Behind the Byline With Ed Yong

I’d also note that in the pandemic, as in virtually everything else, men are heard, promoted, and lauded more than women. So I’m trying to carve out time to elevate the work of incredible people who are dealing with exactly the same professional pressures that I am but don’t benefit from the same structural dynamics that I clearly benefit from.

Aberra: Information changes constantly. How do you decide when and what to cover about the pandemic?

Yong: I’m not actually sure that information is changing constantly. As I wrote in my piece about coronavirus confusion, science is “less the parade of decisive blockbuster discoveries that the press often portrays, and more a slow, erratic stumble toward ever less uncertainty.” Scientists disagree. They have it out, and they oscillate toward a shared understanding. We in the press make those oscillations look bigger than they actually are by covering every incremental development as it happens—and I’m not sure that, during this crisis, that’s the best route toward greater public understanding.

Aberra: What inspired you to pursue science journalism in the first place?

Ed Yong: It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a science degree must be in want of a Ph.D. But I was the world’s most catastrophic grad student, and while every grad student might think that, I objectively was. I realized, though, that I was much better at writing about science than actually doing it, so I switched to that instead—first at a cancer charity, then on my own blog, then as a freelancer, and then eventually at The Atlantic.

Aberra: What’s the most unusual or fun story you’ve worked on?

Yong: My next book!

I’m fond of telling stories about aspects of nature that we miss. My first book was about the microbes that share our bodies, and the profound influence they have on our lives. The next one is about the sensory experiences of other animals—what dogs smell, what songbirds hear, what eagles see. I’ve spent over a year trying to imagine what the world is like through the eyes, ears, noses, and ampullae of Lorenzini (organs that sharks and other animals use to sense electric fields) of other creatures, and it has been a deeply rewarding and endlessly fascinating project. I’ve been shocked by an electric fish, punched by a mantis shrimp, struck at by a rattlesnake (it missed), kissed by a seal, and oripulated by a manatee (that’s the technical term for what they do when they explore you with their whiskers).

Aberra: What’s something you’ve watched or read lately that you’ve enjoyed?

Yong: I’ve compiled two Twitter threads of pandemic writing that has really resonated with me, by people I respect.

In terms of books, Fathoms, by Rebecca Giggs, is about whales and our relationship with them. It’s one of the most achingly beautiful pieces of nature writing I’ve encountered. Giggs is an absolute master, and I cannot speak highly enough of her work. Sarah Ramey’s The Lady’s Handbook for Her Mysterious Illness is a profound, hilarious, heartbreaking memoir. Gina Rae La Cerva’s Feasting Wild and Ainissa Ramirez’s The Alchemy of Us are witty, illuminating, and inclusive reads about food and technology, respectively. I usually read more fiction, but I’m having trouble concentrating right now.