Working Titles

What do the most indus­tri­ous peo­ple on earth read for fun? 

BY LESLIE T. CHANG

Most of the offi­cials in Qinglin spend their days play­ing mah-jongg and get­ting drunk, but Hou Wei­dong is deter­mined to make some­thing of him­self. He sweeps the work team’s office every day. He orga­nizes vil­lagers to build a new road. Although he is drunk a fair amount—that’s a given for any­one in gov­ern­ment service—he usu­al­ly makes it home before he pass­es out.

The moun­tains around the fic­tion­al town of Qinglin, in south­west­ern Chi­na, con­sist of espe­cial­ly hard rock. And so in the first nov­el of a mul­ti­vol­ume series about the life of Hou Wei­dong the pro­tag­o­nist invests in a stone quar­ry, even though offi­cials are banned from com­mer­cial ven­tures. His tim­ing is per­fect: the coun­ty names 1994 the Year of Trans­port Con­struc­tion, and demand for stone soars. But get­ting paid is anoth­er mat­ter; any­body doing busi­ness has to bribe the gov­ern­ment finance depart­ment in order to get the mon­ey he is owed. Hou Wei­dong learns how to do this, just as he learns how to win con­tracts that have not yet been announced and how to pay off the police. His bank account grows to three hun­dred and thir­ty-sev­en times his year­ly civil servant’s salary. He buys a pager and then a Motoro­la mobile phone; his house is the first in town to have air-con­di­tion­ing.
Even­tu­al­ly, Hou Wei­dong is detained and ques­tioned in a cor­rup­tion inves­ti­ga­tion. But he does not inform on his offi­cial patrons. After his release, friends get him elect­ed deputy town­ship chief. He makes plans to mar­ry his col­lege sweet­heart, whose par­ents have long opposed the match. They change their minds after vis­it­ing his new four­teen-hun­dred-square-foot apart­ment with two bathrooms—a cli­mac­tic scene that ends the first vol­ume of “The Diary of Gov­ern­ment Offi­cial Hou Wei­dong”:

Xiao­jia said, “Hus­band, the two of us final­ly have a house.”
Hou Wei­dong said, “This is our lit­tle nest. We will spend 100,000 yuan to ren­o­vate it prop­er­ly.”
Xiao­jia said, “We should buy a full set of home appli­ances, a VCD play­er, a 29-inch tele­vi­sion set, an auto­mat­ic wash­ing machine, an air-con­di­tion­er, and a com­plete set of wood­en floors.” And so the door to hap­pi­ness opened.
What do the Chi­ne­se, some of the hard­est-work­ing peo­ple on the plan­et, read in their spare time? Nov­els about work. The sev­en­th vol­ume of “The Diary of Gov­ern­ment Offi­cial Hou Wei­dong” was pub­lished last July, with an ini­tial print run of two hun­dred thou­sand copies. An offi­cial-look­ing red stamp on their cov­ers pro­claims that the books are a “Must-Read for Gov­ern­ment Employ­ees,” but man­agers and entre­pre­neurs read them, too. Zhichang xiaoshuo, or work­place nov­els, have topped best-sell­er lists in recent years. “Du Lala’s Pro­mo­tion Diary,” by a cor­po­rate exec­u­tive writ­ing under the pen name Li Ke, is the sto­ry of a young wom­an who ris­es from sec­re­tary to human-resources man­ager at a For­tune 500 com­pa­ny. It has inspired three sequels, a hit movie, and a thir­ty-two-part tele­vi­sion series. The books have sold five mil­lion copies. In “The Get-Rich Diary of China’s Poorest Guy,” an unem­ployed man becomes a mil­lion­aire in three years by sell­ing elec­tric cable; the book’s edi­tor attrib­ut­es its suc­cess to a clev­er title, a flashy cov­er, and the fact that “get­ting rich is the dream of all Chi­ne­se peo­ple.”

Cer­tain pro­fes­sions have their own sub­gen­res. The “com­mer­cial war­fare nov­el” pits sales teams again­st each oth­er in mor­tal com­bat over a large order. The “finan­cial nov­el” wrings dra­ma from stock prices. The “nov­el of offi­cial­dom,” which dates to impe­ri­al times, trades in the secrets and scan­dals of the bureau­cra­cy.

Like their pro­tag­o­nists, the­se books strive to be effi­cient and use­ful. They include rules for get­ting ahead in the work­place:

Social­ize with rich peo­ple. They know more than the poor.

Avoid unpromis­ing work assign­ments by feign­ing ill­ness. Wom­en should fake preg­nan­cy when nec­es­sary.

If your boss makes a pass at you, smile and flirt back.

Hire sub­or­di­nates who are bare­ly ade­quate or they’ll make you look bad.

When brib­ing an offi­cial, have your busi­ness part­ner deliv­er the mon­ey so your hands stay clean.

Du Lala’s Pro­mo­tion Diary” con­tains a long dis­qui­si­tion on how to cal­cu­late the bud­get for an office ren­o­va­tion. Else­where, the author inter­rupts the nar­ra­tive to explain what a non-com­pete agree­ment is. “The Get-Rich Diary” puts entre­pre­neuri­al tips in bold­face: “It takes many inci­dents to estab­lish a rep­u­ta­tion and only one to ruin it,” and “Sell­ing the same item in a dif­fer­ent loca­tion may increase your prof­its.”

In Amer­i­ca, writ­ers might feel pres­sured to add romance and sex to a nov­el; in Chi­na they’re told to take it out. “Traps and Links,” a thriller about sales teams com­pet­ing to win a $1.7-million com­put­er-equip­ment con­tract, was edit­ed to tone down a love inter­est. “When we first saw this book, we told the author, ‘We don’t want to pub­lish a romance nov­el. Can you make it more of a finan­cial nov­el?,’ “ Zhang Lihong, the chief edi­tor of Tsinghua Uni­ver­si­ty Press, which pub­lished the book, told me. “We knew that’s what would make it sell bet­ter.” The book has sold almost four hun­dred thou­sand copies and inspired two sequels.
Most work­place nov­el­ists do not have a lit­er­ary back­ground: one was a pio­neer in the secu­ri­ties indus­try, and anoth­er sold com­put­ers for Dell. They typ­i­cal­ly begin writ­ing anony­mous­ly on the Inter­net and are signed by pub­lish­ers after they gain an online fol­low­ing. “The Diary of Gov­ern­ment Offi­cial Hou Wei­dong” is pub­lished under a pseu­do­nym, and the book jack­et iden­ti­fies the author only as “a cer­tain deputy bureau direc­tor in a cer­tain city in a cer­tain province.” But in late 2010 news­pa­per reporters out­ed a mid-lev­el func­tionary named Zhang Bing. He worked in Yongchuan Dis­trict, one of the count­less regions admin­is­tered by the sprawl­ing city of Chongqing. The author of the Hou Wei­dong series, which has sold three mil­lion copies, was the deputy direc­tor of the Bureau of Envi­ron­men­tal San­i­ta­tion.

