About this Author
Derek Lowe, an Arkansan by birth, got his BA from Hendrix College and his PhD in organic chemistry from Duke before spending time in Germany on a Humboldt Fellowship on his post-doc. He's worked for several major pharmaceutical companies since 1989 on drug discovery projects against schizophrenia, Alzheimer's, diabetes, osteoporosis and other diseases.
To contact Derek email him directly: derekb.lowe@gmail.com
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June 9, 2008
Posted by Derek
Time for just a brief piece this morning, about a topic I've mentioned before which is getting more noticeable all the time. If you follow the papers coming out in the Journal of the American Chemical Society (known as "Jay-ay-cee-ess" or just plain "Jacks" to the working chemist), you've been seeing an awful lot of nano-scale work. Nanorods, nanoprisms, nanoarrays of nanocrystals. The percentage of these things has, to my eye, just been rising steadily. Try the ASAP section and see what you think.
And what's interesting about these papers, completely apart from their subject matter, is that they're surely headed for obscurity in almost every case. That's not because nanoscience is going nowhere (quite the contrary, I think). It's because things are in such an early stage still. There are so many small steps to be made, many of which will turn out to have been in the wrong direction. Even the work that leads to something will be cited for its historical interest (". . .the first report of nanoscale battleaxes, now a crucial part of the world economy, came as early as 2008. . .").
This is the era when this work can be published. Much earlier and we wouldn't have been able to characterize these structures, and much later it'll seem trivial. (I know, some of it seems trivial on arrival - there are still a lot of chemists who roll their eyes and groan when they see this stuff). And boy, are people taking advantage of this window of opportunity. It has to be a good thing, in general, that there's so much work going on in so many different directions. I'm just glad that I don't have to figure out which of these seeds are going to bloom. . .
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May 15, 2008
Posted by Derek
I was running a copper-catalyzed coupling reaction the other day when my summer intern asked me how it worked. I showed her the mechanism that the authors of the paper had proposed, but pointed out that it was mostly hand-waving. The general features are probably more or less right: the copper iodide presumably does form some kind of soluble complex with the amino acid that’s needed in the reaction mix, and that may well form some sort of complex with the aryl halide, which opens up the ring to nucleophilic substitution, etc. If this were an exam, I’d give full points for that one.
But a lot of these couplings are, as I pointed out to her, very hazily worked out. The Ullman reaction, in various forms, has been with us for many decades, and there are more variations on it than you can count. If it always worked reasonably well, or if people had any strong ideas about how it did so, the literature on it wouldn’t be in the shaggy shape it is. Copper chemistry in particular has been (simultaneously) a very useful area for people to discover new reactions, and a horrible trackless swamp for people trying to explain how they work.
All you have to do is look at the vicious exchanges between Bruce Lipschutz and Steve Bertz during the 1990s about whether such as thing as a “higher-order cuprate” exists. I have absolutely no intention of reconstructing this argument; I would have to be paid at a spectacular hourly rate to even attempt it. It's enough to say that the arguments raged, in an increasingly personal manner, about what state the copper metal was in, what ligands coordinated to it, and what the active form of these reagents might be (as opposed to what the bulk of the mixture was at any given time). It culminated in what must be one of the most direct titles for a scientific paper I've ever seen: It's on lithium! An answer to the recent communication which asked the question: 'if the cyano ligand is not on copper, then where is it?'. That's in Chemical Communications 7, 815 (1996), if you're interested (here's the PDF for subscribers). Bertz continued to shell Lipshutz's position past the time when any fire was being returned, as far as I can tell, and continues to work in the area. Lipshutz, for his part, hasn't published on the higher-order cuprates in some time (being no doubt heartily sick of the whole topic), but has kept up a steady stream of work on new reactions involving copper, nickel, and other metals.
So if well-qualified researchers, brimming with grad students, postdocs, and grant money, can argue for years about copper mechanisms, I'm going to stay out of it. As time goes on, I'm increasingly indifferent to reaction mechanisms, anyway. I want to get product out the other end of the reaction. And while there are times when knowing the mechanism can help reach that goal, those times do not occur as frequently as you might hope.
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+ TrackBacks (0) | Category: Chemical News | Inorganic Chemistry | Life in the Drug Labs
February 21, 2008
Posted by Derek
Courtesy of Steve Ley’s group, here’s a lab trick I’d never come across before. They were trying to purify a nasty mixture of closely related isomers, and found that the best chromatographic separation came from a long, long, run in ether/hexane. I’ve been in that situation myself, but it’s hard to have the patience to run a large column for such a long time, and it’s even harder to evaporate down the ridiculous amounts of solvent that you generate. (Even experienced organic chemists tend to underestimate how long that last part can take).
Ley’s group hit on an interesting solution. They loaded the crude material from a 42-gram reaction onto silica gel, and hooked a water-cooled condenser up to the top of the column. Under the condenser was a one-liter flask of 1:1 ether/pentane, heated to reflux. Those two solvents form an azeotropic mixture (about 1:1) that happens to match up well with the solvent brew needed for the column. This way, fresh solvent was continuously dripping down through the column, which was rigged to elute back into the flask of boiling solvent.
Chemists will recognize this as a variation of the Soxhlet extraction, and a rather ingenious one. To switch fractions, you turn off the heat, pour out the 1-liter flask, and charge it up with fresh pentane and ether. The solvents are so low-boiling that the material coming off the column doesn’t decompose while it’s cooking around in there in between. With one kilo of silica gel, they ran the column at about 80 mL per minute, and cut fractions about every 7 hours. (Told you it was a slow column!). After five days of this, they’d separated out their isomers. That took them out to 19 fractions, which seemed to be enough, but it turned out that washing the column with acetone furnished a pretty good amount of the final (most polar) component (which was presumably coming out very dilute by that point).
They used about 17 liters of solvent, which is a fair amount of rota-vapping, but is nothing compared to the 590 liters that would have been used under normal column conditions. (No one would have been able to put up with that). This idea will probably always have limited application – there are only so many solvents (or solvent mixtures) that can be used, for one thing. And in many cases people will grit their teeth and turn to large-scale HPLC when it’s available. (That’ll use more solvent than this, but less than an old-fashioned column, in most cases). But if someone had thought of this technique back in, say, 1955, it would have been everywhere.
And it could still be especially useful in academic labs, where labor is cheaper than solvent, and worth considering elsewhere. I’m always glad to see something new constructed out of the sort of equipment that’s in the drawers of every lab bench.
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February 12, 2008
Posted by Derek
Manipulating nanoscale objects is a very hot research area these days, but no one’s quite sure whether it should be called physics or chemistry. The single-atom stuff (like the famous 1989 spelling of I-B-M using an early scanning tunneling microscope tip) would probably be the former, while moving whole molecules around would probably be the latter.
