
utopian vision is also deeply political. Early diagnosis and treatment are
expensive and ultimately, what counts is whether society values the buck above
the brain. Could a capitalist society ever embrace her new biological socialism?
Perhaps that important question will form the basis of Niehoff’s next book.