Zhang Bing doesn’t smoke, doesn’t drink at lunch, and doesn’t praise the Com­mu­nist Par­ty. He is forty-one years old but, with his stur­dy round face, crew­cut, and keen black eyes, he resem­bles a school­boy eager for trou­ble. He is like no Chi­ne­se offi­cial I’ve ever met. In lit­er­ary cir­cles, Zhang Bing is famous for earn­ing roy­alties of two mil­lion yuan, almost three hun­dred thou­sand dol­lars. His day job is to over­see the dis­pos­al of the three hun­dred tons of garbage that Yongchuan Dis­trict gen­er­ates every day. He has a staff of twen­ty-two, a crew of six hun­dred trash col­lec­tors, and a fleet of trucks. “Our job is to col­lect garbage, trans­port garbage, and treat garbage. This is what I do,” Zhang Bing told me. “And at night I write.”

On a spring morn­ing, I accom­pa­nied him on an inspec­tion of the old city dump, whose sur­round­ing area is a pop­u­lar get­away for res­i­dents. The dump was closed three years ago, because, as Zhang Bing explained, it “did not suit the atmos­phere of a leisure area.” The trash was buried under a long field that slopes down to a stone dam.

Old Zhao, the fore­man of the site’s work crew, approached. Zhang Bing point­ed to a patch of land below the dam. “I want to make sure no water seeps into the ground here,” he said.

There won’t be much water,” Old Zhao assured him. “Don’t wor­ry about that.”

Zhang Bing wor­ried. “What if there’s a sud­den rain­storm and twen­ty mil­lime­tres of rain falls? How much water will col­lect in this spot?”

Old Zhao did some quick men­tal arith­metic. A hun­dred cubic metres, he said.

So I’d need ten trucks to get rid of all the waste­water. I want you to build anoth­er chan­nel to drain off more of the water,” Zhang Bing said. Old Zhao nod­ded. “If you spend mon­ey now, you’ll spend less lat­er,” Zhang Bing told him.

Like the hero of his books, Zhang Bing start­ed out super­vis­ing road main­te­nance and fam­i­ly plan­ning in the farm­ing vil­lages around Yongchuan. He joined the district’s forestry depart­ment in 2007 and began to write a nov­el the fol­low­ing year, anony­mous­ly post­ing chap­ters online. In the series’ ninth install­ment, Hou Wei­dong will become the Par­ty sec­re­tary of a major city. As a dis­trict deputy bureau direc­tor, Zhang Bing is four grades below that in the civil ser­vice. “The series will end there,” he told me. “I don’t real­ly under­stand the world above that, so if I keep writ­ing it won’t be authen­tic.”

Zhang Bing has nev­er con­sid­ered quit­ting his job to write full time. The eco­nom­ics of pub­lish­ing are poor: in China’s frag­ment­ed mar­ket, a suc­cess­ful book may sell ten thou­sand copies and pay five thou­sand dol­lars in roy­alties before tax­es. “If you add up the income of the ten top-earn­ing writ­ers, it’s not as much as the prof­it an aver­age build­ing brings a devel­op­er in a third-tier city,” Zhang Bing, then No. 22 on the list, said in a news­pa­per inter­view. But his reluc­tance is also a ques­tion of gen­er­a­tions. He was born dur­ing the Cul­tur­al Rev­o­lu­tion, when a person’s fate could be deter­mined by polit­i­cal whim. He came of age dur­ing Deng Xiaoping’s eco­nom­ic reforms, which brought oppor­tu­ni­ty but also opened up a gulf between win­ners and losers in a hyper-com­pet­i­tive econ­o­my.

I asked Zhang Bing if the series had a moral. “May­be pro­fes­sion­al writ­ers stand on high­er ground and look at things from that van­tage point,” he said. “But I write about very real, very prac­ti­cal things. I don’t write about the­o­ry. I just want to tell a sto­ry.”

The first suc­cess man­u­als to appear in Chi­na were Amer­i­can imports. In the late nine­teen-eight­ies, some peo­ple aban­doned their gov­ern­ment jobs to start busi­ness­es of their own. Dale Carnegie’s “How to Win Friends and Influ­ence Peo­ple” (trans­lat­ed into Chi­ne­se as “The Weak­ness­es of Human Nature”) was pop­u­lar, as was L. Ron Hubbard’s “Dia­net­ics” (“Tech­niques for Psy­cho­log­i­cal Adjust­ment”). Over the next two decades, though, many Chi­ne­se authors reject­ed the sun­ny self-actu­al­iza­tion mes­sage of the Amer­i­can self-help move­ment. A favorite among fac­to­ry work­ers was “Square and Round,” which preached how to get ahead through manip­u­la­tion and deceit. “Do not show con­cern for oth­ers,” it advised. “It insults your self-respect and will only make oth­er peo­ple look down on you.”
Com­pe­ti­tion in the work­place is a new expe­ri­ence. For decades, peo­ple inhab­it­ed famil­iar and sta­ble settings—the vil­lage, the school, the work unit. A nation­wide sys­tem that assigned jobs to all col­lege grad­u­ates was abol­ished only in the late nine­teen-nineties. A decade lat­er, pro­mot­ing one­self in meet­ings and inter­views still feels unnat­u­ral; one person’s advance­ment means that every­one else is left behind. Work­place nov­els present white-col­lar jobs as a form of glad­i­a­to­ri­al com­bat, because to most peo­ple that’s how it feels. In “Traps and Links,” which in 2006 inau­gu­rat­ed the com­mer­cial-war­fare gen­re, the dra­ma of duelling sales depart­ments is treat­ed as a fight to the death. “Sales is like war: in some cas­es it’s bet­ter to die on the bat­tle­field than to suf­fer defeat,” Zhang Lihong, of Tsinghua Uni­ver­si­ty Press, told me. “I did not enjoy read­ing this book and couldn’t fin­ish it,” she admit­ted. “It’s so brutal—people behave like ani­mals! But it’s very authen­tic.” The nov­el is based on a true sto­ry in which all but one per­son in a company’s fif­teen-mem­ber sales depart­ment were fired when a rival team won a com­put­er con­tract.

This Dar­wini­an view of the work­place is wide­spread. Yu Zhenghua, a pro­fes­sion­al investor, wrote a best-sell­er called “The Stock Pick­er.” In 1993, when the gov­ern­ment opened the mar­ket to insti­tu­tion­al investors, it orga­nized a train­ing pro­gram to teach exec­u­tives at a few select firms how to han­dle the trades. Of the thir­ty-three peo­ple in that class, Yu Zhenghua is the only one who still works in finance. “Some have gone to jail, some have fled abroad, some have lost their faith and are now dri­ving taxi­cabs,” he told me.

Are those the only options?” I asked.

Oh, and some have com­mit­ted sui­cide.”

