Review by New York Times Review
A British nature writer is impressed by the ubiquitous resiliency of what we call weeds. TO Britain's train spotters, bird-watching "twitchers" and upper-class twits, let us now add the weed geek. Not so long ago, you'd find them of a weekend on coach tours of East London refuse tips (aka landfills). You could listen for their whistles when they chanced upon a choice specimen, and watch as they gathered to photograph the plant and debate its identity. If you looked carefully among the participants, you'd espy Britain's foremost nature writer, Richard Mabey, the author, most recently, of "Weeds: In Defense of Nature's Most Unloved Plants." Weeds - defined on their most basic level as plants that occur in the wrong place or at the wrong time - have been vexing humans at least since the development of agriculture, forcing us to grapple not only with their aggressive physical forms but also with the paradoxes they present. Take, for example, Indian balsam: it can make rural English riversides "ecologically monotonous," Mabey writes, even as it renders urban wastelands "exotically diverse." Mabey revels in such dichotomies and makes as much as he dares of wee as metaphors for human scrappiness an impertinence, resilience and vulgarity. (The prudish Victorian critic John Ruskin went much further, writing of his disgust with weeds' abnormal shapes and savagery, and the way even a beautiful specimen "hinders other people's business.") Mabey's book is, for the most part, a biological and cultural history of weeds in art, folklore, literature and medicine. One's back aches in sympathy for the author's exhaustive digging through ancient texts, medieval solstice rituals and the botany of Shakespeare. Things pick up - for this reader, at least - with the arrival of weeds as a metaphorical stand-in for Commies and a lively deconstruction of the botano-apocalyptic "Day of the Triffids." Mabey reminds us with wry and subtle humor of weeds' usefulness: they stabilize soil, curb water loss, provide shelter for other plants and repair landscapes shattered by landslides, flood, fire, development and artillery. (One 1945 survey found 126 plant species in London's bomb craters.) Weeds have served as food, fuel, medicine, dyes and building material for a variety of insects, birds and humans. All that, and pulling them from the earth builds character too. As the 17th-century herbalist. William Coles wrote, they "exercise the Industry of Man to weed them out." If you are not yet persuaded to spare the hoe and the herbicide, consider that weeds are largely a consequence of human activity. We've circulated weeds around the world in ships' ballast and in the slipstreams of trains, in packaging materials, in brewers' and wool merchants' raw goods, in the soil of our imported and exported plants. We've sped the march of some maritime species, like Danish scurvy grass, by salting roadways, thus creating ideal conditions inland for weeds formerly restricted to shorelines. (Yes, Mabey's view is Anglocentric: the edge of the Milton Keynes Telephone Exchange car park, where bee orchids grow, isn't likely to resonate with American readers. But if you've gotten that far in the book, place is probably irrelevant.) One can't help being impressed by weeds' ingenuity. They've grown hooks, burrs, spines, rib hairs and a sort of glue to move their seeds around. (Non-weeds have similar clever tricks, though Mabey, in his zealous weed exceptionalism, doesn't mention that.) Weeds reproduce quickly: the underground stems of nettle, for example, can grow two feet a year. Weeds can also bide their time until conditions suit their fancy: in the case of bindweed seeds, 40 years. Field bindweed, Mabey writes, has "an almost foolproof insurance portfolio." Each plant produces about 600 seeds, some of which germinate in summer, and some in autumn. Its roots penetrate more than 18 feet deep, and its above-ground shoots can spring from either the underground stems or the roots. Cut any part of the thing and you succeed only at promoting new shoots - shoots so freakishly tenacious they can find their way to a light source, in one lab experiment, through a maze of blackened tubes. For all our attempts to thwart weeds, they've almost always gotten the upper hand. Many times, Mabey explains, our efforts at eradication have actually improved weeds' fitness. Hoeing gave an advantage to weeds with deeper roots, while chemical weed killers favored those with a mutation conferring resistance. In response to human actions like late harvesting of crops and cutting by sickle and scythe, weeds have evolved to mimic the size, shape, height and coloring of plants favored by man for food. Farmers may wring their calloused hands over this, but in urban areas, foraging for plantae non gratae has found new enthusiasts among the soft-skinned and well fed - people who feel, Mabey writes skeptically, "as if ingesting wild plants put you back in touch with your biological roots, with your sense of the seasons, with your whole understanding of food as a product of natural processes." Nature writers have long looked at the spiritual relation of man and place, but as the boundaries of nature and civilization blur, the genre has increasingly emphasized, often in a scolding way, how little remains of the natural world. Mabey argues, without scolding, that at a time of great environmental change and uncertainty, weeds may soon be all we've got left. Tolerate them, he advises; celebrate their exuberant resilience, adjust your perspective. Fight them, and we may end up with nothing. No matter one's opinion of weeds, they are here to stay - invaders, surely, but also "part of the heritage or legacy of a lace." Mabey has come to terms with the plants he seeks out in dumps but also laboriously rakes, chops, sifts and sieves from his garden. The dichotomy, one suspects, is more delectable than the digging. Elizabeth Royte's latest book is "Bottlemania: Big Business, Local Springs, and the Battle Over America's Drinking Water."
