To paraphrase Tolstoy, every overblown media furore causes unhappiness in its own way. Last week's excitements following a story about cancer research in the New York Times (see page 104) provide excellent examples of the good, the bad and the ugly in and around science journalism. Many are blaming the writer, Gina Kolata, for the problems her story generated. But whatever her responsibilities, there are other participants in the process whose roles need to be considered.

An important antecedent of this story was a paper published last November by Thomas Boehm and colleagues (also reported in the New York Times) describing the regression of tumours in mice following the administration of endostatin (Nature 390, 404; 1997). It also reported complete regression of Lewis lung carcinomas following joint treatment with endostatin and angiostatin — both are powerful agents that directly inhibit the formation of new blood vessels that feed tumour growth. An accompanying News and Views article celebrated the arrival of the two agents. Said author Robert Kerbel: “the results could herald a new era of cancer treatment. But that era could be years away⃛”. There followed several reasons for that caution (Nature 390, 335; 1997), including the fact that experiments in mice are by no means necessarily a harbinger of success in humans.

Last week's story contained essentially no new science, being apparently stimulated more by scientists' enthusiasm. The account as a whole was, on the surface, appropriately guarded. The word “cautious” (or its synonyms) appeared in the main headline, in the second paragraph, in a prominent picture caption about the team's leader, Judah Folkman, and several times elsewhere. The science and the uncertainties were explained in considerable detail.

But there were signs that the writer and editors wished both to have their cautionary cake and to eat it. The opening paragraph stated that patients might be taking the new treatment within a year but failed to make it clear that this could be only on a last-hope, highly experimental basis. The story was full of the buzz of excitement in the laboratory and, crucially for its impact, overenthusiastic endorsements from James Watson and from Richard Klausner, head of the National Cancer Institute, both of whom subsequently repudiated or ‘clarified’ the words attributed to them. The positioning of the article emphasized the editorial double-think: the caveats considerably reduced the significance of the story, but its location high on the front page reinforced the allure of scientists' hopeful enthusiasm and belied that substantial uncertainty.

The consequences — soaring stock values of a biotechnology company involved in the research and thousands of telephone calls from desperate cancer patients pleading for non-existent treatment — were certainly regrettable and even tragic, but where does the blame lie? Typically (and the New York Times is no exception) a newspaper's front-page stories are picked at a conference of section editors who each advocate their stories. Does a tendency to hype arise in such selling? Are journalists tempted to oversell their story to news editors to gain such prominence?

The New York Times is probably the most scientifically aware and responsible of all US newspapers, but this tale demonstrates how even there the process can go awry. More generally, it is the job of news editors to ensure the appropriate balance of excitement and caution in stories they run. They, as well as science journalists, need to be able to apply acute sensitivity to potential misinterpretation by readers. And they can help to avoid bad consequences of their craft by a better understanding of the damage so often done by naive or, worse, disingenuous reporting of distinguished scientists' unbridled expressions of anticipation.