In the open­ing pages of “Du Lala’s Pro­mo­tion Diary,” the hero­ine lands an entry-lev­el job in the Chi­na office of an Amer­i­can telecom­mu­ni­ca­tions com­pa­ny. At first, Lala works hard and doesn’t com­plain. Then, real­iz­ing that her Amer­i­can boss­es don’t val­ue her at all, she takes charge of a sev­en-hun­dred-thou­sand-dol­lar office ren­o­va­tion. (In the lit­er­a­ture of the Chi­ne­se work­place, ren­o­va­tion is an obses­sion akin to inher­i­tance in the Vic­to­ri­an nov­el.) After­ward, she hec­tors her boss for a pro­mo­tion:

She swal­lowed and said, “The project is fin­ished. Will there be a bonus?”
“Our chair­man hates when peo­ple talk of mon­ey. It’s not good to speak of mon­ey.” …
Lala said to her­self: “If I don’t fight for myself, I can’t count on oth­ers to defend me.” She gath­ered up her courage and said, “Boss, can I have a raise?”
Moder­ni­ty is the book’s true the­me. Lala advances to man­age­ment by learn­ing how to pro­mote her­self, to speak up in meet­ings, to be pushy and friend­ly at the same time—in oth­er words, to act like an Amer­i­can. She mas­ters the cor­po­rate-speak of man­age­ment consultants—SWOT analy­sis, SMART objec­tives. “Multi­na­tion­als in Chi­na rep­re­sent advanced ideas and sys­tems,” Cai Mingfei, who edit­ed the Du Lala books, told me. “If you under­stand the­se ideas, they can help you no mat­ter what kind of place you work in.” While Amer­i­cans try to learn from China’s eco­nom­ic rise, the Chi­ne­se still look to the West for inspi­ra­tion. “Du Lala” is filled with Eng­lish phras­es that, tak­en togeth­er, offer a paean to the mixed bless­ings of glob­al­iza­tion:

val­ue-added

C.E.O.

sex­u­al harass­ment

cubi­cle

we wish him a bright future

HBO

Nike

con­dom

For­eign Cor­rupt Prac­tices Act

pay for it

Louis Vuit­ton

The nov­el is also strik­ing for what it leaves out. Lala is an attrac­tive sin­gle wom­an in her late twen­ties who lacks a social life; we nev­er see her gos­sip­ing with friends, because she doesn’t have any. A roman­tic inter­est final­ly appears—an arro­gant sales super­vi­sor who threat­ens to derail Lala’s renovation—but their love sce­nes are less impas­sioned than their dis­cus­sions of sales tar­gets. Peo­ple spend all their wak­ing hours in con­fer­ence rooms and cubi­cles, because this is what it takes to sur­vive. We nev­er even learn what Lala’s com­pa­ny sells.

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The fierce pur­suit of suc­cess once fig­ured in the plot­li­nes of Amer­i­can fic­tion, too. Hor­a­tio Alger pub­lished more than a hun­dred nov­els intend­ed as suc­cess man­u­als for youths dur­ing the late nine­teen­th cen­tu­ry, an era of indus­tri­al­iza­tion and eco­nom­ic growth that had much in com­mon with Chi­na today. Theodore Dreiser’s Sis­ter Car­rie strives for mate­ri­al pos­ses­sions as hun­gri­ly as any Chi­ne­se fac­to­ry girl or office work­er. “Here was the splen­did din­ing cham­ber, all dec­o­rat­ed and aglow, where the wealthy ate,” Car­rie observes on enter­ing a fine restau­rant for the first time. “What a won­der­ful thing it was to be rich.” But the lit­er­a­ture of America’s rise was told in moral terms. In a typ­i­cal Alger sto­ry, a poor young man impress­es a wealthy bene­fac­tor with his virtue and is reward­ed with a job that promis­es mid­dle-class respectabil­i­ty. When Car­rie becomes a lead­ing stage actress, she learns that wealth and fame do not bring hap­pi­ness.
Chi­na was once a coun­try gov­erned by morals. Its emper­or ruled through right­eous exam­ple; by show­ing him­self to be above cor­rup­tion, he assured a vir­tu­ous admin­is­tra­tion and a peace­ful empire. One of history’s first suc­cess man­u­als was the work of a fifth-century-B.C. moral­ist. “The Analects of Con­fu­cius” was a guide to zuoren, how to behave prop­er­ly: “Rich­es and rank are what every man craves; yet if the only way to obtain them goes again­st his prin­ci­ples, he should desist from such a pur­suit.” Today, the focus is on zuoshi, how to get things done. All the rules for get­ting ahead can be reduced to one: Do any­thing to sur­vive, because you’re on your own.

If sales is war, so is pub­lish­ing. Many Chi­ne­se pub­lish­ers wait to see how a book sells in its first week before decid­ing whether to pro­mote it; many writ­ers respond to this pres­sure by buy­ing hun­dreds of copies of their own works. Some con­tracts actu­al­ly stip­u­late that an author pur­chase a set num­ber of copies of his book and sell them how­ev­er he can. Sales in China’s eleven-bil­lion-dol­lar pub­lish­ing indus­try grew nine­teen per cent in 2010, accord­ing to the mon­i­tor­ing firm Bei­jing Open­Book Com­pa­ny, but almost sev­en­ty per cent of the trade is in text­books. What’s more, the retail price of an aver­age book is about four dol­lars and has bare­ly budged in a decade. “Peo­ple are will­ing to spend a lot of mon­ey to go out to din­ner or to sing karaoke, but they are used to hav­ing books be very cheap,” Peg­gy Yu, of dangdang.com, China’s largest online book retail­er, told me.

The cut­throat nature of the busi­ness is on dis­play in any book­store. “Du Lala’s Pro­mo­tion Diary” was fol­lowed by “Hu Keke’s Bei­jing Suc­cess Diary,” “Tian Duoduo’s Civil Ser­vice Exam Diary,” and “Su Changchang’s Strug­gle to Get a Raise Diary.” Is it enough to have one nov­el called “Mayor’s Sec­re­tary”? Appar­ent­ly not, because there’s also “Coun­ty Par­ty Sec­re­tary,” “Inspec­tion Com­mit­tee Par­ty Sec­re­tary,” and “Munic­i­pal Par­ty Com­mit­tee Sec­re­tary.” The undis­put­ed king of the gen­re is Wang Xiao­fang. He has writ­ten four­teen books draw­ing on his expe­ri­ence work­ing for Ma Xiang­dong, the for­mer vice-may­or of Shenyang, who was exe­cut­ed in 2006 for cor­rup­tion. You can’t buy that kind of pub­lic­i­ty.

The­se works owe their exis­tence to a sweep­ing lib­er­al­iza­tion of the pub­lish­ing busi­ness. In a push to mod­ern­ize its cul­ture and media indus­tries, the gov­ern­ment recent­ly gave pub­lish­ers more auton­o­my. Bureau­crats for­mer­ly bought books; now edi­tors act as aggres­sive scouts. The Shang­hai Trans­la­tion Pub­lish­ing House, the largest pub­lish­er of trans­lat­ed books in Chi­na, releas­es titles that it wouldn’t have touched before, such as Lawrence Wright’s “The Loom­ing Tow­er” (too much reli­gion) and the nov­els of Haruki Murakami (too much sex). “In the past, we pre­ferred to avoid trou­ble at all costs. If you were pun­ished, all the peo­ple involved from the man­ag­ing direc­tor on down would be fired,” Zhang Jiren, an edi­tor at the firm, told me. “Now we’re will­ing to take risks.”

