To save content items to your account,
please confirm that you agree to abide by our usage policies.
If this is the first time you use this feature, you will be asked to authorise Cambridge Core to connect with your account.
Find out more about saving content to .
To save content items to your Kindle, first ensure no-reply@cambridge.org
is added to your Approved Personal Document E-mail List under your Personal Document Settings
on the Manage Your Content and Devices page of your Amazon account. Then enter the ‘name’ part
of your Kindle email address below.
Find out more about saving to your Kindle.
Note you can select to save to either the @free.kindle.com or @kindle.com variations.
‘@free.kindle.com’ emails are free but can only be saved to your device when it is connected to wi-fi.
‘@kindle.com’ emails can be delivered even when you are not connected to wi-fi, but note that service fees apply.
People fill a variety of roles in society and these roles come with certain expectations. For instance, medical doctors are expected to provide care for patients in medical contexts. The role ‘doctor’ is established by institutional conventions and societal expectations (Cordella 2004; see also Goffman 1959). Doctors also fill their role because they are more knowledgeable about the medical context. This knowledge includes knowledge of the topics at stake as well as the style of language used to discuss these topics. The role of the doctor, as well as the knowledge associated with this role, gives doctors some power over patients in the medical context.
Similar observations may be made about the respective roles of managers and subordinates in business contexts, legal professionals and clients in legal contexts, teachers and students in educational contexts, and so on. In sum, roles in society emerge because of institutional conventions, societal expectations and the possession of knowledge. Furthermore, many of these roles (e.g. doctors, legal professionals, teachers) are imbued with power over other contextually related roles (e.g. patients, clients, students). As social agents, we acquire these roles by gaining knowledge and these roles grant us certain powers over others. Historical circumstances often influence our ability to construct these roles. For instance, speakers of non-standard English varieties are often disadvantaged when entering the mainstream school system, which favours Standard English.
Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.
Nelson Mandela
Australia has, for several decades, espoused multiculturalism, although this rhetoric has now been shaken by the controversies that surround refugees. Even so it remains the case that educational policy and practice in Australia have variously acknowledged the diverse cultures and languages of students in schools.
Recently there has been a pronounced shift away from deficit constructions of students from language backgrounds other than English to teachers recognising and drawing on the rich cultural and linguistic resources, often called ‘funds of knowledge’, attributed to the work of Luis Moll, Cathy Amanti, Deborah Neff and Norma Gonzalez (Moll & Amanti et al. 1992). As a literacy educator, you will typically find yourself in classrooms that reflect a diversity of cultures and languages. Within such settings, issues associated with multiculturalism and the flow of people around the world are not simply topics for debate, but matters that you and your students negotiate each day. This is often a richly rewarding experience, but it can involve challenges that cause you to interrogate your own values and beliefs, in much the same way that teachers like Rachel and Bella (see Chapter 2) were prompted to think about the way their lives have shaped their work as literacy educators.
... we must begin from where the children are: ... there can be no alternative ...
James Britton (1972, p. 134)
I can still vividly remember the door closing behind me. Highly respected members of the school community were deciding my fate around a table piled with documents and planners. They were searching for a graduate teacher, a piece of the puzzle, to fit in with their school’s philosophy and direction. I nervously approached the panel with a tentative smile and a secret anxiety and sat down ready to hear the verdict that was to decide my immediate future. I studied the panel members’ faces for any insight into the result, but clearly they had played poker before. ‘Thomas’, the Principal started, ‘If I understand correctly, you are prepared to go into that classroom with all those students and instil in them a love for learning, so welcome to the school’. We shook hands and the door opened for me. Four years have passed and I am now a Year 6 teacher at a primary school (Preparatory Year to Year 6) along the coast of Southern Australia.
Thomas
In this chapter you will be hearing more from Thomas, and reflecting on the complex decisions he makes when planning for literacy learning and teaching. In addition, you will be presented with two other accounts of planning for learning and teaching: one by Gaelene that arises out of her work as a literacy teacher within a middle years context; the other by Maria about her experiences of whole-school planning within a primary school.
In 1906, the Warrens, a wealthy New York banking family, rented a summer house on Long Island. That summer, six people in the household came down with typhoid fever, a serious bacterial illness with a persistent and very high fever. In the era before antibiotics, typhoid was frequently deadly.
Although the Warrens all survived, the outbreak was troubling enough that a sanitary engineer named George Soper was hired to investigate. Soper examined the water supply, the plumbing, and other possible sources of contamination, but found nothing to explain the outbreak. Eventually, he investigated the family’s new cook, a woman named Mary Mallon. Soper went through her employment history, and found that there had been typhoid outbreaks in most of the places she had worked. Mary Mallon, who became known as “Typhoid Mary,” was the first documented example of an asymptomatic carrier of typhoid (Figure 1.1). She herself was not sick, but she was able to spread the disease to others. Once Mary was discovered to carry typhoid, she was quarantined in a hospital for most of the rest of her life.
