i have quite a few bones to pick with this book, which is honestly impressive when you stop and think about it, because this is a non-fiction book about… gardening. flowers. plants. vibes. how do you mess that up?
let’s start with the real reason i picked this up: fear of humiliation. last year, my best friend and i did a reading bingo. a bingo i lost. not “oh haha we were close” lost. i lost badly. humbling. character-building. one of the prompts this year was “a book that mentions tulips,” and i just wanted to get at least one square done with absolute certainty. no risks. no gambling. this book had flowers in the title. jane austen. surely tulips would show up somewhere. sue me for trying to preserve my dignity.
but jokes aside, i didn’t go into this expecting to dislike it. actually, i thought this would be a perfect pick for me. i’ve been on a non-fiction kick since last year, and i’ve grown especially fond of non-fiction books about fiction—books that give you extra layers, background, context, or new ways to interpret stories you already love. and this one sounded lovely! learning more about the flowers, fruits, and plants mentioned in jane austen’s novels? understanding her relationship with gardening? decoding the meanings behind the natural imagery she used? that sounded cozy, charming, and right up my alley.
and for a brief moment, it really felt like that’s what i was getting.
the first few pages were genuinely good. they focused on roses: different types, their symbolism, and even roses that were specifically bred for a jane austen rose collection—which i did not know existed, and which is objectively very cool. i immediately went on google, screenshotted everything, and sent it all to my resident jane austen connoisseur (aka my best friend). i could already picture myself becoming that annoying person who reads one non-fiction book and suddenly has a bunch of niche facts to share on the subway ride home.
i truly thought this would be one of those books.
and then… it wasn’t.
after those opening pages, this became one of the dullest books i’ve read in a long time.
my biggest issue—and the one that kind of poisons everything else—is that, despite the title, this book has almost nothing to do with jane austen. yes, every chapter technically includes a quote from one of her novels, which might fool you into thinking the book is actually grounded in her work. but those passages are never meaningful. they’re not analyzed, not contextualized, not connected to anything larger.
they’re just… there.
it often goes like this: the author wants to talk about a specific plant—let’s say peaches—so she includes a random sentence from one of austen’s novels where a character happens to walk past peaches. and that’s it. no explanation of why that moment matters, no discussion of symbolism, no exploration of how austen used that image elsewhere or what it might’ve meant to her readers at the time.
and the thing is, those passages are so generic that they could belong to literally any book. change the character’s name and suddenly it’s “clarisse dalloway walked past peaches,” or “sherlock holmes walked past peaches,” or “tony stark walked past peaches.” the peach doesn’t do anything. it doesn’t tell us anything about character, theme, or tone. it’s just a noun existing in a sentence.
what i wanted—and honestly expected—was a book that would tell me something about jane austen’s relationship with nature. what flowers did she mention most often? did certain plants show up more frequently in romantic moments versus tense ones? were there cultural meanings attached to these plants that her contemporary readers would’ve immediately understood? was gardening something she actively loved, or simply a part of daily life that naturally found its way into her writing?
instead, it felt like the author wanted to write a general book about plants and decided to stick jane austen’s name on the cover to make it stand out from the other hundred gardening books on the shelf.
the moments where jane herself actually appears—especially through her letters—should have been the strongest parts of the book. and while those sections were slightly more interesting, they still felt frustratingly superficial. her letters are treated less as something worth unpacking and more as a convenient excuse to pivot to something else. instead of, say, analyzing which plants she mentioned repeatedly or what those mentions reveal about her tastes or daily life, we get a lot of speculation.
“jane lived near this place, so she might have visited this garden.”
“she lived in this area, so she might have seen this greenhouse.”
might.
look, i understand that there are limits to what we know about jane austen. i really do. but when i’m reading non-fiction, especially literary non-fiction, i expect a certain level of caution with assumptions. because the moment you open the door to “this probably happened because it supports my point,” you also open the door to a hundred equally plausible alternatives that completely contradict it.
sure, she might have visited that garden and loved it. she also might have gone once and hated it. or maybe she never went at all—maybe it was raining, maybe she was sick, maybe she stayed home to write instead. we don’t know. and building arguments on “might have” starts to feel flimsy very fast.
and honestly? even if i ignore all of that—even if i pretend this book is just a random non-fiction book about plants—it still doesn’t work.
to me, a non-fiction book needs to have something to say. it doesn’t need to reinvent the wheel or present groundbreaking discoveries. but when every chapter is just a list of facts—the latin name, a description of appearance and taste, and a brief history of how the plant arrived in england—i’m left wondering why this needed to be a book at all. this reads exactly like a wikipedia page. actually, that’s unfair. wikipedia often manages to be more engaging.
there’s no voice. no angle. no curiosity. no sense that the author is genuinely interested in teaching me something new or making me look at these plants differently.
i’m not saying every single plant needs a quirky fun fact. what i am saying is that if you have nothing to add to the conversation—no insight, no interpretation, no fresh perspective—why are you having the conversation in the first place?
it also doesn’t help that every chapter follows the exact same structure and repeats the same ideas. every plant was once a sign of wealth. every plant is now more accessible. yes. we got it. that may be historically accurate, but when it’s the only thing you have to say, repetition starts to feel like filler rather than emphasis.
after a while, it becomes almost comical. every chapter reads like: “this plant used to be expensive and exclusive, and now it’s not.” okay! great! is there anything else you’d like to tell me? cultural associations? literary symbolism? emotional resonance? anything?
by the end, reading this book felt less like learning and more like trudging through slightly reworded versions of the same paragraph over and over again.
overall, this was a waste of time. the illustrations were kind of pretty, but not nearly enough to save it. honestly, i think i would’ve had a better time just scrolling through random wikipedia pages about peaches.