Bananas on Bennies
I’m a big fan of “commodity histories” -- books on how everyday objects and products have become interwoven into our daily lives. It's odd that while many educated Americans know the year the Titanic sank, for example, scarcely any of them know the provenance of the items on their breakfast table – the coffee in their cup or the banana sliced onto their cornflakes. And this is a shame, really, for it’s quotidian details as much as major events that shape our lives.
It turns out that bananas have a fascinating back story. What a disappointment, then, that this book falls short of doing it justice. I’d rate Bananas two and a half stars – I enjoyed the subject matter but was often irritated at author Dan Koeppel’s manner of telling it. His book bore a curious resemblance to the Cavendish banana (that’s almost the sole variety consumed in the U.S. and Europe, by the way): a product packaged for popular consumption, a little bland and inoffensive. It’s a pity, really, for I’d love to see such a quirky subject handled with more verve, but Koeppel seemed intent on watering it down for the masses.
The book also suffers from a strange sort of bibliographic ADD: it can’t seem to focus on any subject for more than a few pages. Now I know that weaving back and forth between several narrative threads is de rigueur these days, but Koeppel goes to extremes. The 241-page central story is broken up into thirty-six chapters, some a mere three pages long. The result is an overly choppy, jittery narrative with capricious sequencing.
For example, Chapter 12, which focuses on the ambitious rise of banana entrepreneur Samuel Zemurray, is followed by a three-page exposition on Tin Pan Alley and the genesis of the song “Yes, We Have No Bananas.” Then, willy-nilly, Koeppel treats us to another short three-page discourse, this time on the spread of that bane of banana plantations, Panama disease.
Chop-chop-chop…. On and on it goes, jerking back and forth among narrative threads, some of which are only peripheral to the two major components of the story, either of which would have been a book in its own right.
These two aspects are the political and the agricultural. I was more familiar with the latter, having read an interesting article in The New Yorker in December 2010 on the spread of a devastating fungus that is jeopardizing the world’s supply of what has become a monoculture: the Cavendish banana. However, I was less familiar with the fruit’s political history, and in particular the rise of the “banana republics.” This part of the story has been dealt with in several other books, which is perhaps why the author chose to hedge his bets and include material on the efforts of banana breeders and genetic engineers to come up with a disease-resistant and marketable successor to the Cavendish banana.
I was less than enamored with Koeppel’s style, a combination of pedestrian prose and forced attempts at humor, often with a creepy confiding tone. There were some cutesy metaphors I could have done without, such as when he likens gene splicing to splicing together reels of film, producing “the best qualities of both: Rhett Butler played by Harrison Ford and Scarlet O’Hara with a cinnamon-bun hairstyle.”
Come again? Do I need that image in my mind as I slog through the details of gene splicing?
Or, for that matter, do I need this?
“I remember the first time I ever understood that the retelling of ordinary events could become magic. I a teenager, just beginning to write, searching for inspiration. I’d always loved books about other worlds – science fiction, Edgar Rice Burrough’s Tarzan series, even old pulp novels I bought at a local junk shop. But it had only recently begun to occur to me that the greatest constructed worlds could be found in works that were considered to be ‘true’ literature. That point was made most sharply with Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude…”
This is how the author leads with his arse into a discussion of the “banana massacre” in Colombia in 1928, when the United Fruit Company violently put down a strike. Now, I just have to say that there are writers who can pull this sort of indulgent reminiscence off, but Koeppel isn’t one of them.
Last, but not least, I wish Koeppel had used footnotes to cite his source material. I suppose he deemed them too “academic” for the average reader or something. Instead, his sources (both major and minor) are dropped into the narrative with an audible
CLUNK!
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“Because Panama disease was permanently making fallow so much of its existing holdings, the fruit companies had a continuous need for new land, according to John Soluri, author of Banana Cultures: Agriculture, Consumption, and Environmental Change in Honduras and the United States.”
Ultimately, I have to say the reason I finished the book at all was that I began enjoying rewriting it in my head. There's some champion material here, but the writing is lackluster and the organization is downright addled.