In the four parts of this book we’ve introduced foundational concepts from computer science in the context of biology. We had a good time writing it, and hope you’ve enjoyed using it.
Over the course of the book you’ve learned some powerful and fundamental techniques that are used throughout computational biology. You’ve also learned a valuable general skill – how to design computational solutions and implement them in your own programs. Like other skills, computational problem-solving and programming benefit from practice. As you do more, you’ll get even better at it.
With that in mind, we hope that you come away from this book with the confidence to take on new problems. These might range from writing a short program to do some quick analysis, to interfacing with existing programs, to solving altogether new research problems. The key is to find ways to use these tools to further your own interests. In the process, perhaps you’ll join us in the excitement that arises when computational techniques are used to explore the many mysteries of life on Earth.
Our final task is to develop an algorithm to reconstruct phylogenetic relationships based on sequence data. In the final homework problem, the source sequences are mitochondrial DNA from a number of modern human individuals, as well as from several fossils, including a Neanderthal. Let us begin by saying something about these sequences and how they are used to create input for our algorithm.
The cells of eukaryotes, such as humans, contain two types of DNA. The largest type is the nuclear DNA which is found in sets of chromosomes that are inherited sexually, with one copy of each chromosome coming from either parent. A second type of DNA can be found in the mitochondria, organelles specializing in energy metabolism. Mitochondria contain their own circular DNA molecule. As it turns out, mitochondria are inherited maternally – individual humans get their mitochondria from their mother’s egg rather than their father’s sperm. Thus, mitochondrial DNA is passed along the maternal line only.
Mitochondrial DNA has frequently been used in studies of human evolution. One advantage is the fact that it’s inherited from a single parent, and thus is not subject to recombination. Another advantage is the fact that mutations arise comparatively quickly in mammalian mitochondrial DNA. If we are comparing closely related samples, such as human individuals, a higher rate of mutation is good because it produces more differences with which to distinguish the samples.
In the previous chapter we saw how to solve some important computational problems with the use-it-or-lose-it principle. This approach obtains the correct answer by effectively exploring every possible solution to a problem. Unfortunately, it turns out that this approach can get very slow as data sets get large. For example, on a typical personal computer, running the LCS function on two random strings, each of length 10, takes approximately one thousandth of a second. But on two strings of length 25 it takes a good part of an hour and on strings of length 100 (which is still very short by the standards of biologists working with real sequences) it would take, conservatively, well over a trillion years.
We began this part of the book with the problem of determining homology between the mammalian X and the bird Z chromosomes. To solve this problem, we’ll need to do over 1000 comparisons between proteins that are each hundreds of amino acids long. That will (almost literally) take forever!
The different cell types in the human body look different and do very different things: Compare, for example, liver cells and brain cells. How do they manage to be so different given that they have the same DNA? The answer is that cells regulate the expression of their genes – that is, they control when and where their genes are used to make protein. As a result, different cell types make a different complement of proteins.
In fact, the expression of a gene can be regulated by other genes. Biologists represent this using a gene regulatory network, a diagram that shows how genes interact. Figure 13.1 shows an example of such a network for some genes in the bacterium Bacillus subtilis. In the diagram, each gene is represented by a circular node. To show that one gene regulates another, we draw an edge, that is, a line with an arrow. This indicates that one gene (the one which the arrow is drawn from) regulates the transcription of the second (the one which the arrow is drawn to). The effect of this regulation might either be positive (upregulation) or negative (downregulation), but we won’t make a distinction between those two cases here.
What determines the sex of an individual organism? It turns out there are different answers for different species. In many vertebrates, including mammals and birds, sex is determined by chromosomes. In other groups, sex is not determined genetically but instead by environmental conditions. For example, in alligators the temperature of the egg during a several-week period determines the sex of the resulting hatchling. In other species, such as clownfish, the sex of an individual may change during the course of its lifetime.
A fundamental question in evolutionary biology is how such different sex-determination systems arose. In this part of the book we address one specific piece of this very big question: The origin of the avian and mammalian sex-determination systems. While both systems are chromosomal, they use different chromosomes. Did the two sex-determination systems evolve independently or arise from a single common ancestral system? Surprisingly, this question can be addressed using a computational analysis of the genes of mammals and birds. In this chapter, we’ll develop a number of widely applicable biological and computational techniques. In the homework problems you’ll then use these to explore the origins of the mammalian and avian sex-determination systems.
