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Plants and Empire: Colonial Bioprospecting in the Atlantic World
Plants seldom figure in the grand narratives of war, peace, or even everyday life yet they are often at the center of high intrigue. In the eighteenth century, epic scientific voyages were sponsored by European imperial powers to explore the natural riches of the New World, and uncover the botanical secrets of its people. Bioprospectors brought back medicines, luxuries, and staples for their king and country. Risking their lives to discover exotic plants, these daredevil explorers joined with their sponsors to create a global culture of botany.
But some secrets were unearthed only to be lost again. In this moving account of the abuses of indigenous Caribbean people and African slaves, Schiebinger describes how slave women brewed the "peacock flower" into an abortifacient, to ensure that they would bear no children into oppression. Yet, impeded by trade winds of prevailing opinion, knowledge of West Indian abortifacients never flowed into Europe. A rich history of discovery and loss, Plants and Empire explores the movement, triumph, and extinction of knowledge in the course of encounters between Europeans and the Caribbean populations.
But some secrets were unearthed only to be lost again. In this moving account of the abuses of indigenous Caribbean people and African slaves, Schiebinger describes how slave women brewed the "peacock flower" into an abortifacient, to ensure that they would bear no children into oppression. Yet, impeded by trade winds of prevailing opinion, knowledge of West Indian abortifacients never flowed into Europe. A rich history of discovery and loss, Plants and Empire explores the movement, triumph, and extinction of knowledge in the course of encounters between Europeans and the Caribbean populations.
320 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2004
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November 26, 2025
Wow.. I expected fun things from the blurb but I didn't expect this book to be actually revolutionary for me. This book talks about indigenous knowledge, science and scientists during imperialism in a cultural and political context, and finally the spread of culturally-induced ignorance, or agnotology.
The book starts off powerfully with how the Caribbean people resisted enslavement by consuming peacock flower, a plant with active compounds used to abort a pregnancy (abortifacient). This book gives a glimpse of the bloody and inhuman practice of enslavement. On the face of such a horrifying future, abortion was the enslaved mothers' way to protect their children in seemingly their only agency. Plantation and whatnot thrived by encouraging slaves to reproduce and give them more workers, so this also was a jab to their colonist employers.
What this book undertakes as an example of agnotology is how although the peacock flower was brought to the empire, the knowledge that it is an abortifacient was not carried over. A combination of affairs and perhaps mishappenings brought this about. First of all, the imperial scientists only accepted knowledge conforming to their idea of health science at the time, a.k.a. humorism. They also didn't believe that the sAVaGeS were capable of any science at all. Anything emulating the pursue of science on their part was regarded not of intellect, but something 'natural' and 'instinctive' akin to how monkey can peel a banana and the likes 😡 😡 😡😡. Abortifacients were a thing in the west too. But abortion practice was condemned at some period. Aborting mother and midwives were punished, and known abortifacients was censured. Abortion was performed still, but in dark alleys and secrecy among the women. Now although there were female scientists and bioprospectors then, the field was dominated by males who didn't know much about abortion, so abortifacient functions might just go over their heads.
What's also interesting was at that point, pregnancy was not yet biologically understood. There was not yet a connection between menstruation halting and the start of pregnancy. Some currently known abortifacients were used to cure irregular menstruation (when what happened was the period restarted because they rid of the baby :[] ). It's not even easy for abortifacients to BE abortifacients. Not to mention that clinical trials initially started with male subjects only. And peacock flower's other parts (leaves/root/stems(?)) were actually harnessed for other efficacy while the flower was once valued only because it's pretty. So yeah, transferring knowledge has like 1001 issues it's a miracle we're at this point in science now.