Offi­cial­ly, all book pub­lish­ers in Chi­na belong to the state; in real­i­ty, pri­vate entre­pre­neurs have been oper­at­ing as pub­lish­ers for years. Inde­pen­dent press­es, which invent­ed and dom­i­nate lucra­tive cat­e­gories such as young-adult nov­els, were the first to send sales teams to book­stores. They’ve pub­lished many of the work­place nov­els and were instru­men­tal in estab­lish­ing the nov­el of offi­cial­dom. The first such work, titled “Paint­ing,” was pub­lished in 1998 by the state-owned People’s Lit­er­a­ture Pub­lish­ing House. It arose out of an old­er gen­re known as the “anti-cor­rup­tion nov­el,” whose sto­ry line typ­i­cal­ly involved the pun­ish­ment of offi­cials who fla­grant­ly abused their pow­er. But where those ear­lier sto­ries blamed graft on a few greedy indi­vid­u­als, with jus­tice pre­vail­ing in the end, “Paint­ing” showed how deeply cor­rup­tion was embed­ded in the Chi­ne­se polit­i­cal sys­tem. The gov­ern­ment was not hap­py with the book, and state-owned pub­lish­ers shied away from the mar­ket, but pri­vate press­es quick­ly took over.
“The pri­vate com­pa­nies were braver and less account­able than the state pub­lish­ers because they are not part of the reg­u­la­to­ry struc­ture,” Jo Lus­by, the man­ag­ing direc­tor of Pen­guin Chi­na, told me. She is pub­lish­ing Wang Xiaofang’s “Notes of a Civil Ser­vant” in Eng­lish. “Now the­se nov­els are such an estab­lished part of the lit­er­ary cul­ture that the gov­ern­ment can’t do any­thing about it.”

That loss of con­trol hasn’t been good for the bureaucracy’s image. In the Hou Wei­dong series, offi­cials skip work for days to play mah-jongg, or they show up only to drink tea, read news­pa­pers, and enjoy the air-con­di­tion­ing. Every meet­ing is an excuse to eat and drink at pub­lic expense, and there are end­less descrip­tions of cadres throw­ing up—on them­selves, on din­ing tables, in pub­lic toi­lets, on coun­try roads. They set up ille­gal com­pa­nies and prof­it from sweet­heart deals. Hou Wei­dong mar­vels at the scale of bribery but quick­ly mas­ters the eti­quet­te of the pay­off. The cor­rup­tion of a young man by the wide world has rarely been pre­sent­ed in such tri­umphant terms. An egal­i­tar­i­an uni­verse, the author implies, is one in which even an uncon­nect­ed nobody can learn to buy off offi­cials and sub­vert the law.

For a man who wrote a best-sell­ing nov­el that has a giant gold ingot on the cov­er, Lao Kang is sur­pris­ing­ly mod­est. Only a few friends know that he is the author of “The Get-Rich Diary of China’s Poorest Guy,” and his wife has not read the book. “She likes Kore­an soap operas,” he told me. He owns a small com­pa­ny that sells elec­tri­cal wiring, and he agreed to meet me on a rainy after­noon in his native Chongqing, on the con­di­tion that I not take his pho­tograph. He nev­er told me his real name.

Lao Kang is forty years old. He has a big, open square face with a wispy goa­tee, like a peas­ant crossed with an artist. He rejects the get-rich gospel and bold­face suc­cess tips advo­cat­ed by his own book, which he con­ceived as the sto­ry of a self-made man’s strug­gle to over­come hard­ship. “The pub­lish­er pack­aged the book as a man­u­al for suc­cess, which I very much dis­agreed with,” he told me. He was asked to rewrite the end­ing to empha­size the protagonist’s mate­ri­al wealth.

I wor­ry that the book will mis­lead young peo­ple,” he said. “It will make them focus too much on mak­ing mon­ey. If every­one in our coun­try focussed only on get­ting rich, that would be a very dan­ger­ous thing.”

But aren’t we already at that point?” I asked.

He was silent for a moment and then laughed in embar­rass­ment, as if the nation­al ethos were a per­son­al fail­ing. “But I think this will change,” he said. “A lot of peo­ple are already chang­ing their think­ing. They want to spend time with their loved ones, and to trav­el. They don’t need too many mate­ri­al goods—just enough not to have wor­ries.”

The Get-Rich Diary” tells the sto­ry of an edu­cat­ed man who has been out of work for sev­er­al years and is estranged from his wife and son. He is inspired to pur­sue suc­cess after watch­ing an “Amer­i­can Idol”-type real­i­ty show on tele­vi­sion. “They were not nec­es­sar­i­ly good singers, but they made the attempt and took action,” the nar­ra­tor says. “This was the orig­in of their suc­cess. So I must take action.” He finds work as a labor­er on a con­struc­tion site, assem­bling scaf­fold­ing for build­ings. (“If you don’t act,” the book coun­sels, “you’ll be poor forever.”) In his spare time, he starts dis­trib­ut­ing con­struc­tion mate­ri­als, sets up a sales show­room, and even­tu­al­ly buys a scaf­fold­ing fac­to­ry. (“A person’s job oppor­tu­ni­ty is to be found in the mid­st of work, not through sit­ting and imag­in­ing it.”) In three years, his com­pa­ny achieves sales of a mil­lion yuan. His wife returns home and they buy an apart­ment togeth­er. (In the Chi­ne­se work­place nov­el, the cli­max often involves an apart­ment pur­chase.)

The book describes how it feels to be a fail­ure in a place as ambi­tion-mad as Chi­na:

I am thir­ty years old.
I don’t own an apart­ment but live with my wife’s par­ents.
Every day I sleep until ten, cook a huge bowl of noodles to rav­en­ous­ly fill my stom­ach, then leave and “go to work.” … My work involves find­ing an Inter­net café to go online. I read the news, roam the online forums, or play some com­put­er games.
If I have no mon­ey to go online, I will go alone to an out-of-the-way place and sit qui­et­ly star­ing into space. This is also part of my dai­ly work.

At any rate, I will avoid people’s gaze, and I have gone into hid­ing from every­one I know.
Lao Kang reluc­tant­ly agreed to take me on a sales vis­it that he assured me would be of no inter­est. “All we’ll do is go in and sign a piece of paper,” he told me. It was his sec­ond meet­ing with Boss Peng, and he hoped to close a deal to sup­ply Inter­net cable to a pris­on in the city of Ful­ing. Boss Peng’s office was a drafty room in an unfur­nished apart­ment, lit by a flick­er­ing flu­o­res­cent bulb. The pound­ing of a ham­mer next door start­ed up like a wel­com­ing orches­tra the moment we arrived.

I’m not mak­ing mon­ey on this project, because the con­struc­tion com­pa­ny is pay­ing me such a low price,” Boss Peng, a stocky man with a meaty crew­cut head, said.

I’m not mak­ing mon­ey on this deal, either, because my costs are so high,” Lao Kang replied.

Hav­ing tak­en their vows of pover­ty, the men got down to nego­ti­a­tions. (“Any busi­ness oppor­tu­ni­ty needs two peo­ple: one who wants to spend mon­ey and anoth­er who wants to earn it.”) Boss Peng want­ed to pay only ten per cent up front; Lao Kang required a twen­ty-per-cent down pay­ment. Boss Peng protested—“I thought we had already agreed on this point last Friday”—and pulled out a brick of hun­dred-yuan bills, like a show­girl flash­ing a bit of leg. The brick dis­ap­peared almost imme­di­ate­ly into the breast pock­et of his wind­break­er. Lao Kang stood firm. Next door, an inter­val of silence was fol­lowed by a sec­ond move­ment: pow­er drilling.