Sixty thousand years ago, southwestern France was in the midst of an ice age. The climate was much cooler than it is today, and the region had different animals. These included many large, cold-adapted animals such as woolly mammoths, Irish elk, and cave bears.
There were also people living in the region. Artifacts from this time are abundant, and include spear points and scrapers of the kind that would be used in killing and butchering big game. Human remains reveal people with a short, stocky build, and distinctive facial features including a prominent nose and swept back cheeks. These people were Neanderthals, and by this time they had been occupying Europe for many millennia (Figure 9.1).
Since that time, Europe came to be occupied by other humans, modern humans like ourselves. A key issue in human evolution is the connection between later humans and Neanderthals. Are modern humans descendants of Neanderthals? Or did they come from elsewhere and replace them? Computational approaches have made key contributions toward answering this fascinating question.
One of the things that distinguishes anatomically modern humans from other human groups in the fossil record is the diversity and quality of the artifacts they produced. Figure 10.1 shows three bone needles that were discovered in Liaoning province in northeastern China. These date to between 20,000 and 30,000 years ago, and were almost certainly produced by anatomically modern humans. Liaoning province is cold today, and was even colder tens of thousands of years ago. Needles like these were used to produce individually tailored sewn clothing, which is very warm.
The Liaoning site shows that anatomically modern humans were living at the far eastern edge of Asia by 20,000 to 30,000 years ago. A very important question is how they got there. Amazingly enough, this question can be addressed through the analysis of sequences taken from living humans.
How is this possible? The solution involves building a phylogenetic tree from the sequences, and then making inferences based on this tree. We’ll illustrate this with an example.
This unit contains three chapters on three different topics: RNA folding, gene regulation, and genetic algorithms. Each chapter presents a problem that leads to a programming project. Each chapter also introduces some major new ideas that are transferable to other areas of computer science and computational biology. For example, Chapter 12 examines the use of more sophisticated recursion in the context of RNA folding, Chapter 13 introduces the method of maximum likelihood in the context of inferring gene regulatory networks, and Chapter 14 introduces the concepts of algorithm efficiency, NP-hardness, and genetic algorithms.
Nucleic acids are the chief information-bearing molecules in cells. Recall that they consist of polymers of repeating units called nucleotides that contain a sugar, a phosphate group, and a nitrogenous structure called a base. The base is the part that is variable and thus carries information. In deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA) there are four types of bases: adenine (A), cytosine (C), guanine (G), and thymine (T). The sequence of a nucleic acid polymer is defined by the order of these bases, which we can represent with a string of A's, C's, G's, and T's.
Large strands of DNA, such as are found in bacterial chromosomes, can have millions of nucleotide units. Though you might expect that the four bases would occur in roughly equal numbers in such sequences, this is often not the case. The percentage of nucleotides that are G or C, called the GC content, varies considerably among organisms and can be used to categorize and compare them. For example, Salmonella enterica typhi, the pathogenic species of Salmonella that causes typhoid fever, has a GC content of approximately 52%. The GC content of other bacteria ranges from about 25% to 75%.
We now return to the question that we posed at the beginning of this part: Are the human X and the chicken Z chromosomes homologous? That is, did they descend from a common ancestor? To answer this question, we’ll compare genes on a number of mammalian and avian chromosomes including the X and the Z. We’ll measure the similarity between pairs of mammalian and avian genes and use our results to identify orthologous pairs. Finally, having found pairs of orthologs, we’ll be able to assess the relationship between entire mammalian and avian chromosomes.
This approach requires a biologically reasonable way of scoring the similarity between pairs of genes. In Chapter 5, we developed the differences function and in Chapters 6 and 7 we developed the longest common subsequence (LCS) method. While both of these approaches provide some measure of similarity, they fail to capture some important biological processes. Thus, our first task is to develop a more realistic scoring method. With that new method in hand, we’ll return to exploring the homology of sex chromosomes.
One way that you can spot a computer scientist is that they begin counting from 0 rather than from 1. So this is Chapter 0. But it’s also Chapter 0 to signify that it’s a warm-up chapter to get you on the path to feeling comfortable with Python, the programming language that we’ll be using in this book. Every subsequent chapter will begin with an application in biology followed by the computer science ideas that we’ll need to solve that problem.
Python is a programming language that, according to its designers, aims to combine “remarkable power with very clear syntax.” Indeed, Python programs tend to be relatively short and easy to read. Perhaps for this reason, Python is growing rapidly in popularity among computer scientists, biologists, and others.
The best way to learn to program is to experiment! Therefore, we strongly urge you to pause frequently as you read this book and try some of the things that we’re doing here (and experiment with variations) in Python. It will make the reading more fun and meaningful.