I forgot how species naming was linked to the agnotology of peacock flower precisely, but this book also talked about it and it's quite baffling. I'm rereading my textbook and the historical parts hit all too different now. Like, binomial nomenclature was taught all sacred and as a student, I could only take it at face value and be all strict about it too. But learning how they actually name things; stripping away the local names, acting like they invent things when everyone on the land already knew and used the plant since forever, labeling creatures irrelevantly such that people can mistake their origin, this naming business STInks. Even back then, not everyone agreed with Linnaeus, who apparently never even went outside Europe all the while enforcing the idea that botany originated and centers around the west while the tropics didn't have many things going on. This book named Adanson as a persistent critic of this practice. He used the indigenous terms to name species (tho not all-encompassing either). Sounds good and all, but without the connection and riches Linnaeus has, he just fade away to oblivion (never heard of him before this book). And once things are fixed into history, there's no going back.
Really though, how has the science history I studied thus far been missing all these important cultural and political contexts?? Seru banget ini pokoknya, plis baca!
The book starts off powerfully with how the Caribbean people resisted enslavement by consuming peacock flower, a plant with active compounds used to abort a pregnancy (abortifacient). This book gives a glimpse of the bloody and inhuman practice of enslavement. On the face of such a horrifying future, abortion was the enslaved mothers' way to protect their children in seemingly their only agency. Plantation and whatnot thrived by encouraging slaves to reproduce and give them more workers, so this also was a jab to their colonist employers.
What this book undertakes as an example of agnotology is how although the peacock flower was brought to the empire, the knowledge that it is an abortifacient was not carried over. A combination of affairs and perhaps mishappenings brought this about. First of all, the imperial scientists only accepted knowledge conforming to their idea of health science at the time, a.k.a. humorism. They also didn't believe that the sAVaGeS were capable of any science at all. Anything emulating the pursue of science on their part was regarded not of intellect, but something 'natural' and 'instinctive' akin to how monkey can peel a banana and the likes 😡 😡 😡😡. Abortifacients were a thing in the west too. But abortion practice was condemned at some period. Aborting mother and midwives were punished, and known abortifacients was censured. Abortion was performed still, but in dark alleys and secrecy among the women. Now although there were female scientists and bioprospectors then, the field was dominated by males who didn't know much about abortion, so abortifacient functions might just go over their heads.
What's also interesting was at that point, pregnancy was not yet biologically understood. There was not yet a connection between menstruation halting and the start of pregnancy. Some currently known abortifacients were used to cure irregular menstruation (when what happened was the period restarted because they rid of the baby :[] ). It's not even easy for abortifacients to BE abortifacients. Not to mention that clinical trials initially started with male subjects only. And peacock flower's other parts (leaves/root/stems(?)) were actually harnessed for other efficacy while the flower was once valued only because it's pretty. So yeah, transferring knowledge has like 1001 issues it's a miracle we're at this point in science now.
I forgot how species naming was linked to the agnotology of peacock flower precisely, but this book also talked about it and it's quite baffling. I'm rereading my textbook and the historical parts hit all too different now. Like, binomial nomenclature was taught all sacred and as a student, I could only take it at face value and be all strict about it too. But learning how they actually name things; stripping away the local names, acting like they invent things when everyone on the land already knew and used the plant since forever, labeling creatures irrelevantly such that people can mistake their origin, this naming business STInks. Even back then, not everyone agreed with Linnaeus, who apparently never even went outside Europe all the while enforcing the idea that botany originated and centers around the west while the tropics didn't have many things going on. This book named Adanson as a persistent critic of this practice. He used the indigenous terms to name species (tho not all-encompassing either). Sounds good and all, but without the connection and riches Linnaeus has, he just fade away to oblivion (never heard of him before this book). And once things are fixed into history, there's no going back.
Really though, how has the science history I studied thus far been missing all these important cultural and political contexts?? Seru banget ini pokoknya, plis baca!
