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 Cod is a fish most of us probably take for granted. We can buy it, though it’s often expensive, and we don’t always think about where it came from, how it got to be popular, or what’s going to happen to it next. Mark Kurlansky does just that, however, and explore cod’s role in history from when its abundance helped the Vikings to explore to the present day, when overfishing has severely depleted fish stocks. Interspersed with this look at cod and its history are recipes from each time period, giving the book an authentic feel and an extra edge.
I thought this book was surprisingly interesting. I originally wanted to read Salt by Kurlansky, which does a similar thing but rather obviously with salt, and when my library didn’t have that one I spotted this one instead. I’ve recently started to eat more fish – it’s healthier and I seem to have outgrown my distaste for most of it – so it also seemed like great timing to learn a little bit more about cod. With history in the mix, how could the book go wrong?
Thankfully, it didn’t go wrong at all, and remained interesting and informative throughout. Because of Kurlansky’s focus on cod, he does neglect some of the wider issues, so at times I didn’t feel like I was getting a full picture. Cod was obviously not the only reason that the Vikings explored the north Atlantic, and it also wasn’t the only reason that Boston became an important city – but it helped both of those along, and I think the book may have lost some of its focus if he delved into some of the deeper issues. I suppose all I’m trying to say is that it sparked my interest in some other time periods, so I could learn a bit more about them in addition to learning about the fish.
Of course, the book also deals very heavily with the main problem facing cod these days, which is overfishing. Due to long-term misunderstanding about the way cod worked and rampant attempts to land more of the incredibly abundant fish, there is now an incredible shortage and, at the time the book was written, moratoriums on fishing cod in parts of Canada. Kurlansky writes about the many problems this has caused; namely, the fact that the fish may not recover the same way, the loss of livelihoods for the fishermen, and the changes in sealife that the lack of cod may cause. There’s a lot of theorizing here, but I could appreciate that it was because no one really knows what will happen, and they still don’t know. All they can do is hope that overfishing stops long enough for the stock to recover, and that it does precisely that.
As for the last bit, the recipes, they did add something nice to the book, but I found that overall I wouldn’t be making any of them towards the beginning! They were very interesting in terms of learning what people ate at different times in history, but for myself? Not so much. They are fairly basic, however, so anyone interested would be able to make them with ease.
Cod is a really interesting book about the fish and its role in history. It’s well worth a read if you’ve ever been interested in the fish or its role in history – or even if you’re just looking for something a little bit different.
I am an Amazon Associate. I borrowed this book from my local library.
 Having taken a rather memorable few trips through Europe in his youth and early adulthood, Bill Bryson decides to repeat the experience solo as an adult. After all, at the time of writing he lived in England but had hardly ever traveled across to the continent. In an effort to remedy that, he first sets off for Norway to watch the Northern Lights, then slowly makes his way south to city after city of hotel rooms and amusing cultural insights, ending up in Istanbul.
It’s no secret that I am a big fan of Bill Bryson, and now that I’m off on my first ever trip to the Continent myself, I thought it was the perfect time to be reading this book. I’m only going to Paris right now, but I have big plans for the future, and I couldn’t wait to read Bryson’s perspective on Europe. (I did plan to read a book more specifically on Paris, but the library lost it before it got to me, so I chose this instead.) Bryson didn’t disappoint me at all, and I found myself laughing along at all of his jokes and thoroughly enjoying this book. I also discovered that it was perfect for late night Read-a-thon as everything he says just becomes hilarious when you’re that tired. I may possibly have preferred more depth – a bit more detail on the history of each place perhaps – but I was still quite pleased with what I got.
What I like most about his books is that while he encounters stereotypes and in many respects has a “typical” experience in certain countries, I never feel like he’s stereotyped the country without a good bit of humor. He pokes fun at them, but he also regularly pokes fun at himself in the world, so it’s impossible to be offended by anything – something which I admired when reading his books about my own country. I like that Bryson’s books feel like a friend has sat chatting with me about his trip; they’re not high literature or particularly sophisticated, they’re just about a really funny writer who has had quite a few memorable trips and life experiences.
