I wish this book were what it’s title (and introduction) claims it will be.
That is, this puts itself forward as a collection of stories about someone who has adventures around seeds and cultivation – implicitly ‘mysteries’ – that he solves. Instead, it’s a series of mini-lectures or, perhaps better said, ‘enthusiasms’ – things we’re told as ‘fun facts’ or reported information.
In other words, there are almost no stories here, no mysteries or adventures that our author has solved.
Early on, he talks of going to a market in Eastern Europe where he finds an old woman selling heritage (or heirloom) vegetables that look striking to him. He buys them, and…that’s the story. He sets it up as an exemplar of his greatest adventures, but there’s nothing more to it than his buying some seeds. Later ‘adventures’ consist of his trading for seeds, or his getting seeds from seed banks, and from friends giving him seeds.
So, yeah, there are virtually none of the mysteries we’re promised, none of the stories that are implicitly supposed to be the sugar that helps the medicine of the history of seeds and cultivation go down.
On the other hand, there is a lot of good information here. It’s just told rather than shown.
And, as Alexander tells it, we get a sense of him as a plant nerd. I mean that sympathetically. He’s the sort of guy you sometimes find yourself next to on an airplane, someone who can talk for hours about things that fascinate him. And, while he can drone on, he also brings an energy that is infectious.
By way of grand example, he organizes this book by discussing seeds that come to us from Eurasia in part one and from the Americas in part two. It’s never clear why he does that; he just asserts that it’s an important distinction, and then he runs with it.
For that matter, he doesn’t really discuss the fundamentals of selective breeding. He refers to them often – I love his implying that countless generations of ancient farmers bred wild plants into the food we know – but he never takes time to explain that. And it’s a shame because a focused discussion of those axiomatic principles would help. They underpin everything here as much as would the missing adventures.
What does remain, drained of the stories and the axioms, is an energetic celebration of “veg’s,” a nerd’s delight in different kinds of food.
My favorite chapter is the one on tomatoes, in large part because I grow tomatoes from seed myself most years. As he talked, I found myself matching him in nerd energy, in an interest that few people share but that we recognize in each other.
In fact, I found myself wishing the tomato chapter were a whole book. Consider this: since tomatoes come from the Americas, they didn’t exist in Europe until the early 16th Century. It took barely a century for them to become synonymous with Italian cuisine. You can’t, after all, have tomato sauce without tomatoes.
And each Italian village developed its own favorite tomato cultivar, all the product of selective breeding in the new growing conditions of the Old World.
There’s good stuff, given to us almost randomly. As I read, I found myself appreciating an irony: my garden if a mess with weeds everywhere and few things in straight lines. Alexander’s garden may be well-planned, but his book has features like my garden – mostly a mess, but with some good eating sprinkled around it.