I had a talk with Dieter Honoré, an entrepreneur with a penchant for start-ups and scale-ups. Honoré also writes. 2024 saw the publication of his debut Brine, an ode to wonder and science, although Honoré himself is not particularly drawn to exact science. Brine oscillates between fiction and non-fiction. An atypical novel, an atypical way of communicating science, so definitely worth a chat for Big Bang.
Your profession isn’t related to science (communication). What exactly do you do?
“I’m trained as a lawyer and spent six years as an attorney before transitioning into entrepreneurship. I went on to establish a pioneering recruitment agency specifically for legal professionals for ten years. After a brief exit into the creative sector, I returned to the legal field, helping companies optimize their legal departments with for instance integrating new technologies into legal processes.”
And there appears the writer. Has that always been a part of you?
“It’s funny, I suppose it has been. In fourth grade in primary school, my teacher, Mr. Luc, signed me up for a writing competition without telling me. I won. But then, as I grew older, the ability to freely associate (which turned out to be the fuel for my imagination) somehow got trained out of me. I had to relearn it. So in 2014, after about 15 years in the legal world, I took a sabbatical. My only goal was to produce a piece of writing that wouldn’t reveal my history as a lawyer. For six months, day in day out, I sat in a coffee bar, writing. Eventually, I succeeded in writing without the ‘contamination’ of my legal background.”
When, after your sabbatical, did you take the next step to do something with your writing?
“The day my father was diagnosed with a brain tumour, I began writing again. I wanted to extract and describe the tiny, beautiful pieces out of something very painful. He lived for twelve more months, and I spent sixteen months writing about him. It became my first book. I put as much care into the finishing touches as if it were a real book—designing the cover, editing, and printing—so I could give it to my mother, my sisters, and his friends as a tribute. Keeping it limited felt important because of how personal it is.
Initially, I planned to print only 100 copies, but by a twist of fate, it turned into 200. The book started to spread ‘underground’. Hundreds of people have read it and passed it along to others. I recently saw a copy that had been handed down seven times and was falling apart. As a way of grieving, I find that deeply moving. Now, I’m ready to publish it ‘for real’ and I know my mother is at peace with that as well. It will likely be released in 2026.”
Did your meeting with Professor Sorgeloos stem from your search for more information about your father?
“Yes, my father was a typical baby boomer—hard and ambitious both for himself and his children. After he fell ill, I began writing to ‘crack the code’ of how much I resemble him. As part of this, I hosted a dinner with ten friends, all of whom had lost a parent. I asked each of them one or two questions they would have wanted to ask their parent but never had the chance to. I gave my father those questions, and he provided written answers. That process led me to seek out people who had known him as a child or young adult, like Professor Sorgeloos. Our first meeting lasted half a day.”
How did that first encounter evolve into the idea for a book?
“He shared so much with me in just one afternoon. Much of it didn’t seem to align at first. For instance, the big influence of his Latin teacher—no scientist—on him, in contrast to his passion for science, especially for the brine shrimp (Artemia). These kind of apparent contradictions intrigued me. As a writer, you’re always searching for conflict or tension, something that lingers beneath the surface and disturbs the superficial balance.
There was also our shared connection to cancer—me losing my father and him losing his wife, Magda. She played a significant role not only in his personal life but in his lab as well, and her legacy continues through the Mama Magda Fund. The way he spoke so openly about her was one of the things that truly inspired me.
Another aspect that triggered me was the historical background. Patrick Sorgeloos’ experiences in Vietnam during the Cold War convinced him that scientists must keep communicating with each other, no matter the circumstances. At times, they are the only lines of dialogue still open. Even now, he’s working to bring Russian scientists here—a mission that began during his time in Vietnam.
These different layers made me seriously consider writing a book about him. They added depth to the story, giving it a universal appeal. I reached out to the professor with the idea, already crafting the story in my mind.”
“Patrick Sorgeloos’ experiences in Vietnam during the Cold War convinced him that scientists must keep communicating with each other, no matter the circumstances.”