Contrasting his trip now with his trip years ago really brought to life how much the world has changed in a short span of time and simultaneously how much remains the same. Our world is indeed evolving, but in ways perhaps different from what we might expect. The most poignant section of the book for me was his trip back to Sofia, Bulgaria, formerly in his mind a wonderful place with a particularly notable huge shopping mall. When he arrived this time, there were queues for bread and the shopping mall was virtually empty. The landmarks were the same, but the entire feel of the city had changed and was set to change again just a short time later.
I’m definitely looking forward to reading more by Bill Bryson – his later writing is definitely better, if The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid is any indication, so I’ll be rounding out my collection of his books sometime in the very near future. In the meantime, Neither Here, Nor There was an amusing, sarcastic little read and I would definitely recommend reading it before or during a trip to Europe.
I am an Amazon Associate. I purchased this book.
 Explorers throughout the ages have been convinced that a huge city lies within the Amazon rainforest. Descriptions written by the first conquistadors only backed them up, and many men set out to find it only to lose their lives in the process. One such determined explorer was Percy Fawcett, who took his son and his son’s best friend into the jungle. Convinced he knew where the city was, he eagerly set off with the boys and only two guides, only to vanish forever. Mysterious legends sprouted up around his disappearance as well. Dozens of years later, author David Grann decides to head into the forest after them, seeking to find out what really happened to the trio and to uncover some truths about the mystical city itself.
What a fascinating book. You may notice I’ve been into travelogues lately, and there is nothing I enjoy more than an author combining history with his or her own personal journey. This is precisely what Grann does with his search for a city in the Amazon. I adored the chapters on Fawcett, on the Amazon, and was as wrapped up in the legend as all the explorers were – although not quite enough to set off on foot through the Amazon. I particularly appreciated the fact that Grann travels in a vehicle and notes that such a journey would have taken Fawcett weeks of hacking through undergrowth. When Grann thought his trip was hard, it really brought into focus how incredibly difficult exploration of the rainforest was for men of Fawcett’s time and before.
Grann also notes that explorers of the Amazon are often ignored in favor of those who explored the North Pole. For one thing, those explorers eventually succeeded, whereas no one managed to find the city of Z. The exact same thing was happening while Fawcett was alive. He struggled to get funding whereas northern explorers received both money and glory. He became famous in the end, only to vanish at the apex of his popularity. One particularly notable chapter included a famed northern explorer heading into the Amazon with Fawcett, only to turn back because he couldn’t take it. It seems that either you’re suited to risking your life in intense heat and with many creatures out to kill you, or you’re more suited to dying of the cold – you can’t be awesome at both apparently.
I was probably least interested in Grann’s personal story. It’s fairly obvious that he hasn’t died, which takes away all of the suspense, and he doesn’t really risk his life that much either. I’m not saying that he imposes himself too much on the story; he doesn’t, it’s simply that I find historical details far more exciting. He does make a few interesting discoveries, mainly at the end, and it’s worth it to get an up close and personal look at the natives that are likely very similar to those that Fawcett and various other teams encountered while on their hunt for the city.
The Lost City of Z was a fascinating look into exploring the Amazon rainforest and all of its perils. I would definitely recommend it.
I am an Amazon associate. I borrowed this book from my local library.
 Anchee Min grew up in China during the Cultural Revolution. She was virtually responsible for her younger siblings since the age of six, as her parents both had to work all day and thus had no time to actually provide for the family. Min grew up an ardent supporter and worshipper of Chairman Mao, even going off to become a peasant in relatively good spirits. It was only love that made her realize there was something wrong with the way her society worked, and which would eventually propel her to leave China and make her home in the West instead.
Since I’ve enjoyed a few fiction books by Anchee Min, I thought I’d read her memoir and see what really happened to her in the midst of Mao’s China. It was certainly a rewarding read, but since I’ve been quite obsessed with the period lately not much about it was actually new – it was just a new perspective on a similar story. It’s always vastly interesting to realize how completely people bought into the Communist mindset, if hard to believe – Min freely admits that she fell a victim to the craziness of the culture as much as anyone else did. It took her a long, long time to realize that life might be better elsewhere – so long that it’s not even in the scope of this book.
At the center of the book is a love story between Min and one of her Communist leaders. While the details are never totally explicit, the eroticism of this bit startled me and a love affair wasn’t quite what I was expecting in the midst of all the strict farming and regulations. She very eloquently demonstrates the fact that only this intense love can inspire minds – at least her mind – to break free of all the conditioning that had been forced into them throughout the years. Anchee Min seized not only on this relationship but on others, feeling them all the more intensely for their forbidden nature.
What was most incredible to me is the fact that Min is precisely the same age as my parents, and that really brought home to me how recent this was. Her life is so vastly different from my parents’ that it’s almost impossible to believe they lived in the same century. Shortly after this I read Chinese Whispers by Jan Wong, which also gave wonderful perspective on this in the light of modern China and how everything has become vastly different again. Min’s own story is set just in the right period to be an absolutely fascinating portrait of all that China was, no matter how brief that period was in their history.
This may not be my favorite account of life in China during the Cultural Revolution, but it was certainly an interesting one. I’d recommend Red Azalea to anyone interested in the period or looking for more on Anchee Min’s life in comparison to her fiction.
I am an Amazon Associate. I borrowed this book from my local library.
 Mineko Iwasaki was the foremost geisha of her time, to the extent where she became a legend and was invited to entertain the highest levels of world society. When Arthur Golden wrote his novel, Memoirs of a Geisha, he consulted with Mineko but was apparently sworn to silence. Unfortunately, he then went on to tell people that it was Mineko who had spoken with him about the life of geisha in Japan; Mineko herself was upset that he had twisted what she said and as a result chose to write this book, her own memoirs, to explain to the world what geisha really are, what they do, and her own life story (much of which Golden borrowed for his own book).
I read Memoirs of a Geisha a long time ago, but I remember enjoying it thoroughly when I did. I was later dismayed to learn that Golden’s story wasn’t nearly so close to the truth as I’d imagined and that in fact he got a number of things wrong. (Yes, I have always been picky about historical fiction). I’d heard about Mineko Iwasaki writing her own book, and wanted to read it, but for some reason never actively sought it out. Then I saw it on the shelf in a charity shop and I was reminded that I really did want to read it and learn something a little closer to the truth than was portrayed in Golden’s book.
This isn’t the best written memoir I’ve ever read; Mineko Iwasaki has a ghost writer, Rande Brown, helping and presumably transforming her story into better English, but she definitely maintains a distance throughout and the book is very simple in tone. The story she has to tell, however, is far from simple and is completely engrossing. I did have the sense that Mineko purposely picked and chose which episodes to relate in order to emphasize certain facts about geisha (she splits them into two groups, maiko and geiko) which she knew that Golden got wrong or deliberately changed, but that didn’t lessen my interest in the memoir as a whole.
Sometimes, however, I had trouble believing what she’d said. For example, she first says that men rarely got very far into the okiya, the house in which a family of geisha lived. There were prescribed hours men were allowed in, and she uses this to argue that geisha are most certainly not prostitutes. But shortly afterwards she relates the fact that her older sister did bring men into the house and allowed them to sleep over, that she ran into them in the bathroom, and then was nearly raped by her own nephew in that same house. If men could not enter the house, why were these men permitted in?
She also begins the book when she is three years old and ascribes to herself adult thoughts and sayings. I couldn’t believe that a five year old child made the decision on her own to become a geiko, which led me to believe that in fact her parents were willing to sell her like they’d sold her sisters – all of whom became very bitter. Mineko seems like a much more driven and responsible girl, and since she did end up happy with her life, I wonder if she’s forgiven her parents and thus portrayed them in a much kinder light than she might otherwise have done. It is possible that at five she decided she wanted to be a geisha, but I would think her parents had a greater role in such a choice than either she knew or wanted to disclose.
Saying those things, I did thoroughly enjoy this memoir even if I took a few of her memories with a grain of salt. I knew little about the life of geisha and I was happy to be educated. Mineko is something of a rock star; she was the foremost geisha until she abruptly retired in the middle of her career, sick of the rules and restrictions that she couldn’t manage to change. She was so popular that no less than seventy other geisha retired within a few months of her, to pay her respect; she wanted to make changes, not endanger the profession, which is what may have ended up happening after her retirement.
As always, it was the little details that thoroughly captivated me. The clothes Mineko wore – backed up by the amazing photographs in which she looks astonishingly like a painting – the life she lived, the few skills she had as a normal human being. No one ever taught her any conception of money, for example, until she was in her twenties, so she worked constantly knowing she had to support the okiya but without any real conception of how much she was earning or how much money could buy certain things.
Despite my reservations, this was a truly fascinating book. I wish more geisha would write memoirs so I could compare and get a little closer to the truth, but for now, I would definitely recommend Geisha of Gion.
I am an Amazon Associate. I purchased this book.
 Bess of Hardwick wasn’t born to privilege. The daughter of a relatively small landlord, she rose to high status slowly and purposefully. Placed in high status houses, she married four men and outlived all of them. She also outlived three monarchs and built a number of houses, the most prestigious of which is Hardwick Hall in Derbyshire. She became one of the richest and most powerful women in Elizabethan and early Stuart England, a time when women were still chattel, and died wealthy, in a house that she herself had constructed, after a long and productive life.
My first encounter with Bess of Hardwick was in the novel A Woman of Passion by Virginia Henley. I was still in my initial romance novel stage of reading, and much of that particular novel is romantic, but it really led me to be curious about the woman behind the fiction, the actual Bess of Hardwick. It also ends when she marries Shrewsbury, or so I recall, which leaves plenty of interesting years completely without mention. Then just recently I visited Hardwick Hall myself and was reminded of why I was so interested in her. The house itself is ridiculously impressive, with its huge windows, imposing winding staircases, and immense visiting halls. I wanted to know more, and so when I saw this book in the library, I decided it was time.
On first impression, I was actually amazed at how easy this was to read. I love history, but it does take longer to read and naturally provokes more thought than an average fiction novel, at least for me. This, though, was so interesting and enjoyable that I actually found myself going well beyond my daily page targets because I just was so curious about what happened next. Bess’s childhood is mostly skimmed over, of necessity really since very little information is available about her specifically. Instead, the author regales us with all sorts of interesting information about Tudor childhoods in general and Bess’s family in particular. I knew some of it, but not all of it, and I was completely fascinated, as I was with most of the book.
Lovell then goes on to talk about Bess’s various marriages, her children, and her gradual rise to power and prominence. She quotes from plenty of letters, although mostly from others to Bess, and keeps everything in a neat and tidy timeline so that it’s easy to trace Bess’s life from start to finish. There are plenty of details and documentation, and she does argue with the generally accepted historical record sometimes – including denouncing some of my favorites, those pesky historical “facts” which seem to have no basis in actual documentation. These are generally started by a historian somewhere along the way (usually in the 19th century) who of course did not name his sources and probably just made up that particular fact. There is no way of actually knowing if it’s true or not, so it’s best to stick with what we actually do know. So the book was not just an entertaining biography, but intellectually stimulating as well.
Bess of Hardwick brought home to me how much I miss history with its fascinating portrait of a woman who proved her worth over and over again. Undoubtedly Bess would have been the CEO of some humongous corporation these days, but in her own time she was a clever, enchanting woman who made her money work for her, loved her husbands and children, and generally proves everyone who denounces Tudor women wrong. I would enthusiastically recommend this book to anyone who enjoys history, especially Tudor history.
I am an Amazon Associate. I borrowed this book from my local library.
 Empress Wu was the first woman in Chinese history to become a reigning empress. Getting there wasn’t easy; as a lower concubine, which she became at the age of 13, Wu was little more than a servant, and would have been banished to a convent forever on the death of Emperor Taizong. Luckily for her, she encountered his son Gaozong before his death, and Gaozong became enamored with her, taking her from the convent and eventually replacing his current empress with her. With that mission accomplished, Wu set forth on her goal to achieve recognition for herself and, in some ways, for all Chinese women; her methods may have been brutal, but so was the time in which she lived.