October 31, 2013
I really enjoyed Shiebinger's book. Here, she investigates a case of what she and Robert Proctor call "agnotology." This is a slippery concept, but it basically points to instances in which knowledge is not developed and spread, despite the fact that it is well understood in certain locales. To flesh out this idea, she looks to the spread of certain abortifacients that were commonly used, especially among slave populations, in the 16th through 18th century Caribbean colonies. The first two chapters look at the early development of what Shiebinger (anachronistically? still not sure how I feel about this) names "bioprospecting." She pays particular attention to the paucity of women on such missions, all the while pointing out some rather amazing exceptions (one fifty year old women who takes over her dead husband's position as a naturalist, and another case in which a young woman actually passed herself off as a man for over a year!). She next turns to the relations between these bioprospectors and the native populations they encounter. This account is particularly problematic, though Shiebinger acknowledges this fact, due to the absolute lack of accounts of the points of view of the natives. The resulting chapter can't help but portray natives as slippery, cunning, and difficult, foiling the pompous, dogmatic and borderline foolish Europeans' attempts to pry valuable plant knowledge from locals. I'll admit that I enjoyed reading this, even though it sent my historical-accuracy alarm bells a-ringing. Following these first two rather charming chapters, Shiebinger delves into the dark and repulsive world of the Caribbean slave sexual economy, arguing that slave women often aborted as a form of resistance. Clearly, slave women possessed this knowledge, as did many colonial administrators. Despite this, as Shiebinger shows, knowledge of particular types of abortifacients never took root in Europe. The fact that mercantilist economies were generally pronatalist, and that women rarely embarked on "bioprospecting" voyages, in conjunction with the dangers of abortifacients as well as their moral ambiguity (most were looked down on but not outlawed until the early 19th century in Western Europe) led to a form of willful European ignorance. From a historical evidence point of view, I think the fact that certain colonial administrators knew of Caribbean abortifacients and condemned them or refused to transmit that knowledge is, if not a smoking gun, a solid fingerprint. Otherwise, it really is difficult to know exactly why something doesn't happen. Usually, historians focus on why things DO happen, so it's a bit of an inversion of our typical argumentative style. This presents significant challenges, though not, I think, insurmountable.
I think the idea of agnotology is very powerful. Shiebinger's concluding vignette, in which two Dominican doctors reveal their knowledge of abortifacients, but refuse to be named on account of the illegality of abortion, suggest that we should have an ongoing concern about our own forms of cultivated ignorance, even outside the context of early colonial encounters, in our highly globalized world. The notion that our current beliefs, infrastructres, political machines, etc., actively (and perhaps even "subconsciously") cull certain facts or knowledge, outside of things we think are false or irrelevant, is a big and unsettling idea in its own right.
As a rambling aside/conclusion, I approve of the fact that Shiebinger didn't make recourse to the "actual" efficacy of abortifacients to make her case (it's only necessary for the historical actors to believe in their efficacy)...but...I did want to know more about whether or not they, like, worked, and whether that had to do with their lack of transmission. This points to the slippery slope of judging whether the "truth" quality of knowledge has anything to do with its spread...I know that no naive position should be taken on this point...but, I wish she'd talked more about this instead of just dismissing it as something historians of science have typically erroneously presumed.
I think the idea of agnotology is very powerful. Shiebinger's concluding vignette, in which two Dominican doctors reveal their knowledge of abortifacients, but refuse to be named on account of the illegality of abortion, suggest that we should have an ongoing concern about our own forms of cultivated ignorance, even outside the context of early colonial encounters, in our highly globalized world. The notion that our current beliefs, infrastructres, political machines, etc., actively (and perhaps even "subconsciously") cull certain facts or knowledge, outside of things we think are false or irrelevant, is a big and unsettling idea in its own right.
As a rambling aside/conclusion, I approve of the fact that Shiebinger didn't make recourse to the "actual" efficacy of abortifacients to make her case (it's only necessary for the historical actors to believe in their efficacy)...but...I did want to know more about whether or not they, like, worked, and whether that had to do with their lack of transmission. This points to the slippery slope of judging whether the "truth" quality of knowledge has anything to do with its spread...I know that no naive position should be taken on this point...but, I wish she'd talked more about this instead of just dismissing it as something historians of science have typically erroneously presumed.
February 7, 2026
In Plants and Empire: Colonial Bioprospecting in the Atlantic World, Londa Schiebinger
investigates the intersection of gender, race and colonial politics in the history of science. She
places science within the colonial framework, focusing primarily on the eighteenth century, to
present two key arguments. Firstly, she contends that an interdependent relationship
developed between the institutionalisation of Western botany and imperial expansion,
exploitation and exertion of power as each functioned to advance and consolidate the other.