Now we’re to the point where you might consider it biology, since several recent papers describe ingenious uses of DNA as nanoscale pliers and Velcro. A report in Science from a group in Munich, demonstrates a nanoscale depot on a chip, formed by short DNA strands bound to its surface. Various molecules are tagged with complementary single strands of DNA. When you bring the two close enough, they hybridize, winding together spontaneously into a small double helix, which Velcros each molecule down to a defined position.
The second key to the work is that each of the molecules has a second, different DNA strand bonded to its other side. This one is complementary to a single strand attached to the tip of an atomic force microscope, so when that moves in close enough, those two hybridize as well. For the moment, the target is bound front and back.
But here's the trick: the two DNA helices are engineered so that the double helix on the bottom opens base-by-base, like a zipper, while the one on the AFM tip shears off all at once. That gives them different strengths, so when you pull up on the AFM tip, you can see the force profile of the "zipper" strand giving way as the attached molecule pulls free. Now it's dangling from the tip of the AFM, its newly freed DNA strand waving in the, uh, nano-breeze, I guess.
This was now moved to another portion of the chip, where more DNA strands awaited. These, like the tip strands, where also in the stonger "shear" geometry, but these were even longer, with more residues to wrap up with that free DNA strand on the molecule of interest. Lowering the two into proximity caused them to hybridize, and now pulling up on the tip caused the tip strand to unwind instead, leaving the molecule stuck on the new location on the chip. The AFM tip could then be sent back to the depot to pick up another molecule, and so on. (The illustration, courtesy of Science for nonprofit use, will give you the idea). The fluorescent molecules they used could then be imaged on the chip, confirming that they'd been arranged as expected.
The whole process took care, as you can imagine. The team kept the number of DNA strands on the tip quite low, in order to have a better idea of what was going on. Under their conditions, about one-third of the time, they picked up just one unit from the “warehouse”, and another twenty per cent of the time they got two at once. In the dropoff step at the new location, they sometimes noticed that no extra force was needed to pull the tip up, which indicated that they hadn't make a connection. In those cases, a shift of the tip assembly a few nanometers one way or another generally brought things within range for a successful transfer. It's not like you can see what's going on - light itself doesn't come small enough to let you do that in the normal sense - so you just have to feel your way along.
This is an early proof of concept, so it's not like we're going to be assembling nanomachines next week through this technique. (The DNA tags, for one thing, are rather large compared to the molecules that they're attached to). But the idea is there, and the idea works. We're starting to move single molecules around to where we want them to go, and making them stay put once they've been delivered.
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December 17, 2007
Posted by Derek
There are plenty of chemical reagents and reactions that go in and out of fashion over the years, and even entire elements. For the last couple of years, it’s been gold – ten years ago, gold-catalyzed reactions were a backwater, and now they’re all over the literature. (Catalysts are the way to go; reactions that need excess gold to run are unlikely to catch on). Hardly an issue of Organic Letters goes by these days without some gold-catalyzed cyclization in it. But there are some elements that have never been in fashion, and odds are that they’re never going to be.
Tellurium comes to mind. It does some interesting reactions, and if it wasn’t rather poisonous and if its compounds didn’t stink beyond the ability of anyone to stand them, I’m sure that we would have discovered even more. But it is and they do, and there’s no way to stop either one, so no one’s going to make the effort any time soon. It’s the stench that really seals the deal, actually. Poisonous we work with all the time, but you don’t come across stuff that smells like organotelluriums very often, or so I hear. I’ve never had the pleasure myself.
And as for lab fashions, it’s also safe to say the day of the heavy metals is past. Mercury has a long, long pedigree in both organic and inorganic chemistry – back to the alchemists, actually. Everyone figured that there must be something special and/or magical about a metal that’s liquid at room temperature. They were right, in a way. Mercury does a lot of interesting reactions which are still taught in sophomore organic classes and are still run once in a while. I’ve done a few organomercurations myself, but most of them were years ago in grad school. I’ve only reached for the mercuric chloride once or twice in the last twenty years. That’s doubtless because I’m in the drug industry, but I think that the general use of the element has been trending down because of waste disposal issues. Lead, for its part, never had as much use in the art as mercury, and will probably never get the chance.
It’s not just the heavy metals, either. Beryllium is probably one of the most underused elements in the whole periodic table, as far as organic chemistry is concerned. Considering its spot up near the light end of the periodic table, where all its neighbors are on every lab shelf, you’d think that there’d at least be something you could do with the stuff. But I can’t think of a single reaction I’ve ever seen that uses it. The element’s peculiar toxicity (which mostly seems to be a problem by inhalation) helps keep it out of the spotlight: no organic chemist has ever found a need for it that outweighs its disadvantages, and not many are motivated to try.
None of these are going to be the next hot thing. But what is? Gold’s turn in the organic chemistry spotlight will end at some point – for all I know, things are already slowing down. If I had to guess, I’d pick another candidate from the precious-metal crowd, and I’ll nominate iridium. There are plenty of iridium-based catalysts, but none of them are the absolute first thing a chemist reaches for. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if the element turned out to have a number of tricks in it that haven’t been discovered yet. They should at least be worth some JACS and Org Lett papers, that’s for sure. . .
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November 2, 2007
Posted by Derek
I was interested to see a recent paper in Organic Letters on a class of compounds I'd never seen before: 1,2-dihydro-1,2-azaborines. There's the structure, in case that doesn't immediately call something to mind.
These things, which are isoelectronic with benzene, were made by the Liu group at Oregon. Their method (ring-closing metathesis) for making them seems superior to the rather sparse techniques that have been available up until now, and they've prepared a number of useful and interesting intermediates. They're rather stable - even the B-H compound with an N-ethyl group, the simplest in the paper, can be run down a silica gel column. An X-ray structure shows that the ring is indeed flat, and it seems to be aromatic and delocalized.
So. . .what I'd like to know is, who's going to be the first person wild-eyed enough to put this in a drug candidate structure? Boron has a bad reputation ("boron for morons", as they say), but hey, Millennium is out there making money with Velcade, a boronic acid. I have absolutely no idea what the fate of this heterocycle is in vivo, what its toxicity might be or what it gets metabolized to (if anything). And neither do you, nor does anyone. Let's find out!
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October 10, 2007
Posted by Derek
As some had speculated, the Nobel in chemistry did take a turn toward physical chemistry this year, for the first time in some while. Gerhard Ertl has won for his work on reactions that take place on solid surfaces, an extremely important (and extremely difficult) field of research.