Anyone who thinks the Tudors are exciting and scandalous should try on the 7th century Chinese for a change! I was frankly amazed at all the drama, scandal, and murder that went on in this court and over the course of the book. It’s fairly well documented but even so, I’m quite shocked that other people can treat each other so badly and not really seem to notice. This book was nothing short of exciting, especially for non-fiction; it’s no wonder that Wu’s life has been depicted in writing and in film a number of times over the years.
I didn’t know too much about Wu to start with; I had never read anything about her, but after I finished Under Heaven I set out looking for non-fiction about the same time period. This is set a number of years before, but the events herein had a large impact on the following history, so I just went with this book. Let me tell you, my interest in Chinese history is properly rewarding. Wu was a completely fascinating woman and I’m surprised that we have so much information on someone who lived so long ago. I can place her nicely in the context of Europe and I’m amazed at how different the cultures are.
I was also surprised at how many things were the same in China as they would be in the late nineteenth century. Now, I haven’t read any non-fiction about that period yet, but just from reading Empress Orchid I recognized the huge palaces, the tropes of different levels of concubines with different names brought in purposely to please the emperor, the huge amount of ceremonial events, and of course the endless intrigue.
What I loved most about this book, however, was easily Clements’s even-handed treatment of Wu and all of her cronies. Yes, she did some pretty terrible things; there were some more terrible things she might have done or her relatives might have done under her name; and then there were good things that she did. For example, she murdered the Empress before her and a rival concubine by drowning them in wine after dismembering them. She also may have conveniently offed her kids. That’s pretty bad, and I don’t think anyone is going to absolve her of those crimes. But she also raised the profile of women by increasing the mourning time for mothers and insisting on incorporating female halves of traditionally male ceremonies. Yes, she was ruthless and furthered her own ambitions, but she also did her part to make women important, too.
I also loved at the end how Clements stepped back and looked at Wu’s behavior in light of other, male emperors, and came to the conclusion that she behaved similarly to them. She had lots of lovers, she killed her enemies, but China prospered under her rule. Men who behaved just like that were regarded as heroes, while she has been regularly vilified throughout history. Is it just because a woman had the daring to act like a man?
I don’t know, but I like historians who question prejudice about women. Murder is never a good thing, but should a woman be condemned for it more than a man? I don’t think so.
Anyway, I’ll just conclude by highly recommending Wu. I think the subtitle (the Chinese empress who schemed, seduced, and murdered her way to become a living God) isn’t so good, but the book itself is just excellent.
I am an Amazon Associate. I borrowed this book from my local library – but you can bet I’ll be buying this guy’s other books.
 A single steamer ride threw Theresa Longworth and Charles Yelverton together in 1852. They didn’t begin to correspond immediately, but Theresa soon found reason to write a letter to Yelverton, starting off a haphazard courtship and irregular marriage that would change the course of her life forever. Theresa’s fight for recognition as Yelverton’s wife highlight the serious issues with Victorian marriage laws in Great Britain, while her sojourn and writings later on in her life demonstrated her will to retain independence and support herself no matter the cost.
This was a truly fascinating book. Theresa and Yelverton’s courtship is carried on almost completely in letters, and while there were not nearly enough excerpts for me, Schama’s narrative was enough to keep me curious and wondering about Yelverton’s motives in particular. I particularly enjoyed the sections where Theresa was a nurse in the Crimean war; they were disturbing but illuminating, and I appreciated the references to the better-known Florence Nightingale. I was astonished at the fact that a couple could essentially get married twice, have it certified as legal in both Scotland and Ireland, yet allow the man to marry again and acknowledge the second marriage over the first in England, more or less because he chose that marriage.
Just the various court battles provide for surprisingly good reading, especially the first one. There’s a curious dichotomy between Theresa’s somewhat obvious “promiscuity” – staying with Yelverton as his wife despite the questionable legality of their marriage, surely a Victorian no-no – and the courtroom portrayal of her as a virtuous innocent used by a man.
The second half of the book covers the end of the court battle, with Theresa continuing to use Yelverton’s name but going off to live her own life. At times, the book definitely suffered from having a less coherent narrative here. Schama sometimes has to delve into various backstories of history to explain why Theresa does things and goes places, which was necessary but dragged. Without the love letters, the book had a less personal feel and I felt like I couldn’t relate to the older Theresa as much as the younger one.
But what she accomplished was fantastic – making herself a living off of her writings and traveling the world. She traveled throughout Europe, the Americas, and Asia, documenting it all in a series of fictional retellings. I wish these books were still in print. I loved that Theresa’s writings to defend herself early on in her life lent her the voice and independence to make it on her own at a time when women had few rights. The rest of her life almost reads like defiance; if the courtroom couldn’t recognize her right to her marriage and a husband’s protection, she was going to prove that she didn’t need it anyway.
I’ve seen a few reviews around that suggest the book was written in too scholarly a tone, so I think it is important to note here that it’s non-fiction and reads like a non-fiction book. I didn’t have a problem with this at all and in fact enjoyed the more factual tone – the book never slips in sensationalism as it so easily could have done – but it’s worth briefly noting. The entire thing is less than 300 pages long, so even when parts do drag they’re usually over in 10 pages and something more interesting has happened again.
I also totally loved the literary references sprinkled throughout the book. Schama especially notes how the courtship and later court battle between Yelverton and Theresa gave rise to numerous fictional stories around similar subjects; she actually discovered the story through a literary footnote. I think these little tidbits perfectly tied the book into its historical and literary context, reminding me of what I’d read before and what I really should read again.
Overall, Wild Romance was an excellent book. It’s a fascinating historical account of an extraordinary Victorian woman, poking at the society’s flaws – not just in England, but worldwide – while demonstrating how a truly motivated woman could go about making a life for herself in nontraditional ways. The first half was better than the second half, but it’s all worth reading.
I am an Amazon Associate. I received this book for free from the LibraryThing Early Reviewers program.
 Bee Rowlatt is a BBC journalist looking for an Iraqi woman to interview. She’s married to a journalist, has two little girls, and leads a fairly normal life in London. May Witwit is an English professor living in Iraq, teaching things like freedom and democracy to female students who have never had those privileges. When Bee gets into contact with May, they start emailing each other and soon develop an incredibly close relationship. As the danger to May escalates, Bee’s worry overcomes her and the friends hatch a plan to get May and her husband out of Baghdad for good.
I loved this book in so many different ways. It was eye-opening, poignant, and just flat out amazing. I’m not even sure I can effectively review it – I kind of just want everyone to read it right this minute.
The book is not really a memoir, it’s just a record of every email sent between Bee and May over the course of two years, during which they meet, grow close enough to call one another sisters, and desperately try to get May out of her life-threatening situation. It’s also not at all about Jane Austen, but I didn’t particularly care. May is an English professor and that’s about as far as it goes – but the title isn’t what is important here.
At first it was the differences between their lives that struck me – both are intelligent women with incredibly vivid personalities, but location has its effects. Bee’s biggest problems are that her girls frustrate her and she has fights with her husband occasionally, especially when he goes on work trips for weeks. She has laundry to do, meals to cook, and works part-time. Her life was so familiar to me, which put it in even more vivid contrast with May’s life.
May is at risk every single day. Bombs drop next door to her house, her friends and colleagues are killed, and her life is personally threatened. She could die at any moment and Bee often expresses the worry that she might just never hear from May again. Because her husband is a Sunni and their marriage has ostracized them from their families, she has to support them both. In times of danger, he simply can’t leave the house. The obstacles that prevent them from even emigrating to a neighboring country are absolutely immense and often ridiculous. May actually laments that things were more organized when Saddam was in control, which I just couldn’t believe.
There was some political comment in the book, of course – May hates the Americans’ presence and feels they’ve made her life worse, which made me so sad, but I could unfortunately see her point. I think anyone would hate the people who brought danger and war to their doorstep, no matter how well-meaning. The asylum issue was mentioned again and as usual the women establish that it’s virtually impossible to attain asylum in the UK, especially because you have to get there to do it and they won’t let you in if you’re actually claiming asylum. They go the academia route instead and try to get May out with a student visa so she can do her PhD.
I just loved the relationship that developed between the two women – it felt so real to me. They also sometimes talk on the phone or send text messages, which left unfortunate little gaps in the narrative. I was greedy for all of their contact, really. It was incredible to read about two women with entirely different life experiences just connecting. I feel like this sort of story can go a long way towards reminding us that we’re all people, no matter what religion or skin color – it genuinely doesn’t matter, and I wish that it didn’t in reality to so many.
I think what I can’t sum up so easily is that Talking About Jane Austen in Baghdad moved me incredibly. I was cheering for May the whole way and at times I could easily have broken into tears. Their story was just amazing and I hope that more people read it and learn that the differences between us aren’t really so immense after all.
I am an Amazon Associate. I borrowed this book from my local library.
 Vanilla is one of the world’s most delicious flavors. It also happens to be one of the most complex and difficult to harvest. The vanilla orchid not only requires manual fertilization outside of its native swathe of Mexico but also has a long and complex drying process that lasts months. As a result, the vanilla bean is an incredibly expensive and desired substance. Tim Ecott journeys to all the places where vanilla is grown, interviewing farmers, buyers, and connoseuirs alongside his telling of the history of this intriguing flavor that is anything but boring.
Vanilla is actually one of my favorite flavors and I’ve been curious about it for a few months now. Last August I visited the Eden Project in Cornwall where they have a vanilla vine and a short description of the intensive process that is required just to get the flowers to bear fruit, then to cure and dry them for general consumption. This book definitely satisfied my curiosity and provided a totally readable and full account of everything I’d ever wanted to know about vanilla.
Tim Ecott’s background is in journalism; he worked for the BBC and his job took him to many of the places he wrote about in the book. It’s something of a travelogue as many of the world’s vacation hotspots are also great climates for the vanilla plant. He visits Mauritius, Reunion, Madagascar, Tahiti, and Mexico in his search for the background of this plant. I could tell straightaway he was a journalist because his interviews read like exactly that; he doesn’t excel quite so much at the narrative non-fiction. I think I was spoiled by The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. But regardless, the story he has to tell is vastly interesting and I was fascinated by the surprisingly complex politics that happen around vanilla growing, curing, and selling.
He doesn’t spare on the history; we learn all about how the Mexicans first used vanilla, how it made its way to Europe, and finally how Europeans transplanted it to their warmer island possessions. Ecott reveals the story of the first person to learn how to manually fertilize vanilla and the background on all the different varieties, plus the competition between genuine vanilla and artificial vanillin, which isn’t as good but is what you’ll find in cheaper vanilla-flavored products. Also, I never knew that Coca Cola had vanilla in it, but it seems that most cola soft drinks do. Just one interesting fact I’ll be taking away from this book.
One warning though, you’ll be intensely wanting vanilla ice cream throughout the book! Overall, I was thrilled that Tim Ecott made the provenance and current status of my favorite flavor into a great book. He’s proved that vanilla isn’t as boring as people claim, but actually has a rich history and complex chemistry that rivals any artificial taste out there. Vanilla would be a perfect read for anyone interested in food, especially desserts.
 Weekend Cooking is hosted by Beth Fish Reads. From her blog:
Weekend Cooking is open to anyone who has any kind of food-related post to share: Book (novel, nonfiction) reviews, cookbook reviews, movie reviews, recipes, random thoughts, gadgets, fabulous quotations, photographs. If your post is even vaguely foodie, feel free to grab the button and link up anytime over the weekend. Please link to your specific post, not your blog’s home page. For more information, see the welcome post.
While this book didn’t have any recipes in it, it was about a food!
I am an Amazon Associate. I borrowed this book from my local library.
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