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The Cabaret of Plants: Forty Thousand Years of Plant Life and the Human Imagination by Richard Mabey
snowynight's review against another edition
4.0
I really love how this book extensively explores the science of plants and how they connect with human history. Very accessible yet in-depth read that shows the writer's love and knowledge in this subject.
liil's review against another edition
4.0
The Cabaret of Plants is a book about the amazing plants and their independence of people. It tells about the oldest plants, about the history of plants, the discovery of plants, about the amazing things plants can do such as react, hold a memory and adapt to their surroundings. This book is well written, tells about plants in as though they each have their own story and it is just fascinating!
With some of the plants I wished Mabey would have gone more in depth rather than telling his own history and reflections, and I would have loved to read about a bigger variety of plants, but still it was a wonderfully interesting read.
With some of the plants I wished Mabey would have gone more in depth rather than telling his own history and reflections, and I would have loved to read about a bigger variety of plants, but still it was a wonderfully interesting read.
afalse's review against another edition
3.0
I was expecting something more like a history of plant discoveries. This is some nice stories of humans finding, coveting, and trying to grow plants in the wrong climate. Some interesting stories and interesting science.
dannispanni's review against another edition
1.0
Didn't read it all thoroughly, just glossed over. Sadly it's a little lacklustre for me.
hemlocket's review against another edition
3.0
Started a bit slow for my taste but I loved the mix of personal anecdote, history, science fact, and folklore. A very good work read since chapters are pretty self contained.
mostlyshanti's review against another edition
4.0
Well, this book was a lot of fun. I learned a lot from it. Richard Mabey is a profoundly British writer; he likes the tame plants as much as the wild ones, and this book is utterly rooted (ha!) in the British countryside, a place where I have no spent much time. However, I appreciated all the insight about plants from this book. I was less convinced by the linkage of art and ‘imagination’ but whatever.
As I understand, Richard Mabey is one of those nature writers who have been around for yonks, and one of those people that Britain is all about, who should be allowed to own a piece of wood and write a meditative book or two about it, and wander gently through the wilderness having good times and thinking about plants and generally elevating the discourse, untroubled by happenings in the larger world(I do so hope that Robert Macfaralane is allowed to do this). The Cabaret of Plants at times read like cuttings from his other books (for what it’s worth, have read none of said books) with asides about Erasmus Darwin and yew trees in churches and a (more?) primeval part of Ireland, and the orchid craze. Which is to say: the ordering of this book didn’t matter very much. I wandered through the garden of Mabey’s creation, wondering with him, untroubled by the broader world.
Perhaps the Cabaret of Plants lacks a strong narrative, but it has quirky facts in droves. I can’t really remember any of the specifics, because this is not a book about plants; it’s a book about imagination (as the tagline suggests). Mabey tries to talk about how wildflowers are photographed, but he is really talking about his extraordinary friend who photographs wildflowers. He tries to talk about various botanical artists and succeeds, to some degree; the more crucial point is that from India to Britain, and maybe some places in between, there were artists working with both precision and whimsy. The Cabaret of Plants is not a complete tome by any means. There’s no particular logic (that I could notice) to how the featured plants were selected, and Mabey does not try to offer one. This is not a book about how people relate to plants; it is a book about how some people have related to plants and why one of them is so endlessly fascinated by their doings. Mostly, it is a book about Richard Mavey, and how plants make him happy. Mostly, I didn’t mid being witness to the intense self reflection.
Mabey writes of the Venus Flytrap; like sundew and pitcher plants, it is carnivorous. It doesn’t seem like a plant because it moves (quickly and visibly). It digests. It snaps closed. Venus Flytraps are perhaps obviously peculiar and miraculous; under Mabey’s eyes and through his words, all plants become so, blossoming into weirder and more vivid versions of themselves. That’s the miracle of this book. Reading it is not like watching green sprouts curl out of the ground, brand and sparkling new. It’s like walking through a forest where you haven’t been before and slowly noticing that it has changed and grown in your absence. Plants are like that; they do not demand attention in the way that mewling cats or chest thumping gorillas or even the methodical lines of ants do. Plants are there. Most people on this planet see them every day. But sometimes we need other people to remind us that plants, too, are wonders. Richard Mabey, through this book, lends us new eyes to see the ordinary and extraordinary which grows before us.
As I understand, Richard Mabey is one of those nature writers who have been around for yonks, and one of those people that Britain is all about, who should be allowed to own a piece of wood and write a meditative book or two about it, and wander gently through the wilderness having good times and thinking about plants and generally elevating the discourse, untroubled by happenings in the larger world(I do so hope that Robert Macfaralane is allowed to do this). The Cabaret of Plants at times read like cuttings from his other books (for what it’s worth, have read none of said books) with asides about Erasmus Darwin and yew trees in churches and a (more?) primeval part of Ireland, and the orchid craze. Which is to say: the ordering of this book didn’t matter very much. I wandered through the garden of Mabey’s creation, wondering with him, untroubled by the broader world.
Perhaps the Cabaret of Plants lacks a strong narrative, but it has quirky facts in droves. I can’t really remember any of the specifics, because this is not a book about plants; it’s a book about imagination (as the tagline suggests). Mabey tries to talk about how wildflowers are photographed, but he is really talking about his extraordinary friend who photographs wildflowers. He tries to talk about various botanical artists and succeeds, to some degree; the more crucial point is that from India to Britain, and maybe some places in between, there were artists working with both precision and whimsy. The Cabaret of Plants is not a complete tome by any means. There’s no particular logic (that I could notice) to how the featured plants were selected, and Mabey does not try to offer one. This is not a book about how people relate to plants; it is a book about how some people have related to plants and why one of them is so endlessly fascinated by their doings. Mostly, it is a book about Richard Mavey, and how plants make him happy. Mostly, I didn’t mid being witness to the intense self reflection.
Mabey writes of the Venus Flytrap; like sundew and pitcher plants, it is carnivorous. It doesn’t seem like a plant because it moves (quickly and visibly). It digests. It snaps closed. Venus Flytraps are perhaps obviously peculiar and miraculous; under Mabey’s eyes and through his words, all plants become so, blossoming into weirder and more vivid versions of themselves. That’s the miracle of this book. Reading it is not like watching green sprouts curl out of the ground, brand and sparkling new. It’s like walking through a forest where you haven’t been before and slowly noticing that it has changed and grown in your absence. Plants are like that; they do not demand attention in the way that mewling cats or chest thumping gorillas or even the methodical lines of ants do. Plants are there. Most people on this planet see them every day. But sometimes we need other people to remind us that plants, too, are wonders. Richard Mabey, through this book, lends us new eyes to see the ordinary and extraordinary which grows before us.
ericaland's review
2.0
Eh. I wanted to like it. Interesting subject matter, but author is too precious and florid in his storytelling and description of plants.
cspiwak's review
5.0
Great book. Really a survey, or, perhaps, as advertised , a cabaret. Definitely a jumping off place to find out even more about both the plants and the books and artists mentioned along the way