From the same publisher as the 33 1/3 series, Object Lessons are a similarly pocket-sized range of short, detailed studies, but instead of music they're about stuff, in the widest sense – everything from golf balls to hashtags. I'd hitherto avoided them, because they looked vaguely kin to the short books on narrow but deep themes that the School of Life were doing, and even a vague similarity to anything those numpties produce is enough that I back slowly away in a defensive stance. But this one overcame my reluctance, because come on, the potato. Queen of vegetables. The original superfood. The reason by its absence that all classical and mediaeval banquets, however lavish they may sound, are less appealing to me qua dinners than a trip to the chippy at the top of our road (which isn't even a particularly good chippy). I was already a big fan before I read my first book on them, a study by the excellent John Reader (which isn't referenced here, though there's due reverence paid to Redcliffe Salaman's The History and Social Influence of the Potato, the sort of towering work I'm saving for a rainy day like some people save Ulysses). And to be honest, if I were only to have one potato book I'd probably still go for Reader's – but thank heavens we do not yet live in the sort of nightmarish world where a man must choose only a single book on spuds, for this still has plenty to recommend it. Earle has less of a general survey of the potato's history than Reader, but considerably more politics, including an appearance by French theory's very own Mr Potato Head*, Foucault. The suggestion is that the potato has played a double-edged role in the history of class struggle; on the one hand the 'anarchist tuber' which enables self-sufficiency, and sneaks under the noses of the church and state authorities who can't tithe and tax it as readily as grain or livestock; this is the vegetable which enabled the small Irish farmer to subsist on his own plot, outside the life of wage slavery, and thus whose blight was welcomed by certain of the colonial administrators as a spur to active economic participation well worth the lives lost in the short term (isn't it funny how left accelerationists never seem to notice they're aping the absolute worst capitalists?). But against that is the idea that the sheer efficiency of spuds at converting space and sunlight to calories was as crucial to the evolution of modern capitalism as grain was to the beginnings of urban culture. A study is quoted suggesting potatoes can be blamed for a quarter of the population growth since the wider world found them, which...I mean, ever since I read The World Without Us, I've been cheered by the notion that if humanity does end, we'll at least take the cabbage with us. But to think that the wonderful spud can be held accountable for our teeming overpopulation...I know the fault is ours, and they are but too helpful servants to foolish masters, and yet still it saddens me.
There's plenty more, though, for saying this book is only a hundred or so pages. The history of potato evangelists, some of whose condescensions seem painfully familiar – consider William Buchan in 1797, blaming the poor for their bad diet, and then think that at least he was promoting spuds, not bloody aspartame, so what's this 'progress' business again? The potato's etymology in various languages is considered, as are the various ways in which cultures have considered its relationship to such kindred veg as the sweet potato and Jerusalem artichoke. Falstaff's rain of potatoes is sadly absent, despite Earle having on her desk a postcard with the wise words "Happiness is regular sex and potatoes", but the poetic potato of Heaney and Neruda is considered. The resemblance of the Venus of Willendorf to a vegetable her makers could not have known is the sort of thing from which myths of Atlantis take sustenance, but Earle contents herself with wondering why no myth has ever seen the world created from a cosmic spud; alas, even to the Inca, the vegetable never had the flashy cult status of maize. And finally, co-written with her sister, a chapter musing on the ways in which potatoes are threaded through the history of one immigrant family, her own – and the ways in which the vegetable found it far easier to adapt to new lands than the people did. A book almost worthy of its subject, and when the subject is as magnificent as the potato, I suspect that's all that heaven allows.
*Not that I'll ever hear that name again without a shudder, not after reading certain speculations Earle quotes from Salaman about the rituals surrounding potato cultivation in the tuber's South American cradle.
(Netgalley ARC)