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [July 31, 2011]
Review by Booklist Review
Since the dawn of agriculture, humans have cursed weeds that spoiled their crops. Farmers, gardeners, government bureaucrats, and scientists have often joined forces to eradicate pesky plants that they calle. Adam's curs. o. seeds of Satan. Pulling, hoeing, spraying, and legislating, however, have failed to stop plants that defy human horticultural plans. In his wide-ranging cultural history, Mabey claims failure is understandable, for the foe is ever evolving and difficult to define. There are no scientific criteria for identifying weeds, which come from nearly every plant family. Weeds are simply plants wrongly placed according to human plans. With stories drawn from history and current events, Mabey shows that weeds are the plants best adapted to soil disturbed by cultivation. Furthermore, studies show that most but not all weeds pose no danger to undisturbed preserves of woods, marshes, or savannah. With a mixture of dry wit and serious science, Mabey's provocative book for larger science collection. suggests an alliance with weeds the plants that may save us in a time of global warming.--Roche, Ric. Copyright 2010 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
As popular British science writer Mabey (Food for Free) observes, "weeds are our most successful cultivated crop." They rely on humans who inadvertently cultivate their soil, sow their seeds, and transport them around the globe. This lively, erudite work invites readers to take a new look at the lowly and unloved weed. Mabey explains how weeds have cunningly evolved to survive natural disasters, human devastation, climate change, and almost every attempt to eradicate them. He weaves together a complex, fascinating tale of history and botany that travels from the first farm fields of Mesopotamia to the bomb craters of the London Blitz and the lowly industrial outfields of our modern cities. The ubiquitous weeds are alternately menacing and redemptive. Mabey's stories are filled with obscure history, engaging characters, and descriptions of threatening invasive plants that can rival any science fiction thriller. Weeds mock our best efforts to control them and they may very well survive us. In this thought-provoking, engrossing natural history, Mabey deftly argues that the world's most unloved plants deserve our fascination and respect. 12 b&w line drawings. (July) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review
British naturalist Mabey (columnist, BBC Wildlife magazine; Flora Britannica) explores the world of weeds-defined as plants designated a nuisance by humans. Using everything from primary botanical and literary sources to his own personal experiences with weeds, he shares their lore, legends, and history. He discusses a variety of weeds and gives examples of how a plant that was useful at one time is later considered a weed and how something thought a weed by some is considered beautiful by others. He discusses weeds' varied habitats, botany, and natural history, including their reproductive techniques and dispersal methods, as well as the problems they cause worldwide, from the merely irritating to the very destructive. Mabey tells the stories of the poppies that appeared on the battlefields after World War I, how kudzu has taken over the southeastern United States, and how weeds were the first plants to colonize the bombed areas of London during World War II. He also shares how weeds are portrayed in art and literature and the interesting scientific studies centered on them. VERDICT A readable, wide-ranging, carefully documented, and personal look at a group of plants not often written about in a sympathetic manner. Recommended.-Sue O'Brien, Downers Grove P.L., IL (c) Copyright 2011. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
British nature writer and popular BBC personality Mabey (Unofficial Countryside, 2010, etc.) cultivates an intriguing mix of natural history, botany and anecdotes from the frontlines of his own weed-infested garden.A weed is often defined as "a plant in the wrong place," writes the author at the beginning of this loving and lyrical tribute to those he refers to as "botanical thugs." He goes on to discuss how weeds originate, since the source of and paths traveled by various seeds can often be traced, much like a family lineage. Through his examination of the historical hows and whys of seed travel, the author artfully explains how these jet-lagged seeds can create unique gardens anywhere from marshy river banks to desolate, cracked parking lots. His engaging writing style transforms what might otherwise be a stodgy, uninteresting field guide into a literary stroll through an English garden. Mabey may be pro-weed, but his gentle voice is oddly persuasive, reminding readers that weeds are nothing more than "a plant growing where you would prefer other plants to grow, or sometimes no plants at all," and "the victims of guilt by association, and seen as sharing the dubious character of the company they keep." Throughout the ages, weeds have been both praised for their healing measures and feared for their "seemingly diabolical powers." Regardless how their worth is perceived, none can deny the inspiration they've provided throughout the annals of history as important figures in history and literature. Shakespeare, for example, mentions more than 100 species of wild plant in his works. Mabey's deft and spirited treatise on nature's supervillains will have readers remembering A.A. Milne's defense of weeds in Winnie the Pooh: "Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them."Transforms a much-maligned annoyance into a topic worthy of fascination.]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