In the next hour, Boss Peng request­ed that the box­es of cable be deliv­ered to the con­struc­tion site that after­noon. Lao Kang said he need­ed two days. Boss Peng explained that he had only fif­teen days to fin­ish the job. See­ing his advan­tage, Lao Kang said he could guar­an­tee deliv­ery the next day if Boss Peng paid him on the spot. The brick of cash reap­peared and changed hands. The drilling con­tin­ued and the ham­mer joined back in, build­ing to a crescen­do as the two men signed the con­tract.

This nego­ti­a­tion had tak­en two hours. “I’m very tired,” Boss Peng said.

I’m very tired, too,” Lao Kang said. “In our next life, let’s not do busi­ness. Let’s be gov­ern­ment offi­cials instead.” For sup­ply­ing six thou­sand dol­lars’ worth of Inter­net cable to Boss Peng, Lao Kang earned less than fifty dollars—a prof­it mar­gin of sev­en-tenths of one per cent.

As we drove back to his office, Lao Kang told me that he could imag­ine a dif­fer­ent way of life. His wife’s sis­ter and her hus­band have lived and worked in the Unit­ed States for years. “They don’t focus on mon­ey,” he said. “All they care about is liv­ing a pleas­ant life. Every week­end, they dri­ve some­where on an out­ing.”

I sug­gest­ed that he could also spend week­ends this way.

Yes,” he said. “But every time I think about doing it I imme­di­ate­ly think I should be doing some­thing more mean­ing­ful. Like work­ing.”

In a nation that so wor­ships mate­ri­al suc­cess, even the heretics are high achiev­ers. Zhao Xing is a twen­ty-six-year-old exec­u­tive at an Amer­i­can pub­lic-rela­tions firm in Bei­jing who also writes a blog aimed at office work­ers in their twen­ties. But Zhao Xing does not offer tips on becom­ing a man­ager or a mil­lion­aire. Instead, she advis­es read­ers on how to ful­fill their dreams while sur­viv­ing the workplace—an explic­it rejec­tion of the work-obsessed soci­ety she lives in. “We dis­agree with Du Lala,” she told me. “All she does is fight. It is very tir­ing. I keep telling my read­ers that we don’t have to be like that. If we’re just like our elders, soci­ety will nev­er devel­op.”

Zhao Xing’s first book, which comes out in Chi­na this spring, is not about work. It’s about an eleven-day trip that she made to Tai­wan in 2010, sleep­ing on the couch­es of fam­i­lies she met online. Chi­ne­se tourists are not allowed to trav­el to Tai­wan except in orga­nized groups, so the book, which sold well in Tai­wan, is get­ting a lot of atten­tion. “It’s been my dream to vis­it Tai­wan since I was sev­en­teen,” she told me. A sec­ond book, com­bin­ing essays and fic­tion about the work­place, is due out lat­er this year.

Zhao Xing is part of what the Chi­ne­se call bawuhou, the post-1985 gen­er­a­tion. Accus­tomed to a life of mate­ri­al com­fort and choice, they don’t define suc­cess in the stan­dard ways. “We grew up along with China’s reforms,” she said. “You can’t moti­vate us with money—you have to appeal to our dreams. For exam­ple, a post-’85 may quit a job so he can take a trip. This is unimag­in­able to the old­er gen­er­a­tion.” Read­ers often write her about their aspi­ra­tions: to be a good teacher, to buy Louis Vuit­ton, to direct films, to take their par­ents on a plane trip for the first time.
Zhao Xing would like to vis­it “the places oth­er peo­ple can­not go, like Ice­land, Fiji, and the Vat­i­can.” She wants to improve her piano-play­ing. She was the only work­place writer I met who offered her own def­i­n­i­tion of suc­cess. “Suc­cess means that you can live the way you want, that you can be your­self and not the per­son oth­ers want you to be,” she told me. “I can’t say I’ve achieved this, but I’m pur­su­ing it.”

Don’t get wrapped up in your title and the words on your busi­ness card,” she tells read­ers in one blog post. “Life is not lived for the sake of those few words.… You can change the com­pa­ny, you can change the pro­fes­sion, but your own youth comes only once, and of your own inner being you have only one. Don’t sac­ri­fice your soul and your ideas for any­thing. You must have dili­gent behav­ior and a brave heart.”

Though Zhao Xing rep­re­sents some­thing new in con­tem­po­rary fic­tion, she is also a throw­back to an ear­lier gen­er­a­tion of Chi­ne­se writ­ers: those who were con­cerned not with how to work but with how to live. ♦

Division of Medical Sciences at Harvard Medical School (DMS)

Bioinformatics and Integrative Genomics (BIG)

The Bioin­for­mat­ics and Inte­gra­tive Genomics (BIG) Pro­gram enrolls PhD stu­dents with excep­tion­al train­ing in quan­ti­ta­tive sci­ences and strong inter­est in bio­med­ical appli­ca­tions. Research areas encom­pass com­pu­ta­tion­al analy­sis and math­e­mat­i­cal mod­el­ing of data gen­er­at­ed by DNA sequence, gene expres­sion, struc­tural, pro­teomics, and metabo­lite-assay­ing tech­nolo­gies. In applied projects, they may also include inte­gra­tion of clin­i­cal and pop­u­la­tion data from elec­tron­ic health records. Both bioin­for­mat­ics and genomics are tight­ly linked to the math­e­mat­i­cal and bio­phys­i­cal mod­el­ing of com­plex bio­log­i­cal sys­tems and exper­i­men­tal val­i­da­tion of com­pu­ta­tion­al pre­dic­tions. Grad­u­ate stu­dents will con­duct orig­i­nal research in the devel­op­ment of nov­el approach­es and new tech­nolo­gies to address fun­da­men­tal bio­log­i­cal ques­tions, and they will acquire the skills to be lead­ers in the field of bioin­for­mat­ics and genomics. Stu­dents will be joint mem­bers of BIG and a “home pro­gram” cho­sen from one of the four DMS pro­grams (BBS, Immunol­o­gy, Neu­ro­science, Virol­o­gy). BIG stu­dents will fol­low the cur­ricu­lum and par­tic­i­pate in activ­i­ties of the home pro­gram, which will be sup­ple­ment­ed with BIG pro­gram­mat­ic and cur­ric­u­lar offer­ings.

common R commandline

R is a free soft­ware envi­ron­ment for sta­tis­ti­cal com­put­ing and graph­ics. It com­piles and runs on a wide vari­ety of UNIX plat­forms, Win­dows and MacOS.

Instal­la­tion:
1. sudo apt-get install r-base;

## try http:// if https:// URLs are not sup­port­ed

2. Change direc­to­ry: setwd(‘E:/’) or setwd(“E:/”)
caveat: use ‘/’ not ‘\’ in win­dows.
*: list items in the cur­rent direc­to­ry: dir()

3. bio­con­duc­tor:
## try http:// if https:// URLs are not sup­port­ed
source(“https://bioconductor.org/biocLite.R”)
biocLite(“limma”)

 

4. upda­tee all installed pack­ages
update.packages()

5. upgrade R
sudo add-apt-repos­i­to­ry ppa:marutter/rrutter
sudo apt-get update
sudo apt-get upgrade

 

Terminology

1.fold-coverage

the the­o­ret­i­cal “fold-cov­er­age” of a shot­gun sequenc­ing exper­i­ment:

<num­ber of reads> * <read length> / <tar­get size>

2.Amplicon

An ampli­con is a piece of DNA or RNA that is <the source and/or pro­duct of nat­u­ral or arti­fi­cial ampli­fi­ca­tion or repli­ca­tion events>.

