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Based on fieldwork in the Committee on Publication Ethics, this paper offers an analysis of the forms of doings that publication ethics in action can take during what is called the ‘Forum’, a space where allegations of dubious research conduct get aired and debated between editors and publishers. This article examines recurring motifs within the review of publication practices whose ethics are called into. These motifs include: the shaping of publication ethics as an expertise that can be standardized across locations and disciplines, the separation of the research record from relations that produce it, and the divisibility of the scientific paper. Together these institute an ethics of repair at the centre of the curative enterprise of the Committee on Publication Ethics. Under the language of correcting the literature the members are working out, along with authors, what the research record should be and, inevitably, what it is. In turn, this article elicits new analytical objects that re-describe publication ethics as a form of expertise, beyond (and despite) the rehearsed axioms of this now well-established professional field.

The paper describes three models of the real field based on subsets of the integer sequences. The three models are compared to the Harthong–Reeb line. Two of the new models, contrary to the Harthong–Reeb line, provide accurate integer “views” on real numbers at a sequence of growing scales $B^n$ ( $B\\ge2$ ).

This paper attends to writing practices by way of examining how a professional regulator engages with research activities conducted by doctors. In order to explore regulatory responses to alleged research misconduct, I use a specific calligraphic practice shared by researchers and regulators. The paper shows that taking this calligraphic practice as an analytical focus can offer surprising dividends to the study of regulation across fields. Via the practice of strikethrough, the General Medical Council effectuates three gestures as it engages with research activities: display, authentication and isolation. Understanding them requires asking what literal and metaphorical meanings travel in the strikethrough.

In this paper, I take seriously informed consent's material form: the paper form. I pursue two objectives: I first tackle different meanings that have been attributed to the fabrication of document forms themselves, and demonstrate how this fabrication process forces us to rethink the category of consent and, further, that of personhood. Second, I examine the consenting person as a new ethnographic subject and show how her submission to consent forms, in the context of hospital bureaucracies, enacts new forms of agency. Given the fact that patients and research subjects generally do not read consent documents, I conclude by offering the illegible consent form, rather than the meticulously designed consent form, as the exemplary artifact of hospital bureaucracies.

This sensitive ethnography reveals the methods and mindsets of doctors, patients, donors, and sellers in Israel's living kidney transplant bureaus. Matching Organs with Donors describes how these actors identify and adjudicate suitable matches between donor and recipient using terms borrowed from definitions of kinship.

This article looks in detail at a form of kinship that is contingently crafted and mobilized to achieve specific purposes. On the basis of ethnographic material collected among local actors within bodies that regulate kidney transplants in Israel, the objective of this article is to expand the sociolegal definition of fictive kinship. I use transplant relatedness to refer to the set of formal and informal norms that grow out of social and medico-legal practices in the field of kidney donations and sales; however, the form of fictive kinship that appears in this specific field tells us something broader about kinship as it is constructed and performed in legal processes more generally. The configuration of fictive kinship that is examined is the shared history (historia mesh-outefet). I argue that in the present case, the shared history alters social and legal deep-seated understandings of kinship and ultimately makes the distinctions between allegedly real and pseudo-kinship collapse.

While the traffic in human organs stirs outrage and condemnation, donations of such material are perceived as highly ethical. In reality, the line between illicit trafficking and admirable donation is not so sharply drawn. Those entangled in the legal, social, and commercial dimensions of transplanting organs must reconcile motives, bureaucracy, and medical desperation.Matching Organs with Donors: Legality and Kinship in Transplantsexamines the tensions between law and practice in the world of organ transplants-and the inventive routes patients may take around the law while going through legal processes. In this sensitive ethnography, Marie-Andrée Jacob reveals the methods and mindsets of doctors, administrators, gray-sector workers, patients, donors, and sellers in Israel's living kidney transplant bureaus.Matching Organs with Donorsdescribes how suitable matches are identified between donor and recipient using terms borrowed from definitions of kinship. Jacob presents a subtle portrait of the shifting relationships between organ donors/sellers, patients, their brokers, and hospital officials who often accept questionably obtained organs. Jacob's incisive look at the cultural landscapes of transplantation in Israel has wider implications.Matching Organs with Donorsdeepens our understanding of the law and management of informed consent, decision-making among hospital professionals, and the shadowy borders between altruism and commerce.

Moshe and Dalia are husband and wife. I met them in the waiting room of the HaMagen transplant unit. As we chatted they invited me to go outside with them. Surprised, I immediately agreed and followed them to the end of the corridor. Moshe opened a door, then another—an emergency exit—and we found ourselves on the outside fire escape. “Now let’s talk, and have a cigarette,” they said. Moshe: The doctor says I need a transplant . . . my brothers came, but they suffer from diabetes, so they can’t donate. Dalia (interrupting): So I said I’ll come

I met Sandra Benedict for the first time in her room in the transplant unit at the HaMagen hospital. At that time she was undergoing her two-day pre-transplant evaluations. Sitting on her hospital bed, she seemed in good form in her white and blue nightgown, wearing make-up and an elaborate hairdo. “To whom are you making a donation, to a friend?” I asked. Well, it is a friend now. It all began three years ago, it’s a long story . . . I don’t know if you have enough time. . . . My husband is a pastor in a