It’s hard because chemists and physicists have an easier time of it with bulk phases – all solid, liquid, or gas. When you start mixing them, or start trying to understand what happens where they meet, things get tricky. The border between two phases is very different from what’s on either side of it. The key zone is only a few atoms thick, and the interesting stuff there happens extremely quickly.
But some of the most important chemical reactions in the world take place down there. Take the Haber-Bosch process for producing ammonia – “Right,” I’m sure some readers of today’s newspaper are saying, “you take the Haber-Bosch process, whatever it is, and get it out of here.” But by making ammonia from nitrogen in the air, it led to (among other things) the invention of man-made fertilizers. That reaction has kept billions of people from starving to death, and kept huge swaths of wilderness from being turned into farmland. (Read up on Norman Borlaug if you haven’t already for more on this).
You can Haber-Bosch yourself some ammonia simply enough – just take iron powder, mix it with some drain cleaner (potassium hydroxide) and stir that up with some alumina and finely ground sand (silica). Heat it up to several hundred degrees and blow nitrogen and hydrogen across it; ammonia gas comes whiffing out the other end. Now, bacteria do this at room temperature in water, down around the roots of bean plants, but bacteria can do a lot of things we can’t do. For human civilization, this is a major achievement, because nitrogen does not want to do this reaction at all.
The industrial process was discovered in its earliest form nearly one hundred years ago, and was the subject of a Nobel all its own. But no one knew how it worked, which is a good example of how difficult surface interface work can be. You can see what has to happen eventually: the triple bond between two nitrogen atoms has to be broken and replaced by three bonds to hydrogen, whose own H-H bond is also broken. But that nitrogen triple is one of the strongest bonds in all of chemistry, so how is it breaking? Do the nitrogen molecules soak into the iron somehow, and if so, what does “soak in” mean on an atomic level, anyway? Do they sit on the surface, instead – and if they do, what keeps them there? Is that triple bond still in force when that happens, or has it started to break? If so, what on earth is strong enough on the surface of iron powder to do that? Where’s the hydrogen during all this, and how does its single bond get broken? What happens first, and why do you need the hydroxide and the other stuff? And so on.
Ertl and others had long studied hydrogen’s behavior on metal surfaces, while helping to figure out how catalytic hydrogenation works. (That was a reaction accurately described to me as an undergraduate in 1981 as “witchcraft”, and Ertl is one of the people who have helped to exorcise it). So they’d seen how hydrogen got broken into individual atoms and spread between iron atoms on the surface – the surprise for him and his co-workers was that nitrogen turned out to do the same thing, breaking that fearsome triple bond in the process. The biggest step in the whole mechanism happened very early. By running the reaction forward and in reverse (turning ammonia back into nitrogen and hydrogen, an otherwise perverse act for the most part), they were able to work out all the individual steps and the energies involved. Along the way, they figured out what the potassium hydroxide was doing in there, too (donating some key electrons to the iron atoms).
Observing this and other surface processes has pushed the limits of several spectroscopic techniques, such as Auger electron spectroscopy (AES), low-energy electron diffraction (LEED), various forms of photoelectron spectroscopy, and others. Ertl's work has been notable for using a wide variety of methods, since there's no one tool that can give you the answers to questions like these.
He and his associates have studied many other surface reactions, such as the sorts of things that go on in the catalytic converters in exhaust systems. Metal-surface reactions like this are crucial to industrial civilization, and their importance is, if anything, growing. If we're ever going to get fuel cells to work economically, use hydrogen as an energy medium, or do a better job cleaning up industrial wastes, we're going to be using such things. And keeping them in the category of witchcraft won't cut it. It never does. Congratulations to Gerhard Ertl!
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October 1, 2007
Posted by Derek
One of the things I like most about science is how thoroughly you can be taken by surprise. A good check on a field’s vigor is whether or not its practitioners are being ambushed by new data. By that standard, what at first looks like an embarrassment for the ozone-hole chemists actually makes them look pretty good.
The chemistry of ozone depletion over the Antarctic is well understood. Or is it? One of the key molecules in the process is chlorine peroxide (also known as chlorine monoxide dimer). It’s understood to be split by sunlight into reactive free chlorine radicals, which go on to catalyze the conversion of ozone into plain oxygen. In the process, the peroxide forms again, and the whole cycle starts over. While this is by no means the only means by which chlorine depletes ozone, it’s long been thought to be the main one.
But chlorine peroxide is a difficult molecule to work with. Extremely unstable by sea-level laboratory standards, it’s been hard to isolate in pure form for study. And despite the generally accepted cascade of ozone depletion reactions, it hadn’t even been detected in the Antarctic until 2004, which difficulty had been largely chalked up to its short lifetime. Now, though, a team at JPL has produced the best synthetic samples of chlorine peroxide to date, and they’ve checked how quickly it decomposes in the presence of ultraviolet light. And, well. . .the problem is, the stuff falls apart much more slowly than anyone had predicted – many, many times more slowly. If they’re right, it’s hard to see how the accepted chemistry of chlorine peroxide-driven ozone depletion can be correct.
This has produced all sorts of surprised reactions in the atmospheric chemistry world, summed up here at Nature News. Everyone is taking this report seriously, as well they should, and a number of explanations are already being tentatively advanced. All of them are going to require a lot of revision of what we thought we knew, though. (I should note that the depletion of ozone itself isn’t in question; that’s an experimental fact. Just how it’s being lost is the problem). Nature quotes researcher Marcus Rex:
"Overwhelming evidence still suggests that anthropogenic emissions of CFCs and halons are the reason for the ozone loss. But we would be on much firmer ground if we could write down the correct chemical reactions."
I have little doubt that this will get figured out eventually. The reason I’m optimistic is that this area of research is going along the way it’s supposed to. People are spending the time and effort to check assumptions, and when something turns up unexpectedly, the results are published in a good journal for everyone to see and argue over. That will lead to another round of theorizing, then more rounds of experimentation as people try to prove the latest ideas right or wrong. And thus we close in on the truth. That’s exactly, exactly how it should work.
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August 8, 2007
Posted by Derek
The latest issue of Nature has an article (subscriber-only) on Steve Ley's long-anticipated total synthesis of azadirachtin, which can be read, again subscriber-only, here and here at Angewandte Chemie. (For a open-source look at the synthesis, try Totally Synthetic). I'm quoted in the piece expressing numerous doubts about the merits of total synthesis, most of which made it into print.