Secondly, despite the new and improved practice of ‘modern’ science, the development of
certain aspects of available knowledge regarding plants was actively suppressed in Europe.
To inform such broad themes, Schiebinger sets a narrow focal point, delving into the history
of Meriam’s Peacock Flower (Poinciana pulcherrima). Amongst other uses for medicine, the
Peacock Flower has abortifacient qualities, and was used by slaves in the West Indies as a
form of political resistance, to prevent future generations from being born into slavery.
Thereupon, she elaborates Robert N. Proctor’s concept of agnotology (the study of culturally
induced ignorances) to understand why knowledge of the Peacock Flower’s properties never
found its place in the European pharmacopoeias.
Schiebinger structures Plants and Empire into six chapters, each exploring central themes to
her topic and arguments. Chapters one, two and five primarily address her first argument:
they respectively focus on the role of botany in the colonial enterprise, the barriers to
discovering new knowledge for European explorers in their search for ‘green gold’, and the
imperial implications of centralised scientific language. Meanwhile, chapters three and four
examine contemporary attitudes to and practices of abortion, and discuss the process by
which exotic medicine generally was introduced and accepted into European customs,
accordingly. Each chapter is divided into several sub-sections, allowing Schiebinger to
showcase the depth of her research and support her broader arguments, through inquiries into
specific case-studies of regions, plants, people or expeditions. Chapter three (pages 105-149),
for example, kicks off with a history of the Peacock Flower, followed thereafter by an
analysis of abortion in Europe and the Americas, and wraps up with a discussion of the
politics surrounding abortion and the West Indies slave trade.
All these chapters are clearly very intricately thought out, principally covering accounts from
France, England, Germany and the Netherlands, and their colonies in the West-Indies.
Schiebinger works with a wide array of primary sources to support her work, from personal
and official narratives of Trans-Atlantic voyages, botanical and medicinal descriptions in
European pharmacopoeias and letters between prominent members of the colonial scientific
world. As she acknowledges, these largely textual sources favour the narratives of their
typically male European authors, thus often overlooking the experiences of native
Amerindians, slaves and women. Schiebinger does well in overcoming the noticeable
absence of non-European and of female voices in her source-base by extrapolating from
mentions of them. As such, she draws out their knowledge, encounters and agency from the
narratives she works with.
To connect the various themes explored, Schiebinger brings Plants and Empire to a close by
deploying an agnotological lens. She concludes that the European cultural context in the
1700s led to the suppression of the knowledge of abortive properties in exotic plants, chiefly
due to pro-natalist economic mercantilist interests, as well as the broader male-oriented
nature of institutionalised science. Nonetheless, as Risa Cromer notes, Schiebinger’s
agnotological analysis feels somewhat shallow when compared with the rest of the book’s
content.1 Some of the cultural forces, like pro-natalist mercantilism, central to her conclusion,
receive sparse detail here. More rigorous commentary could have provided a more nuanced
appreciation of how these forces developed, and a wider view on why such bodies of
ignorance emerge.
Schiebinger effectively builds on the existing historiography on the practice of science within
colonial frameworks. For example, she borrows some terms, such as ‘bioprospecting’ or
‘armchair botanists’, to illuminate how scientific customs worked and what their place within
the wider colonial enterprise was. She also develops some ideas of other scholars, like Mary
Louise Pratt’s notion of ‘contact zones.’ Schiebinger respecifies these as ‘biocontact zones’,
highlighting the exchange of plants and knowledge thereof on the frontiers between different
cultures. However, her usage of some of these terms has been met with criticism. Micheal
Robinson argues that Schiebinger uses these terms to vilify colonial botany and the ‘pure’
motives of European botanists while glorifying the status of native naturalists.2 This,
however, was not my impression. For example, Schiebinger readily accepts that some terms
can have problematic implications, like the notion of non-Europeans as ‘others’ (page 83),
but she successfully overcomes this by also examining encounters between slaves and
Amerindians (eg. Page 229). Furthermore, she praises colonial scientific practices where it is
due, for instance regarding the successes of smallpox inoculation (chap. 4).