It can be formed using var­i­ous meth­ods includ­ing poly­merase chain reac­tions (PCR), lig­ase chain reac­tions (LCR), or nat­u­ral gene dupli­ca­tion.

3.Whole genome map­ping

A Whole Genome Map is a high-res­o­lu­tion, ordered, whole genome restric­tion map gen­er­at­ed from sin­gle DNA mol­e­cules extract­ed from bac­te­ria, yeast, or oth­er fungi. Whole Genome Map­ping is a nov­el tech­nol­o­gy with unique capa­bil­i­ties in the field of micro­bi­ol­o­gy, with speci­fic appli­ca­tions in the areas of Com­par­a­tive Genomics, Strain Typ­ing, and Whole Genome Sequence Assem­bly. Whole Genome Maps are gen­er­at­ed de novo, inde­pen­dent of sequence infor­ma­tion, require no ampli­fi­ca­tion or PCR steps, and provide a com­pre­hen­sive view of whole genome archi­tec­ture. A Whole Genome Map is dis­played in the Map­Code pat­tern where the ver­ti­cal lines indi­cate the loca­tions of restric­tion sites, and the dis­tance between the lines rep­re­sent the restric­tion frag­ment size.

4.Radiation hybrid map­ping

A the­o­ry is devel­oped to pre­dict mark­er reten­tion and con­di­tion­al reten­tion or loss in radi­a­tion hybrids. Applied to mul­ti­ple pair­wise analy­sis of a human chro­mo­some 21 data set, this the­o­ry fits much bet­ter than pro­posed alter­na­tives and gives a phys­i­cal map con­sis­tent with oth­er evi­dence and robust with respect to errors to typ­ing. Radi­a­tion hybrids have great promise to provide order and phys­i­cal loca­tion at two lev­els of res­o­lu­tion, span­ning the tech­niques of link­age and restric­tion frag­ments and not lim­it­ed to poly­mor­phic loci.

5.dna bar­cod­ing

DNA bar­cod­ing is a tax­o­nom­ic method that uses a short genet­ic mark­er in an organism’s DNA to iden­ti­fy it as belong­ing to a par­tic­u­lar species

6.metric space

In math­e­mat­ics, a met­ric space is a set for which dis­tances between all mem­bers of the set are defined. Those dis­tances, tak­en togeth­er, are called a met­ric on the set.

7.Pseudometric space

In math­e­mat­ics, a pseudo­met­ric space is a gen­er­al­ized met­ric space in which the dis­tance between two dis­tinct points can be zero.

8.pyrosequencing

Pyrose­quenc­ing is a method of DNA sequenc­ing (deter­min­ing the order of nucleotides in DNA) based on the “sequenc­ing by syn­the­sis” prin­ci­ple. It dif­fers from Sanger sequenc­ing, in that it relies on the detec­tion of pyrophos­phate release on nucleotide incor­po­ra­tion, rather than chain ter­mi­na­tion with dideoxynucleotides.The desired DNA sequence is able to be deter­mined by light emit­ted upon incor­po­ra­tion of the next com­ple­men­tary nucleotide by the fact that only one out of four of the pos­si­ble A/T/C/G nucleotides are added and avail­able at a time so that only one let­ter can be incor­po­rat­ed on the sin­gle strand­ed tem­plate (which is the sequence to be deter­mined). The inten­si­ty of the light deter­mi­nes if there are more than one of the­se “let­ters” in a row. The pre­vi­ous nucleotide let­ter (one out of four pos­si­ble dNTP) is degrad­ed before the next nucleotide let­ter is added for syn­the­sis: allow­ing for the pos­si­ble reveal­ing of the next nucleotide(s) via the result­ing inten­si­ty of light (if the nucleotide added was the next com­ple­men­tary let­ter in the sequence). This process is repeat­ed with each of the four let­ters until the DNA sequence of the sin­gle strand­ed tem­plate is deter­mined.

9.n-gram(k-mer)

In the fields of com­pu­ta­tion­al lin­guis­tics and prob­a­bil­i­ty, an n-gram is a con­tigu­ous sequence of n items from a given sequence of text or speech. The items can be phonemes, syl­la­bles, let­ters, words or base pairs accord­ing to the appli­ca­tion. The n-grams typ­i­cal­ly are col­lect­ed from a text or speech cor­pus.

 

DNA sequencing:base pair

AGCTTCGA

…, A, G, C, T, T, C, G, A, …

…, AG, GC, CT, TT, TC, CGGA, …

…, AGC, GCT, CTT, TTC, TCGCGA, …

10.sequence space

In evo­lu­tion­ary biol­o­gy, sequence space is a way of rep­re­sent­ing all pos­si­ble sequences (for a pro­tein, gene or genome).

11.k-mer dis­tance

1.li,lj,表示两条序列

2.τ:表示一个k-mer的一个子序列,

ni(τ),nj(τ):表示该子序列在两条序列的k-mer中的个数。

3.ki,j:表示这两条序列k-mer的相似度

12.optical map(ordered restric­tion map)

Opti­cal map­ping is a tech­nique for con­struct­ing ordered, genome-wide, high-res­o­lu­tion restric­tion maps from sin­gle, stained mol­e­cules of DNA, called “opti­cal maps”. By map­ping the loca­tion of restric­tion enzyme sites along the unknown DNA of an organ­ism, the spec­trum of result­ing DNA frag­ments col­lec­tive­ly serve as a unique “fin­ger­print” or “bar­code” for that sequence.

13.Restriction map

A restric­tion map is a map of known restric­tion sites with­in a sequence of DNA. Restric­tion map­ping requires the use of restric­tion enzymes. In mol­e­c­u­lar biol­o­gy, restric­tion maps are used as a ref­er­ence to engi­neer plas­mids or oth­er rel­a­tive­ly short pieces of DNA, and some­times for longer genomic DNA.

14.Expressed sequence tag

An expressed sequence tag or EST is a short sub-sequence of a cDNA sequence.They may be used to iden­ti­fy gene tran­scripts, and are instru­men­tal in gene dis­cov­ery and gene sequence deter­mi­na­tion. The iden­ti­fi­ca­tion of ESTs has pro­ceed­ed rapid­ly, with approx­i­mate­ly 74.2 mil­lion ESTs now avail­able in pub­lic data­bas­es (e.g. Gen­Bank 1 Jan­u­ary 2013, all species).

15.Multiple Sequenc­ing Align­ment

A Mul­ti­ple Sequence Align­ment (MSA) is a sequence align­ment of three or more bio­log­i­cal sequences, gen­er­al­ly pro­tein, DNA, or RNA. In many cas­es, the input set of query sequences are assumed to have an evo­lu­tion­ary rela­tion­ship by which they share a lin­eage and are descend­ed from a com­mon ances­tor. From the result­ing MSA, sequence homol­o­gy can be inferred and phy­lo­ge­net­ic analy­sis can be con­duct­ed to assess the sequences’ shared evo­lu­tion­ary ori­gins. Visu­al depic­tions of the align­ment as in the image at right illus­trate muta­tion events such as point muta­tions (sin­gle amino acid or nucleotide changes) that appear as dif­fer­ing char­ac­ters in a sin­gle align­ment column, and inser­tion or dele­tion muta­tions (indels or gaps) that appear as hyphens in one or more of the sequences in the align­ment. Mul­ti­ple sequence align­ment is often used to assess sequence con­ser­va­tion of pro­tein domains, ter­tiary and sec­ondary struc­tures, and even indi­vid­u­al amino acids or nucleotides.