I also expressed quite a bit of admiration for Steve Ley's work, most of which didn't make it into the article, so I wanted to get that on record over here. The reason I can hold both those opinions is, of course, that Ley has done a lot more over the years than just make azadirachtin. As I told Nature, if he'd been running one of the make-it-or-die total synthesis factories, he'd have no doubt been finished well before now. But he's introduced reagents and experimented with many new ideas and techniques, and those have (in my view) a greater chance of having an impact on the world than natural product synthesis does.
A lot of what goes on in that field seems to me to have about as much relevence and utility as do chess problems. It's to Ley's credit that he's made a molecule of this complexity while avoiding the large pitfalls in that part of chemistry - some of which are marked with names like "If You're Not First, You're Nothing", "You Worry About the Reactions and I'll Worry About the Yields" and "If You Can't Get This Coupling To Go, I'll Find A Post-Doc Who Will".
Back when I was finishing up graduate school in 1988, I had to put together a research proposal. I chose, like a fool, the polycyclic core of azadirachtin, and I cranked out a paper synthesis plan for it. Would it have worked? Not a chance in hell. Looking back, I can see that I was already falling out of love with total synthesis even back then, and time has not healed the rift. Steve Ley never lost the faith, but (to his credit) he hasn't let it define him, either.
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March 27, 2007
Posted by Derek
The semi-annual American Chemical Society meeting is underway in Chicago this week. I'm not there, since duty calls here at Stately Pipeline Manor. (At one point a few months ago, I'd been invited to participate in a symposium that was later dropped. Little did I know that no one would still be employed at the Wonder Drug Factory by the time the meeting rolled around)! C&E News has a blog covering the meeting, and Chemistry World is doing the same.
I haven't actually been to an ACS national meeting in quite some time. They're pretty good-sized affairs, with several thousand attendees, although the size can vary significantly depending on where the meeting is held. There are, naturally, only a certain number of cities that can handle conventions of this size easily - we're not going to be seeing one in Bozeman, Montana or Fort Smith, Arkansas any time soon, although some people might prefer either of those to some of the cities where the meetings are actually held.
A glance at the past meeting calendar shows some locations that come up regularly, and others that pop up for reasons unknown. Boston (site of the next one in August), San Diego, Washington, and New Orleans are regular stops in recent years. Chicago, New York, Philadelphia, and Anaheim make multiple appearances, too. The venues are planned out to 2012, and those stalwarts make up most of the list, with San Antonio and Salt Lake City as outliers. Other places I can remember national meetings showing up are Las Vegas, Atlanta, Miami (not for a while, though, I think) and Dallas.
If anyone has particular nominations for best and worst places to attend one, I'd be glad (and other readers might be as well) to hear them. I'd also be interested in cities off the usual circuit where you'd like to see a meeting take place - yeah, I know, Shanghai, Pune, and Bangalore, but try to think of some others. I've heard the most gripes about Anaheim, personally, for lack of interesting sights, general character, etc., but complaints about facilities, food, and accommodations will also be welcomed. We'll get that Fort Smith booking yet.
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March 4, 2007
Posted by Derek
We've had a hundred years or so of nonstop love directed toward organomagnesium compounds (from Victor Grignard, patron saint of getting the reaction named after you and not your supervisor, right on down). So I've always found it interesting that there weren't more organocalciums out there.
Calcium is probably (from an organic chemist's viewpoint) one of the more underused elements in the first few rows of the periodic table. It's always overshadowed by its neighbors. I've never even seen pure calcium metal, as far as I can remember. OK, people distill some organic solvents from calcium hydride to dry them - at least they do in grad school, 'cause in many industrial labs no one distills solvents at all. And there's calcium sulfate as a drying agent (Drierite, by trade name), but people mostly use that for gas drying (calcium chloride, too, although I haven't seen a good old calcium chloride drying tube in a while). For drying liquids, a higher-volume trade, people reach for sodium or magnesium sulfate instead.
And while that's about as high-profile as calcium gets in many labs, those kinds of uses aren't exactly in the center ring. I recall seeing some old work with calcium metal in liquid ammonia, doing Birch chemistry, but I've never heard of anyone actually doing any of it. As far as real organocalcium compounds, the literature is mighty thin. One problem seems to be that the metal itself (unlike magnesium) doesn't just up and react with organic halides very well. Some Grignards, once they get going, have to be beaten down with frantic bucket runs to the ice machine, but not so with calcium.
Chemist Rueben Rieke has gotten around this problem in his usual fashion, by making insanely reactive calcium metal. His calcium work is about ten years old now, but I haven't seen too much follow-up. (One reason might be that Rieke's conditions can be rather painful to use, which difficulty he wisely exploited by forming his own company to do the stuff for other people). But I see that the latest Angewandte Chemie has an organocalcium article from a group of enterprising Germans, so perhaps this stuff might be working its way into the mainstream.
Once people have a reasonable way to get to these compounds, the hard part can begin: finding out what on earth they're good for. You'd have to think that there are interesting reactions and catalysts which can be prepared from calcium derivatives, since they're bound to have their own character. But where to start? An obscure element needs a champion. Boron had H. C. Brown, and Sharpless brought vanadium into vogue for a few years. A host of people lifted palladium from the back shelves to indispensability. Who speaks for calcium?
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September 26, 2006
Posted by Derek
Mentioning the C. S. Sell article on odors and molecules the other day leads me to talk about Luca Turin. I don't think you can seriously take up the topic of chemicals and their smells without mentioning him, although those mentions tend to be anything but neutral.
Turin is (in)famous for suggesting that there's more to smell than molecular shapes and functional groups. He has an impressive list of structures that provide almost the same scent, but have very different shapes, along with a complementary set of nearly identical molecules with very different ones. These, along with several other arguments (vide infra) have led him to propose that the human body responds not only to shapes, but to vibrational spectra. Your nose, by this theory, is smelling the infrared spectra of the molecules that reach it.
This isn't a new idea - it was first proposed in 1938, and again in the early 1980s. Both times it was shot down, though, primarily by counterexamples such as enantiomeric molecules (mirror-image, for the non-chemists) which smell different while having identical vibrational spectra. Another problem was that no one could figure out how an olfactory receptor could be sensing vibrational spectra, since, to the best of human knowledge, the majority of noses contain neither a source nor detector of infrared light.
Luca proposed that electron tunnelling might provide the answer, and took a cue from solid state electronics. If the receptor was senstive to electron flow, it could function as a switch. An unoccupied receptor would have no current, but if a molecule whose vibrational mode energy was the same as the energy gap between its filled and unfilled levels, then electrons could drop to the lower state by tunnelling across. The receptors wouldn't scan the range themselves - rather, each one would be tuned to a different energy gap. Whether or not a given molecule worked for a given receptor would depend on its size and shape (to fit into the active site) but also on its charge distribution (and thus its functional groups) and its vibrational spectrum. The most complete published version of his theory can be found here.
In 2003, a book came out extolling Luca's work: The Emperor of Scent. It goes into detail about how the vibrational theory was received, which was mostly with great scepticism. Reviews of the book itself were all over the place, from enthusiastic to vitriolic. In that last category was the one from Nature Neuroscience (subscriber link here). The author, Chandler Burr, must have known that he was going to be in for a rough time when the reviewer started things off by quoting "Good Vibrations" by the Beach Boys.
I'll say this for the idea: this theory is well-made, because it's wide-ranging enough to accommodate a lot of the puzzling data about chemical odors, while at the same time making some specific predictions. Counterexamples can be found to just about any simple theory of odor, but this one is harder to get rid of. Not that people haven't tried, though. In 2004, a group at Rockefeller University reported some tests of Luca's predictions in Nature Neuroscience, a journal that must have been happy to see their manuscript. Three of his proposals took a good pounding: that mixtures of guiacol and benzaldehyde take on a vanilla odor not found in either compound alone, that straight-chain aldehydes with an odd number of carbons smell different from even-numbered ones, and that deuterated acetophenone smells different from the parent compound. The group reported failure on all three counts. The accompanying editorial was especially nasty, and to my mind, rather uncalled-for.
Turin has addressed some of these results, and it can be inferred that he didn't care for the Rockefeller group's experimental design. (He's partnered with a British statistician to analyze past data in the field and propose new designs for such tests). It does seem though, from the available data, that many animals from insects to dogs can in fact distinguish deuterated compounds from their lighter analogs. Turin's also proposed deuterated/nondeutreated dimethyl sulfide as a more distinguishable pair of compounds (see this long but interesting review article). That one's from 2003, before the latest results, but even at that point he's pointing out that vibrational theory, taken by itself, can't explain many important things about odors (such as their perceived intensity). At the same time, though, he maintains that the standard "odotope" theory is even more lacking.
Turin has now come out with a book of his own, which is getting better treatment from the scientific press so far (here's the Science review for subscribers). He's also put his money where his, er, nose is by forming his own company, Flexitral, with the intention of finding new odorants more efficiently. So far, the company has several commercial products, which are claimed to be improvements over the existing analogs in stability and allergenicity.
As for me, I'm willing to believe that vibrational spectra might be a component of odor, although shape is clearly a factor, too. But I'm betting that downstream neural processing will be just as large an influence, if not greater. For now, I'm going to see if I can get some deuterated dimethyl sulfide, and if I do, I'll report back.
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August 13, 2006
Posted by Derek
OK, some of this is going to sound like Sanskrit to my non-chemistry readership, but here goes:
1. When's the last time you held a paper copy of JACS in your hand? For me, I think it's been at least two years. They could be running swimsuit covers now and I wouldn't know about it.
2. Are ionic liquids actually good for anything, other than publishing papers about them?
3. To combine those first two, if you wrote up a paper about a ring-closing metathesis reaction to make a nanoscale structure in an ionic liquid, would the journals even bother sending it to a referee before immediately publishing it?
4. Are they ever going to hand out a chemistry Nobel for palladium coupling reactions? Or have the Swedes decided that credit is too tangled? (Not to mention the fact that not all the key early players are still alive). But if ring-closing metathesis deserves one (and I have no problem), doesn't the Suzuki reaction?
5. Weren't they promising us benchtop NMR machines back about twenty years ago? Does anyone expect to ever see the hypothetical personal benchtop LC/MS machine? Maybe we'll have them in our flying cars.
6. Will Chemical and Engineering News ever go a year without running a headline that says "Salaries for Chemical Engineers Still Higher". As far as I can tell, they haven't missed since about 1982.
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July 23, 2006
Posted by Derek
The hexacyclinol controversy has taken a very interesting new twist, which I learned about on Friday from Dylan Stiles. To recap: the molecule is a complex natural product, which was the subject of a total synthesis paper earlier this year by James La Clair. The paper had several unusual features, such as single authorship with acknowledgements to several unnamed co-workers, an odd source (the "Xenobe Research Institute" and "Bionic Bros. GmbH" and (not least) several key chemical steps that appear to make little sense, backed up by fishy NMR data.
Then Prof. Scott Rychnovsky of UC-Irvine popped up with a proposal that the structure of hexacyclinol had been wrongly assigned in the first place. He assigned a completely different structure, with rather solid-looking reasoning behind it, which raised the question of just what La Clair had synthesized. How can you get the right spectral data by making the wrong structure, when the structures are so different as to make that impossible?
Turns out that Rychnovsky had another ace to turn over. The web site for Angewandte Chemie, where the original La Clair paper ran, has now put up advance notice of a paper on the synthesis of the revised structure of hexacyclinol, which appears to indeed match the published spectral data. This grenade is from Paul John Porco at BU, some of his students, and. . .Scott Rychnovsky, who apparently wasn't going out on as much of a limb as I thought.
La Clair has seen the writing on the wall, and apparently realizes that he has indeed been weighed in the balance and found wanting. During the day on Friday, the Xenobe Research Institute web page was updated. It now features Rychnovsky's revised structure (Update: or does it? See the comments!), with this text:
Desoxoudol (previously named desoxohexacyclinol)...
Efforts are underway to identify pathways that regulate the growth and development of four parasites responsible for Malaria, Plasmodium vivax, P. malariae, P. falciparum and P. ovale. Our first study conducted on desoxohexacyclinol, currently renamed as desoxoudol, is a terpene isolated from cultures of a German Borstiger Knäueling mushroom (Lentinus strigosus = Panus rudis Fr.). Earlier 2006, Dr. La Clair published the synthesis of desoxoudol demonstrated its conversion to udol and 5-epi-udol. Due to the unconventional nature of this effort, efforts are now underway to repeat this isolation and synthesis. Samples of these intermediates will be verified through analysis by a panel of external laboratories.
Unconventional. . .well, yeah, in a way. It's unconventional to synthesize a complex molecule and get the NMR structure of something completely different, that's for sure. But it's very conventional indeed to go back and attempt to spray-paint the record to make it appear as if something strange and embarassing hadn't happened. Oh, that part happens all the time. And that's exactly what I think is going on here.
For more comments on all this, see the Stiles link and The Chemblog. This is turning into the biggest stink-bomb in organic synthesis in many years.
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June 5, 2006
Posted by Derek
There's an interesting scandal brewing in synthetic organic chemistry - well, actually, more than one, but I haven't covered the Sames matter at all. This is a new one. Back in February, Angewandte Chemie, one of the most prestigious outlets for organic synthesis we have, published online a paper by James J. La Clair on the total synthesis of a nasty molecule called hexacyclinol, originally isolated from a Siberian fungus.
The paper is remarkable in several ways, and not just because I'd never heard of La Clair. The synthesis is over 30 steps long, which is unfortunately not as uncommon as it should be. (I'm afraid that my bias against total synthesis is showing). But La Clair is the only author, which is highly unusual for such a large effort. And it must have been a large one, since the paper makes reference to starting on a molar scale and finished with over three grams of the penultimate intermediate. Experienced organic chemists will wonder if two or three decimal points have been misplaced there, but that's what it says.
Here's a paragraph for my fellow synthetic geeks - everyone else can skip ahead. When you read it closely, this synthesis has some pretty odd steps in it. One oxidation (aldehyde to acid in the presence of a dithiane) is accomplished through the slow addition of silver oxide in paraffin wax, of all things. If that's a reagent combination that's ever appeared in the literature, I've missed it. Silver oxide, sure - but not delivered by a cheese grater. There's a Mitsunobu inversion, via thiophenol, which occurs on a brutally hindered tertiary alcohol, which is certainly not something I'd expect to happen, or count on midway through a thirty-odd step route. A bit later, La Clair has a mesylation that's accomplished by adding methanesulfonyl chloride/triethylamine once an hour for five hours, which is sort of believable, as the kind of thing that you're driven to by frantic experimentation, but still a bit odd-sounding.
As mentioned, La Clair is the sole author, with an address given at the Xenobe Research Institute. The usual reaction to that statement is "The what?", as I've found empirically by wandering down my hallway at work. (Or, as Stiles puts it, "not to be confused with the Scientology outpost in low orbit around Mars") Xenobe's site is a bit odd, giving off the distinctive feel of a one-man operation. I particularly like what happens when you click the "Support" button and are informed that the Institute is not accepting donations at this time. Before Xenobe, La Clair was at Bionic Bros. GmbH, in Berlin, which sounds unavoidably like a firm from a William Gibson novel. This is where much of the synthesis was done, according to a footnote in which he acknowledges, glancingly, "the assistance of five technicians". (In his defense, that's very much the German style of chemistry, for better or worse).
Now we get to the brow-furrowing part. In the preprint section of the ACS journal Organic Letters, Scott Rychnovsky of Cal-Irvine unveils a computational technique for predicting the carbon-13 NMR spectra of complex structures. His test case is. . .hexacyclinol, La Clair's baby. But according to Rychnovsky, the published structure for the natural product has to be wrong. His method seems to work quite well on similar polycyclic terpenoid nightmare structures, but feeding the accepted hexacyclinol structure into it yields a terrible correlation.
So what's the correct structure? Rychnovsky points out that a related species of fungus has been shown to produce another natural product, panepophenanthrin. If that reacted with some methanol and a bit of acid, which might easily happen during the isolation procedure, it would produce a compound with the same molecular weight as hexacyclinol. . .and that structure, run through the NMR predictor, gives a fit that's right in line with the other known cases he used. Rychnovsky's quite sure that his proposed structure is the real structure of hexacyclinol.
But if it is, how on earth did La Clair get the data he has? His paper includes a proton NMR of the natural product and one of his synthetic material for comparison. They're identical. But if Rychnovsky's right, La Clair synthesized the wrong structure entirely. The spectra shouldn't match at all - that's one of the remaining reasons for total synthesis, to make the compound and see if the spectral data really fit. Now, Rychnovsky's argument hinges on the carbon spectrum, but that should be easy to obtain, given the monstrously huge scale that La Clair seems to have been working on. And given the discrepency between the two proposed structures, I can't see how the proton NMRs can possibly line up by chance.
The strangest part of La Clair's paper is its final footnote, added in proof. Here's how it starts; make of this what you will: "The 1H NMR spectra for this Communication were determined by contract services. The spectra provided in the Supporting Information were collected by N. Voss (Berlin, Germany). The operator added the peak for CDCl3 to the spectrum of synthetic hexacyclinol (1), however, this was done incorrectly at 7.5 ppm and against the request of the author." That doesn't make a whole lot of sense. The NMR operator "added the peak" for solvent to a spectrum? Why? And he put the peak in at 7.5 ppm (the wrong place, for non-chemists)? With what, Photoshop? No, this is very strange indeed.
One of these guys is wrong. And reading Rychnovsky's paper, it's clear that he's not in much doubt about who it is: "Recently, a provocative synthesis of hexacyclinol was reported (footnote to La Clair's paper), and interest in the paper triggered my reexamination of the original structural assignment." By the standards of organic chemistry, that's a gloved slap in the face in the public square. Someone at Angewandte Chemie should probably be feeling the sting, too.
Thanks to Dylan Stiles for calling this business to my attention - his post's comments, which are much more potentially libelous than things tend to get around here, are well worth a read for those interested. Update: La Clair has made an appearance in Dylan's comments, rather to everyone's surprise, I'd say. Still no word on a C-13 spectrum, though.
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May 21, 2006
Posted by Derek
During long meetings, my thoughts turn to all sorts of useful topics - pressing things like, "If we ever meet intelligent aliens, what will they know about chemistry compared to us?" (I'm having to make some assumptions with that thought, of course, because any aliens that can send us so much as a ham sandwich from another star system already have us totally outclassed). But the question doesn't have to involve any space travel; you could just as easily ask what we'd be doing now if the history of the science had gone differently. Did it have to evolve the way it did?
For example, there are an awful lot of old carbonyl-condensation reactions - aldol, Claisen, Dieckmann, etc. Are these inevitable early discoveries? You could make a case for "yes", because the starting materials are often such basic organic chemicals (aldehydes, esters), and their reactions would probably be among the first things explored. Besides, the reactions of stabilized carbanions are a cornerstone of organic chemistry, and even if things got a bit out of order you'd think that this would have to still be the case, The same goes, and more so, for nucleophilic substitution. I don't see any sort of organic chemistry getting very far without the discovery of things like the Williamson ether synthesis and the Finkelstein reaction, and the principles behind them.
The wild cards would probably be organometallic reactions. Grignard reagents might be an example of things were discovered earlier than they should have been. We still don't know all the details of their formation and reactivity, a hundred years on. And on the other side, did it have to take so long for the palladium couplings we all use to be discovered? After all, palladium was already known to do a lot of interesting organic chemistry, even fifty years ago. But as late as the 1980s, palladium-catalyzed carbon-carbon couplings were a bit exotic. Think, though, of what the field would look like if someone had stumbled over the Suzuki coupling in, say, 1949. . .
The history of oxidation and reduction, though, could easily be moved around, since there are so many means to accomplish similar ends. It's possible to imagine a world where the early organic synthesis papers aren't so full of Jones reagent and the other chromiums, but where some sort of permanganate or ruthenium reagent was the favorite. As for reduction, like him or hate him, where would boron reagents have been without H. C. Brown? ("Probably more widely used", I can hear some people muttering. . .)
That brings up the whole topic of personality. Historians frown on the "great man" viewpoint, but inside one scientific discipline it's hard to ignore it. Organic synthesis would certainly exist if R. B. Woodward had never been born, but it's for certain that it wouldn't look the way it does now. . .
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May 10, 2006
Posted by Derek
There's been a lot of press coverage the last week or so about two new routes to Tamiflu (oseltamavir). Roche famously starts from shikimic acid, most of which they get from Chinese star anise, and the new syntheses are attempts to get around that bottleneck.
E. J. Corey's getting more attention than Masakatsu Shibasaki, partly because he's a Nobel winner and partly because he's made a point of placing his synthesis in the public domain. (Shibasaki's applied for a patent). It's nice to see organic synthesis make the headlines, but unfortunately, a lot of the coverage has been of the "Nobel Prize Winner Solves Tamiflu Problem" sort. I've also seen several stories that suggest that Corey's route opens the door (at last, right?) to mass production.
Not so fast. Roche has already been producing rather large amounts of oseltamavir, although they'd be glad to find a better route. And it's not like they haven't been trying themselves, as this PDF will make clear. And it's far from clear that Corey's route will be of commercial value, even though his overall yield, as given, is about 27%, which news articles are saying is roughly twice the yield from shikimic acid. (Note, though, that that Roche PDF claims a higher yield than Corey's - I'm not sure who's right).
Let's get technical and take a look at the chemistry. First off, the repeated claim that Corey's route starts from two of the cheapest feedstocks available - butadiene and acrylic acid - is only partly true. The key Diels-Alder reaction actually uses trifluoroethyl acrylate, which is substantially more expensive than acrylic acid, although admittedly ten times cheaper than the same amount of shikimic acid from the same source. Moving on, there are eleven steps, and according to the supplementary material for the paper (where the full experimentals are), steps 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 8 have chromatography in their workup. The others are run through a plug of silica or are taken on crude, which tells me that Corey's students probably tried to do the same with the remaining steps but took a hit on the yields. Every chromatographic purification adds a great deal to the cost of a process route, needless to say.
There are other wrinkles. Steps 1 and 2 start at -78 degrees before coming up to more process-friendly temperatures. Step 8 is a slow addition at -40, and step 9 is an inverse addition at -20. Low-temperature reactions are certainly doable on scale, but again, they'll add to the cost and complexity. Those last two steps involve an acylaziridine intermediate, whose thermal stability would need to be checked out, and could partially negate the advantage of not using azide in the route.
The scale of the reactions in this paper is in the ten-gram range, which is fine, until you get to steps 8 and 9. Those low-temperature reactions are shown on 300 and 160 milligrams, respectively. That tenfold drop in scale indicates another area that would need to be checked out; there can be a huge difference between something that works on a couple of hundred mgs and a useful process, especially in the cold.
All this isn't to say that Corey's route doesn't work, or that it can't work on scale. But it's important to keep in mind that the kind of chemistry done in his lab is about as far from industrial scale as you can get. It may be that the more interesting features of his route (the catalyzed Diels-Alder, for example) could be combined with some of Roche's own process ideas and turned into something feasible. But for now, this is an interesting route that's a long way from solving anyone's Tamiflu shortage.
To be fair, Corey himself isn't responsible for some of the hype, except I wish he wouldn't let himself be quoted as saying that the thinks that the Tamiflu production problems are "solved". Headline writers know nothing about organic chemistry or drug development, and they run with what's in the press releases. Of course, there's the larger question hanging over all of this: will Tamiflu even do anyone any good if there is a human outbreak of avian flu? And that, nobody knows.
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November 30, 2004
Posted by Derek
Speaking of R. B. Woodward brings up the usual question: who's the Woodward of today? (Or, in its alternate form, how come there isn't one?)
He doesn't exist. And I wouldn't stand on one leg waiting for one to appear, either. It's too late in the game for that. Woodward was the perfect man for the moment - a generation earlier and he wouldn't have had the tools he needed, and a generation later he would have had too many.
It's generally assumed that we synthetic chemists can make anything we want to, given enough time and money. That's not completely true, but it's true enough to hurt. But no one assumed anything like that forty or fifty years ago. If you'd asked someone in 1955 if they could synthesize Vitamin B-12 if they just had enough postdocs and enough grant money, not many people would have had the nerve to say "yes." (And a fair number of the few who did would have been kidding themselves. . .) But that's the kind of problem Woodward lived for.
Many of the bizarre molecules made by the post-Woodward synthetic gods (Corey, Kishi, Nicolau, et al.) weren't even known in his day. Some of them would surely have given him pause if you'd asked him to take them on with 1960s chemistry. But organic synthesis has improved faster than the complexity of its targets, and the gap isn't what it was. Until we make the leap into some new level of difficulty (speculations welcome), it won't be. And Woodwardosaurus rex will remain extinct.
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November 29, 2004
Posted by Derek
Hey, brain researchers! Want to unravel the fine details of long-term memory? Looking for the longest of long-term potentiations? Just go out and rope in a few scientists. No, not to do the research - to do the research on. If you can find some that feel that they've been cut out of the credit for a discovery, you've got the best subjects you could ever want.
Consider some research that look place in the mid-1960s at Harvard. R.B. Woodward was Harvard's star organic chemist, a man whose name is still used as a shorthand for extraordinary talent. His work with Albert Eschenmoser to synthesize Vitamin B12 is considered one of the great syntheses of all time, and it was a set of problems in that project that set him to working with theoretician Roald Hoffmann to codify what was going on. Chemists everywhere are now familiar with the Woodward-Hoffmann rules for pericyclic reactions, which tied a whole list of cyclizations and rearrangements into a coherent bundle. Hoffmann and his collaborator Kenichi Fukui won the 1981 Nobel prize, and if Woodward had been alive he very likely would have joined them to win his (nearly unheard-of) second one.
Enter E. J. Corey, who took over the position of mighty synthetic powerhouse at Harvard after Woodward's death and won a Nobel of his own in 1990. In his acceptance speech earlier this year for the American Chemical Society's Priestly Medal, Corey mentioned the Woodward-Hoffman work, and mentioned in passing that he had actually put Woodward onto the path that led to the correct solution. This was news to just about everyone - well, except for a few people Corey had complained to over the years, not least of them Roald Hoffmann himself.
Now Hoffmann has replied, in a highly unusual five-page letter in Angewandte Chemie. (Those links may not work for nonsubscribers - try this roundup from Nature instead.) He goes into a lot more detail than Corey's spoken claim did, feeling (correctly, I'd say) that the gloves are now off. As it turns out, Corey wrote a letter to Hoffmann in 1981 giving his account of his conversation with Woodward, and describes how the next day he heard Woodward refer to the idea as his:
"In a manner of which few would be capable he pirated the idea, evidently preferring that over my good will. Even more incredible than what Bob did was how he did it. . ."
Thus said Corey, and he attached a plea that Hoffmann set the record straight in his Nobel acceptance speech. This chance Hoffman declined, as anyone would have guessed, since Bob Woodward had been dead for two years and the only person who could attest to the conversation was Corey himself. A follow-up letter from Corey was full of unretractable fighting words. Hoffmann mentions that he went on to meet with Corey personally in 1984, but how he managed to make himself do that after this sort of stuff is beyond me:
"You cannot deny that despite the possibility of appalling dishonesty at the roots of your collaboration with Bob, you elected to close your mind. . .please consider that history many not deal leniently in this matter, taking seriously the possibility not only of Bob's dishonesty, but of your own not unwitting participation in the extension of fraud."
Hoffmann goes into great detail on his side of the 1964 story, and he has some good evidence that Woodward was already on the track of the idea that Corey claims to have suggested to him. (He also reports that Woodward denied to him that Corey was a contributor to the work, but that's another conversation we have only one side of.) But Hoffmann also gets in a kidney punch, showing that Corey published a paper the next year that would have been an ideal showcase for his understanding of the relevant concepts, but said nothing about them.
Corey never went public with his claim until this year, although it seems that for years he's vented to a number of prominent chemists and fellow Harvard faculty members. It's clearly been eating away at him all this time, and for some reason - intimations of mortality? - he feels that it's time to haul out this ancient dispute.
I never met Woodward - first-year undergraduates in Arkansas didn't cross his path much - but I've met (casually) both Corey and Hoffman, and I've worked with students and post-docs of all three of them. Overall, I'd say I believe Hoffmann here. Although I think that Corey probably did have what he saw as a key conversation with Woodward in May of 1964, I'm not so sure that Woodward saw it as such a turning point. There's no way for us to know - even if Woodward had lived to comment, I doubt if that would have cleared things up any more. (Of course, Corey had fifteen years to speak up while Woodward was alive, a point Hoffmann misses no opportunities to make.)
What I'm sure of, though, is that Corey is doing himself no good at all. Chemists all over the world are saying to themselves "This guy has a Nobel already, what else does he want?" One problem is that some of this springs from the same qualities that got Corey to where he is. The persistence that's kept this simmering in him from 1964 to 2004 is the same persistence that's taken him through a huge array of impressively difficult molecules. But this is all a useless wound to his own reputation. There are, after all, more important things than being right.
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February 5, 2002
Posted by Derek
So why do huge natural product molecules still get made, if the thrill is gone?
Well, for one, not everyone agrees about the thrill. Total synthesis is one of the areas with real summits to plant flags on, and you really can be the first to climb them. And (unlike mountaineering!) you don't run out of mountains. They keep on coming, higher and trickier, year after year. Of course, as I went on about on Sunday, the technology keeps on improving, too. I'd argue that we're getting close to an expertise that allows us to hack our way up most any molecular mountain, one way or another.
Another reason the work goes on is that it used to be a great way to find totally new chemistry. Back in the day, you often had to invent new reactions just to have a chance of making these molecules, and that was one of the main justifications for the whole effort. Unfortunately, now that we don't necessarily have to invent the new reactions, many total-synthesis types don't.
I don't want to exaggerate, because it's still no cookbook. Many steps in a big total synthesis require lots of tricky modifications from the normal way you'd run a reaction. And there are lots of reactions that should work and don't; the first thing out of the book usually doesn't do the trick. But, still, very seldom now is new chemistry invented during a major synthesis. People will discover a new reaction, and think of a natural product to demonstrate it with, but they won't discover the new reaction in media res.
That's because it takes too long to do it. The advances in the science are making it gradually trickier to find totally new reactions, or new applications of old ones. If you're in a race to be the first to synthesize Megatoxin, you're not going to spend a few months (or a few years) to see if you can come up with a new reaction that'll save you six steps. You'll just hack out the six steps and get on with it - even if no one else is racing you, which is almost always the case these days.
There's one reason, though, that I can't argue with. Total synthesis is a great way to train chemists. You have non-stop problem-solving under very trying conditions, you experience all sorts of chemistry, and you end up with the hands to do just about any reaction there is. The drug companies love to hire total synthesis people. They figure (correctly) that dealing with the adversity of that work is good training for drug discovery, where most things don't work, either.
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February 3, 2002
Posted by Derek
I mentioned the team-of-Sherpas approach to making molecules, but that's something that (fortunately) I haven't had to do much in recent years. In drug discovery, we try to avoid anything involving that kind of chemical labor - the rest of the drug development stuff is enough to keep everyone busy, thanks. Contrast that to some academic organic chemistry, where molecules that need pyramid-construction-size teams are sometimes the whole point.
I did big-molecule natural product synthesis for my PhD, and I don't miss it for a minute. (I don't miss a lot of things about my PhD for a minute, for that matter, but that's another story.) It's a specialized world inside organic chemistry, which during its glory days was for many the only world that mattered. It's hard to put exact dates on that, but you could start in the 1950s, end sometime in the late 70s or early 80s, and not set off too many arguments.
It's not that huge and difficult molecules aren't made any more. They are, and some of them are weird enough to have made the old titans like R. B. Woodward choke on their Scotch. But it's different somehow; I think it's because we've gotten a little too good. There are a lot of reactions we can pull out now that Woodward's generation never lived long enough to see, reactions that do things they never knew could be done. So now, when some massive team of postdocs makes Voodoomycin, Whateverol, or some other molecule that looks like your structure-drawing program malfunctioned all over the page, it doesn't set off the awe that the older syntheses did. It can't. There are dozens, hundreds, thousands of people who look at the resulting paper and say "Hey, give me a team of fifty smart, highly trained workaholics and a million dollars from NIH, and I'll make Whateverol, too."
We can make almost anything (given enough sweat, time, and money,) but most complex molecules still use up far too much of all three. It's not the boundries of the science that hold us back any more, just the boundries of the real world. Those who aren't well acquainted with the field figure it can do most anything, but those inside it know, for practical reasons, that we often can't.
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