1Risa Cromer, Review of Plants and Empire: Colonial Bioprospecting in the Atlantic World, by Londa
Schiebinger, The Journal of Latin American and Caribbean Anthropology 14, no. 1 (2009): 220.
https://www.proquest.com/scholarly-jo...
atlantic/docview/205483083/se-2.
2Micheal Robinson, Review of Plants and Empire: Colonial Bioprospecting in the Atlantic World, by Londa
Schiebinger and Atlantic History: Concepts and Contours by Bernard Bailyn, The British Journal for the
History of Science 39, no. 4 (2006): 590. https://www.jstor.org/stable/4028517.
Overall, Plants and Empire is an excellent read. Its detail-heavy structure and informed
arguments make it ideal for academics interested in studying how issues of race and gender
intersect with science and empire. Furthermore, Schiebinger’s engaging storytelling and good
humour, in for example intriguing narratives about colonial attempts to steal seeds from one
another (pages 39-44) or ridiculous scientific experiments and cures on exotic poisons (page
156), serve to make the book accessible for the more casually inclined reader. While her
conclusion could have used some refinement, the support she provides for her arguments is
sound, creating a convincing case for why West Indies abortion practices were not transferred
to Europe. Her work is highly relevant, the subject remains a highly politically polarising
topic today, shedding light on the colonial origins of some present negative views on abortion
and birth control.
investigates the intersection of gender, race and colonial politics in the history of science. She
places science within the colonial framework, focusing primarily on the eighteenth century, to
present two key arguments. Firstly, she contends that an interdependent relationship
developed between the institutionalisation of Western botany and imperial expansion,
exploitation and exertion of power as each functioned to advance and consolidate the other.
Secondly, despite the new and improved practice of ‘modern’ science, the development of
certain aspects of available knowledge regarding plants was actively suppressed in Europe.
To inform such broad themes, Schiebinger sets a narrow focal point, delving into the history
of Meriam’s Peacock Flower (Poinciana pulcherrima). Amongst other uses for medicine, the
Peacock Flower has abortifacient qualities, and was used by slaves in the West Indies as a
form of political resistance, to prevent future generations from being born into slavery.
Thereupon, she elaborates Robert N. Proctor’s concept of agnotology (the study of culturally
induced ignorances) to understand why knowledge of the Peacock Flower’s properties never
found its place in the European pharmacopoeias.
Schiebinger structures Plants and Empire into six chapters, each exploring central themes to
her topic and arguments. Chapters one, two and five primarily address her first argument:
they respectively focus on the role of botany in the colonial enterprise, the barriers to
discovering new knowledge for European explorers in their search for ‘green gold’, and the
imperial implications of centralised scientific language. Meanwhile, chapters three and four
examine contemporary attitudes to and practices of abortion, and discuss the process by
which exotic medicine generally was introduced and accepted into European customs,
accordingly. Each chapter is divided into several sub-sections, allowing Schiebinger to
showcase the depth of her research and support her broader arguments, through inquiries into
specific case-studies of regions, plants, people or expeditions. Chapter three (pages 105-149),
for example, kicks off with a history of the Peacock Flower, followed thereafter by an
analysis of abortion in Europe and the Americas, and wraps up with a discussion of the
politics surrounding abortion and the West Indies slave trade.
All these chapters are clearly very intricately thought out, principally covering accounts from
France, England, Germany and the Netherlands, and their colonies in the West-Indies.
Schiebinger works with a wide array of primary sources to support her work, from personal
and official narratives of Trans-Atlantic voyages, botanical and medicinal descriptions in
European pharmacopoeias and letters between prominent members of the colonial scientific
world. As she acknowledges, these largely textual sources favour the narratives of their
typically male European authors, thus often overlooking the experiences of native
Amerindians, slaves and women. Schiebinger does well in overcoming the noticeable
absence of non-European and of female voices in her source-base by extrapolating from
mentions of them. As such, she draws out their knowledge, encounters and agency from the
narratives she works with.