16.POA(Partial Order Align­ment)

Par­tial order align­ment (POA) has been pro­posed as a new approach to mul­ti­ple sequence align­ment (MSA), which can be com­bined with exist­ing meth­ods such as pro­gres­sive align­ment. This is impor­tant for address­ing prob­lems both in the orig­i­nal ver­sion of POA (such as order sen­si­tiv­i­ty) and in stan­dard pro­gres­sive align­ment pro­grams (such as infor­ma­tion loss in com­plex align­ments, espe­cial­ly sur­round­ing gap regions).

17.Progressive Align­ment

This approach begins with the align­ment of the two most close­ly relat­ed sequences (as deter­mined by pair­wise analy­sis) and sub­se­quent­ly adds the next clos­est sequence or sequence group to this ini­tial pair [37,7]. This process con­tin­ues in an iter­a­tive fash­ion, adjust­ing the posi­tion­ing of indels in all sequences. The major short­com­ing of this approach is that a bias may be intro­duced in the infer­ence of the ordered series of motifs (homol­o­gous parts) because of an over­rep­re­sen­ta­tion of a sub­set of sequences.

18.核糖体小亚基(英文:Ribosomal Small Subunit,简称“SSU”)

是核糖体中较小的核糖体亚基。每个核糖体都由一个核糖体小亚基与一个核糖体大亚基共同构成。[1]小亚基在核糖体翻译过程中负责信息的识别。  原核细胞中的70S核糖体、真核细胞细胞质中的80S核糖体与真核细胞线粒体中的线粒体核糖体各拥有一种不同的核糖体小亚基:70S核糖体中包含30S核糖体亚基,80S核糖体中包含40S核糖体亚基,线粒体核糖体中则包含28S核糖体亚基。

原核细胞 (70S核糖体) 大亚基:50S亚基(包含5S rRNA及23S rRNA)  
  小亚基:30S亚基(包含16S rRNA)  
真核细胞 细胞质核糖体 (80S核糖体) 大亚基:60S亚基(包含5S rRNA、5.8S rRNA及28S rRNA)
    小亚基:40S亚基(包含18S rRNA)
  线粒体核糖体 39S大亚基(12S MT-RNR1
    28S小亚基(16S MT-RNR2

19.rare bios­phere

Low-abun­dance high-diver­si­ty group is what is now called the “Rare Bios­phere”.

20.Phred qual­i­ty score

Phred qual­i­ty scores were orig­i­nal­ly devel­oped by the pro­gram Phred to help in the automa­tion of DNA sequenc­ing in the Human Genome Project. Phred qual­i­ty scores are assigned to each nucleotide base call in auto­mat­ed sequencer traces.[1][2] Phred qual­i­ty scores have become wide­ly accept­ed to char­ac­ter­ize the qual­i­ty of DNA sequences, and can be used to com­pare the effi­ca­cy of dif­fer­ent sequenc­ing meth­ods. Per­haps the most impor­tant use of Phred qual­i­ty scores is the auto­mat­ic deter­mi­na­tion of accu­rate, qual­i­ty-based con­sen­sus sequences.

21.Base call­ing

Base call­ing is the process of assign­ing bases (nucle­obas­es) to chro­matogram peaks. One of the best com­put­er pro­grams for accom­plish­ing this job is Phred base-call­ing, which is cur­rent­ly the most wide­ly used base­call­ing soft­ware pro­gram by both aca­d­e­mic and com­mer­cial DNA sequenc­ing lab­o­ra­to­ries because of its high base call­ing accu­ra­cy

22.MIAME(Mini­mum Infor­ma­tion About a Microar­ray Exper­i­ment)

describes the Min­i­mum Infor­ma­tion About a Microar­ray Exper­i­ment that is need­ed to enable the inter­pre­ta­tion of the results of the exper­i­ment unam­bigu­ous­ly and poten­tial­ly to repro­duce the exper­i­ment.

1.The raw data for each hybridi­s­a­tion.

2.The final processed data for the set of hybridi­s­a­tions in the exper­i­ment (study)

3.The essen­tial sam­ple anno­ta­tion, includ­ing exper­i­men­tal fac­tors and their val­ues

4.The exper­i­ment design includ­ing sam­ple data rela­tion­ships

5.Sufficient anno­ta­tion of the array design

6.Essential exper­i­men­tal and data pro­cess­ing pro­to­cols

 

 

suffix array — 后缀数组(倍增算法实现版)

使用倍增算法,反复调用基数排序,最后得到’名次数组rank’;
使用’名次数组rank’最终得到’后缀数组sa‘。

倍增算法的倍增体现在,每次处理的字符串长度增长方式为:2^0,2^1,2^2…(a^b表示a的b次方);
rank[i]表示首指针为i的序列,排名第几;
sa[i]表示排名第i的序列,首指针是多少;
注意编号开始的位置。

时间复杂度:
O(n*log[2](n))
log2n为倍增次数,n为基数排序的次数;

注意两个很重要的边界:一个是单个数据的范围,一个是数据个数的范围;
即,每个数据的最小值最大值,和一共要处理的数据的个数;

Counting sort — 计数排序

原理:

假设待排序对象为整数,且范围为1…1000;

举例:2,3,3,4

首先统计每个数字出现的次数,用c[i]表示。i表示数字,c[i]表示数字i出现的次数;

c[1] = 0;  c[2] = 1;  c[3] = 2;  c[4]=1;

然后从小到大,统计比每个数小的数一共有多少,用a[i]表示。i表示数字,a[i]=c[1]+c[2]+c[3]…+c[i]

a[2] = 1;a[3] = 3;a[4]=4;

接着算出每个数字的序数;遍历每个数字,算出其序数,将这个数字直接放在数组rank中,其对应的位置上;

for(int i = 1;i <= n;i ++) rank[– c[a[i]]] = a[i];

整个过程并没有一个数组专门来存所有待排列数字,只有一个数组rank来存储排列好的数字,所有一样大的数字之间的顺序取决于代码实现的过程。

《算法设计编程实验》中提到使用计数排序来实现后缀数组中rank数组的计算(这里的rank是后缀数组的rank),其实是笔误,那里用的是基数排序。

 

How to Become a Bioinformatics Professional

1 Under­stand what Bioin­for­mati­cians do.

  • Broad­ly, com­pu­ta­tion­al biol­o­gy is involved with devel­op­ing and imple­ment­ing tools in order to use and man­age bio­log­i­cal data.
  • The med­ical field is a major employ­er of Bioin­for­mati­cians, but they are also need­ed in indus­try and agri­cul­ture.

2 Stay abreast of new devel­op­ments in Bioin­for­mat­ics and biotech­nol­o­gy.

  • This high­ly tech­no­log­i­cal field is under­go­ing rapid changes.
  • The Bioin­for­mat­ics Orga­ni­za­tion offers con­tin­u­ing edu­ca­tion cours­es.