Was it difficult to convince the professor?
“It wasn’t easy. He was moved by the book about my father, but he couldn’t see how his own story could turn into a book. Storytelling is challenging for many scientists; they often stay very close to their work. Writing, however, is like moving a shuttle back and forth — zooming in and out from your subject, looking for deeper layers. Eventually, he trusted me, though he remained cautious. I worked hard to strike the right balance between the various aspects of the life and work of Patrick Sorgeloos. I also had to ensure that my own emotions didn’t interfere with the narrative. That tension was essential.”
If you ask Honoré, Brine is a book about:
A childhood friend of my father who opened up a whole new world to me.
The relentless passion and dedication of a researcher who finds meaning in the smallest details.
Creating tremendous opportunities for people in less affluent countries by unlocking untapped potential.
The global struggle for food security and the solutions hidden in the most unexpected places.
Building bridges between people, cultures, and scientific communities.
Magda, to me, the book is as much about her as it is about the professor and the brine shrimp.
A deep sense of wonder that comes from exploring the unknown.
My personal journey of discovery as I unravelled the layers of this story.
Above all: It’s a book about doubt, about questioning, and challenging what we think we know.
The book touches on many different aspects: research, social relevance, engagement, love, sacrifice, just to name a few. Would you have written it if it had only been about fundamental research, without the societal impact?
“Yes, out of pure fascination for Patrick Sorgeloos’s passion. What captivates me is how his curiosity and dedication have remained uninterrupted from the age of 20 to now, at 76, all focused on one tiny creature. For me as a writer, the passion I have for the topic I write about, has a beginning and an end. I take a deep dive into a certain domain or historical period for only three to five years. But for the professor, in his Artemia research, there seems to be no end. However, without the emotional element—without Magda—it would have been harder to write a truly compelling story.”
The Mama Magda Aquaculture Fund
“The fund is named after Magda, the professor’s late wife. She was like a mother to numerous students from the Global South in the Artemia lab. Trained as a nurse, helping these students gave her a renewed sense of purpose. After she passed away, Patrick, together with Ghent University, established the Mama Magda Aquaculture Fund. It helps cover six months’ worth of expenses for students who come to study in Ghent, making the process much more accessible.”
All proceeds from book sales at book events go to the fund, helping generate significant support.
In my copy you wrote, ‘I hope you’ll become even more enthusiastic about these little creatures.’ Has writing Brine made you appreciate science more?
“Yes, it has, but I haven’t subscribed to EOS magazine yet (smiles). I used to view wonder as something vast and horizontal—grand landscapes, large animals... But the biggest lesson Patrick has taught me over the past three years is that wonder can also be vertical, something you explore endlessly within one small thing.
The professor is very strict about avoiding anthropomorphism, but I can’t help feeling a certain emotional connection to these tiny creatures. I’ve grown quite fond of brine shrimp and even started raising them myself. To the surprise of friends, family, and even myself, I’ve managed to keep them alive for over a year! I also see parallels in my other passions. Art for example. The way the shrimp move, with their grace and fluidity, reminds me of small, living works of art.”
“The biggest lesson Patrick has taught me over the past three years is that wonder can also be vertical, something you explore endlessly within one small thing.”
Do these creatures also make you see the relevance of science more clearly?
“Before, science felt somewhat distant and disconnected from the world, but now I have a much better grasp of its practical relevance. For me, it remains hard to imagine dedicating yourself entirely to something without considering its broader effects. That said, I’ve come to appreciate that fundamental research, even when you can’t predict its eventual impact, has significant value.
Patrick’s work also got me thinking about [American biologist] E.O. Wilson’s quote which weaves through the book: ‘For every organism, there exists a problem, for the solution of which that organism is ideally suited’. And conversely, every organism may hold the key to a problem we’ve yet to discover. I suppose that’s what drives fundamental scientists.”
Do you consider this book to be a form of science communication?
“Well, writing is a form of communicating and as I try to get to know the scientist, how he thinks and feels. So that makes the book some sort of science communication. However, my publisher was so enthusiastic about it because it took a form he has not seen before since you can also read it as a novel. People often finish the book quickly and come away with a new perspective on science, without even realizing they’ve just read a book about it. It’s my tribute to passion and sacrifice. I sometimes call it my mission - to put something into the world that leaves an impact, whether it’s this story, the one about my father, or any other project. This mission drives me, and it’s why I manage to compress a six-day workweek into four days to free up one day for writing.”
In the book, you describe the bittersweet struggle between facts and imagination. How much creative freedom do you allow yourself without jeopardizing the credibility of the story?
“That turned out to be the biggest challenge, but for me, there’s no story without imagination. So, I had to weave in a bit of fiction, even though this book happens to have a scientific subject. I didn’t approach it any differently than my other stories, but I set a clear rule for myself: ‘no embellishment when it comes to the science or the shrimp’. Everything else follows a quote from the Belgian artist Willem Vermandere, which became my guiding principle throughout the book: “It doesn’t have to be true, as long as it’s right.” For instance, the dialogue between the professor and his Latin teacher may not be factually accurate, but the teacher’s children should still recognize their father in that portrayal.”
“For me, it’s the process—the struggle, the persistence—that makes the story worth telling. I believe the journey is just as valuable, if not more, than the success.”
Does this make Brine a novel or a non-fiction work?
“I love that question since there is no clear answer to it. It also shows in bookstores where sometimes you can find it in the non-fiction department, sometimes amongst fiction books. I love that ambiguity and let it up to the reader to decide. My publisher did categorize it as non-fiction, a decision made after a long-standing debate. Once the book is finished, also sales and marketing start to play their role. We considered that it stands out for its originality in the non-fiction genre, and the novel market is already quite saturated. It resonates with people who have no connection to the scientific world; I think the fact that it involves living organisms makes it more relatable. If the research had been about something like rocks, it might have been harder to engage readers in the same way.”
Living organisms, but also a focus on the struggle leading up to the success rather than the success itself. Was this a deliberate choice in a world where the spotlight often shines only on achievements?
“Yes, it was intentional. I would have written the story even if the professor’s research hadn’t been successful. For the academic world, his achievements are important, but for me, it’s the process—the struggle, the persistence—that makes the story worth telling. I believe the journey is just as valuable, if not more, than the success.”
I know you’re not a science lover by default, so curious about your opinion. Do we need more books like this to share research stories?
“Absolutely. There’s already a lot of attention on STEM, but we often target people who already have an innate curiosity about facts they don’t fully understand. What’s missing are deeply human narratives about research that inspire people.
That’s why I focus on telling the story without delving too deeply into the science itself. Again, a good story always needs conflict, and while I imagine this isn’t easy for researchers, they should embrace the idea that a bit of drama is not a bad thing. I carry this through in my book presentations. When I present with the professor, the audience enjoys the playful conflict between fiction and science, imagination versus facts, the writer and the scientist...
Sharing these stories isn’t about directing people toward specific careers, but about building bridges. Three-quarters of the book deals with failures. The quiet scientist, stumbling through life yet persisting, can resonate with people—especially those who feel insecure or introverted. It’s encouraging to see that failure, as part of the process, is gaining more recognition—whether in the entrepreneurial world, where people openly share their setbacks at “fail nights,” or in podcasts like the one on doubt during the Day of Science.”
Does this new audience also reach out to Patrick Sorgeloos?
“Yes, what’s wonderful about a book is that you never know where it will end up. It isn’t a highly targeted form of science communication. As an entrepreneur, I learned the importance of seizing the moment when it comes to communication. But promoting a book, is more of a wave-like movement. So Patrick also receives feedback in waves. At the start, he was a bit wary of receiving too much praise with the book, but fortunately, it hasn’t turned into a grand tribute—which he’s relieved about! Instead, he’s received many messages, often from people he hadn’t heard from in years, sharing memories of his late wife.”
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