To connect the various themes explored, Schiebinger brings Plants and Empire to a close by
deploying an agnotological lens. She concludes that the European cultural context in the
1700s led to the suppression of the knowledge of abortive properties in exotic plants, chiefly
due to pro-natalist economic mercantilist interests, as well as the broader male-oriented
nature of institutionalised science. Nonetheless, as Risa Cromer notes, Schiebinger’s
agnotological analysis feels somewhat shallow when compared with the rest of the book’s
content.1 Some of the cultural forces, like pro-natalist mercantilism, central to her conclusion,
receive sparse detail here. More rigorous commentary could have provided a more nuanced
appreciation of how these forces developed, and a wider view on why such bodies of
ignorance emerge.
Schiebinger effectively builds on the existing historiography on the practice of science within
colonial frameworks. For example, she borrows some terms, such as ‘bioprospecting’ or
‘armchair botanists’, to illuminate how scientific customs worked and what their place within
the wider colonial enterprise was. She also develops some ideas of other scholars, like Mary
Louise Pratt’s notion of ‘contact zones.’ Schiebinger respecifies these as ‘biocontact zones’,
highlighting the exchange of plants and knowledge thereof on the frontiers between different
cultures. However, her usage of some of these terms has been met with criticism. Micheal
Robinson argues that Schiebinger uses these terms to vilify colonial botany and the ‘pure’
motives of European botanists while glorifying the status of native naturalists.2 This,
however, was not my impression. For example, Schiebinger readily accepts that some terms
can have problematic implications, like the notion of non-Europeans as ‘others’ (page 83),
but she successfully overcomes this by also examining encounters between slaves and
Amerindians (eg. Page 229). Furthermore, she praises colonial scientific practices where it is
due, for instance regarding the successes of smallpox inoculation (chap. 4).
1Risa Cromer, Review of Plants and Empire: Colonial Bioprospecting in the Atlantic World, by Londa
Schiebinger, The Journal of Latin American and Caribbean Anthropology 14, no. 1 (2009): 220.
https://www.proquest.com/scholarly-jo...
atlantic/docview/205483083/se-2.
2Micheal Robinson, Review of Plants and Empire: Colonial Bioprospecting in the Atlantic World, by Londa
Schiebinger and Atlantic History: Concepts and Contours by Bernard Bailyn, The British Journal for the
History of Science 39, no. 4 (2006): 590. https://www.jstor.org/stable/4028517.
Overall, Plants and Empire is an excellent read. Its detail-heavy structure and informed
arguments make it ideal for academics interested in studying how issues of race and gender
intersect with science and empire. Furthermore, Schiebinger’s engaging storytelling and good
humour, in for example intriguing narratives about colonial attempts to steal seeds from one
another (pages 39-44) or ridiculous scientific experiments and cures on exotic poisons (page
156), serve to make the book accessible for the more casually inclined reader. While her
conclusion could have used some refinement, the support she provides for her arguments is
sound, creating a convincing case for why West Indies abortion practices were not transferred
to Europe. Her work is highly relevant, the subject remains a highly politically polarising
topic today, shedding light on the colonial origins of some present negative views on abortion
and birth control.
September 17, 2008
What I learned from this book is that if I am ever in need of an abortion, after Sarah Palin and John McCain outlaw such sinful practices, there is an abortifacient plant growing all over my neighborhood. Also I learned that abortions used to be performed "by hand"...quite literally...and that the Catholic church used to have no problem with abortions as long as they occurred before the "ensoulment" of the fetus.
June 30, 2011
Love it. All chapters useful; wonderful detail on Linnaeus and the Linnaean system. Thoughtful, enviable, wonderful.
March 29, 2019
Très intéressant ! Un regard différent sur l'histoire des femmes, de la médecine, des plantes et du colonialisme.
February 11, 2026
Incredible book from many different angles, all of which were fascinating to me: epistemology, the scientific revolution, gender identity, postcolonial theory, and most of all plants and places! The lack of a transfer of knowledge about the abortifactant qualities of the peacock flower is the overarching metaphor the book uses to engage its themes and at some points I wish it would diverge from this... but is overall a very interesting case study in and of itself.