3 Become pro­fi­cient in com­put­er sci­ence.

  • This includes data­base admin­is­tra­tion and pro­gram­ming skills.
  • UNIX is cur­rent­ly the pre­ferred oper­at­ing sys­tem plat­form.
  • Be able to write pro­grams in com­put­er lan­guages such as PERL, SQL and C.
  • Learn to use genomic sequence analy­sis and mol­e­c­u­lar mod­el­ing pro­grams.

4 Study col­lege lev­el biol­o­gy.

  • Biol­o­gy cours­es should include ana­lyt­i­cal tech­niques and mol­e­c­u­lar biol­o­gy.

5 Take math cours­es, par­tic­u­lar­ly those for biol­o­gists.

  • Bio­sta­tis­tics is an impor­tant dis­ci­pline in Bioin­for­mat­ics.

6 Pur­sue high­er edu­ca­tion. Under­grad­u­ate degrees can be in biol­o­gy, com­put­er sci­ence or biotech­nol­o­gy.

  • In grad­u­ate school, find a pro­gram that com­bi­nes both dis­ci­plines, if pos­si­ble; how­ev­er the empha­sis seems to be on mol­e­c­u­lar biol­o­gy study with the acquir­ing of infor­ma­tion tech­nol­o­gy skills.
  • Bioin­for­mat­ics or com­pu­ta­tion­al biol­o­gy pro­grams are still fair­ly new.
  • Researchers should have a doc­tor­ate in biol­o­gy, sta­tis­tics or math.

7 Learn to iden­ti­fy the right ques­tions to ask in addi­tion to the method­olo­gies to apply.

听起来就是这么容易……

http://www.wikihow.com/Become-a-Bioinformatics-Professional

DNA Packaging: Nucleosomes and Chromatin

18847_6

At the top right por­tion of the dia­gram, a ver­ti­cal dou­ble-end­ed arrow indi­cates that the DNA dou­ble helix strands are 2 nm apart. The strands are rep­re­sent­ed as gray rib­bons con­nect­ed by ver­ti­cal col­ored bars that are either half red/half green or half yellow/half cyan.

As the DNA strand reach­es the left side of the illus­tra­tion, all col­ors are replaced by gray. Box 1 has the text “At the sim­plest lev­el, chro­mat­in is a dou­ble-strand­ed heli­cal struc­ture of DNA. The DNA strand turns down and goes back toward the right, still com­pact­ing along the way.

Below this is Box 2, with the text “DNA is com­plexed with his­tones to form nucle­o­somes.” Toward the cen­ter of the schemat­ic are three sets of two brown discs, each disc quar­tered, and the cylin­ders are wrapped 1.65 times by the DNA, which has now com­pact­ed into a thick gray thread shape. Each nucle­o­some con­sists of eight his­tone mol­e­cules.

To the right of the first nucle­o­some com­plex is Box 3, with the text “Each nucle­o­some con­sists of eight his­tone pro­teins around which the DNA wraps 1.65 times.” The sec­ond nucle­o­some has a ver­ti­cal red bar, about as long as the nucle­o­some is high, attached to the side of the nucle­o­some. This bar is labeled H1 his­tone. A hor­i­zon­tal, dou­ble-end­ed, black arrow indi­cates the nucle­o­some with DNA has a diam­e­ter of 11 nm. A third nucle­o­some to the right of the sec­ond is labeled “Chro­mato­some.” Above and to the right of the chro­mato­some is Box 4, with the text “A chro­mato­some con­sists of a nucle­o­some plus the H1 his­tone.”

Below this, the nucle­o­somes are fold­ed in on each oth­er to form a hol­low, tube-like fiber, where many nucle­o­somes are arranged in par­al­lel rings to form the tube’s out­er lay­er. To the right of this is a ver­ti­cal, dou­ble-end­ed, black arrow labeled 30 nm. To the right of this arrow is Box 5, with the text “The nucle­o­somes fold up to pro­duce a 30-nm fiber…” The nucle­o­some tube con­tin­ues to com­pact to form a gray spi­ral and gray squig­gles as it con­tin­ues left­ward. Above this is Box 6 with the text “… that forms loops aver­ag­ing 300 nm in length.” A black, ver­ti­cal, dou­ble-end­ed arrow is labeled 300 nm. The squig­gles com­pact fur­ther, going down and back toward the right, coil­ing like a tele­phone cord. Below this is Box 7 with the text “The 300-nm fibers are com­pressed and fold­ed to pro­duce a 250-nm-wide fiber.” A black, ver­ti­cal, dou­ble-end­ed arrow is labeled 700 nm. Two, inward-point­ing, black arrows indi­cate a gap labeled “250-nm-wide fiber.”

The­se coils con­tin­ue to the right and com­press fur­ther, form­ing a hor­i­zon­tal, X-shaped, chro­mo­some. A black, ver­ti­cal, dou­ble-end­ed arrow is labeled 1400 nm. Below this is Box 8 with the text “Tight coil­ing of the 250-nm fiber pro­duces the chro­matid of a chro­mo­some.”

这里的欠缺在于,从图框6到图框8之间的折叠细节没有交代清楚。而且染色质\染色体的构象是随着时间在发生动态变化的,并非一成不变的。所以上述描述可以说是一个剪影。

http://www.nature.com/scitable/topicpage/DNA-Packaging-Nucleosomes-and-Chromatin-310

押棋新纪录

  1. 2016.5.4 二区间押分:172000(全押);获得:516000;收益:344000。总弈币:516000;
    2016-05-04_0203282016-05-04_020428
    判断依据:
    1. 前面八十手,选手’乌市少年宫’计算速度比’ltsoo’快许多,而且,在八十手之前,局面还是五五开,所以我决定押乌市少年宫;
    2. 看到2/3的人押ltsoo,我觉得我应该全押获得最大利润;
    3. 还有一个直觉,那就是我相信小孩子的战斗力;
    中盘的时候将双活看错了,于是以为白输棋了,当时伤心啊,还在对话区说,白输多了。想来也是不应该。别人对局时自己无论如何不该说话。
    白棋右下角当黑棋打入时的计算又快又准。左上角的做活堪称一绝。对黑棋的侵消是处处紧逼,恰到好处。这是我截止目前最高的弈币收入。我本来说,等我弈币上一百万,我的棋艺肯定会精进不少,因为押分能力增强了嘛。不过看来,对小孩子的偏信和运气能够使我很快到达一百万。看来得上一千万时我的棋艺才会通过押棋得到较大飞升。
  2. 2016.5.12 一区间押分:100000(小酌);获得:450000;收益:350000。总弈币:855460。
    这局棋押胜吧,我是开了sgo的。我把对局下载下来,然后用sgo判断,黑领先8目,当时,黑的赔率是4.5倍,所以我就押了十万,小酌一下,毕竟我的总弈币都有五十多万,押十万输了影响也不大。
    另外,弈币和人民币的汇率为:1元=1金币=40万弈币。

Excel 数据分析

  1. 回归分析
  2. 直线图
  3. 快速公式套用:
    1. 在一个格子内输入公式;
    2. 点击该格子,Ctrl+Shift+方向,选定所有需要套用的格子;
    3. Ctrl+D,完成计算。