There was really great interrogation of the different kinds of ignorance/archaeologies of knowledge implicit to the colonial project. I could feel myself getting actively angry at the eurocentric system of taxonomy used to classify plants which is impressive not because I'm not sympathetic to these causes but because prior to reading this book I viewed plants as extremely boring and not really worth deeper consideration... but wow the way taxonomy reifies imperial norms is insanely egregious. The book is really good at breaking this down in a way that doesn't feel annoying or preachy, just show the pure terrible nature of reality for what it is.
The chapter on abortifactants was excellent. I had never really thought about the history of abortion or the relation between abortion and mercantalism, but now I feel really silly for never considering this! There is a very fascinating history of abortion in general (in the European context) before this analysis is extended back to the new world where diverging norms regarding abortion in colonial contexts are explored. The book rightfully frames abortion as a political act not only from a feminist perspective but also as a form of resistance in the context of slavery and the colonial project of assimilation for indigenous people.
Overall would absolutely recommend in spite of the fact that it's basically a textbook about plants. I now want to read more about the history of botany and look forward to doing so in the future!
There was really great interrogation of the different kinds of ignorance/archaeologies of knowledge implicit to the colonial project. I could feel myself getting actively angry at the eurocentric system of taxonomy used to classify plants which is impressive not because I'm not sympathetic to these causes but because prior to reading this book I viewed plants as extremely boring and not really worth deeper consideration... but wow the way taxonomy reifies imperial norms is insanely egregious. The book is really good at breaking this down in a way that doesn't feel annoying or preachy, just show the pure terrible nature of reality for what it is.
The chapter on abortifactants was excellent. I had never really thought about the history of abortion or the relation between abortion and mercantalism, but now I feel really silly for never considering this! There is a very fascinating history of abortion in general (in the European context) before this analysis is extended back to the new world where diverging norms regarding abortion in colonial contexts are explored. The book rightfully frames abortion as a political act not only from a feminist perspective but also as a form of resistance in the context of slavery and the colonial project of assimilation for indigenous people.
Overall would absolutely recommend in spite of the fact that it's basically a textbook about plants. I now want to read more about the history of botany and look forward to doing so in the future!
October 12, 2025
Really fascinating book that covers the complicated engagement between the birth of botany, herbal knowledge and cultivation, and the history of enslavement and indigenous erasure in the Caribbean. It covers a wide range of history from the 17th century to 19th century, with the various European colonizers such as the Dutch, English, Spanish, and Portuguese.
I think that one of the strengths is the focus on women’s labor and their knowledge of plants for herbal remedies. Likewise, the book also discusses the complicated nature of nomenclature for foreign plants in English names. One of the plants that received extensive consideration was the peacock plant, which indigenous and enslaved women used to take control of their fertilities during the dangers of genocide and enslavement to protect themselves and their bodies. It also struck me as powerful that many of these remedies have been lost to time as the African and indigenous peoples sought to keep these powers hidden from Europeans as an act of resistance.
I think that one of the strengths is the focus on women’s labor and their knowledge of plants for herbal remedies. Likewise, the book also discusses the complicated nature of nomenclature for foreign plants in English names. One of the plants that received extensive consideration was the peacock plant, which indigenous and enslaved women used to take control of their fertilities during the dangers of genocide and enslavement to protect themselves and their bodies. It also struck me as powerful that many of these remedies have been lost to time as the African and indigenous peoples sought to keep these powers hidden from Europeans as an act of resistance.
April 28, 2020
An excellent book on the interrelationship between botany and empire - particularly in regards to the "peacock flower" of the Caribbean, which was used as an abortifacient by both Indigenous and African slave women. Schiebinger delves into the world of "agnotology" (culturally induced ignorance) in exploring how the peacock flower was known and not-known in the colonial era.
May 1, 2022
A bit meandering, primarily because the thesis was quite specific and the author had to educate the reader about many topics relates to the history of botany/Bioprospecting/New World trade patterns first.
January 12, 2011
Interesting idea but sort of slow.
Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews