{"id":97789,"date":"2016-05-05T16:02:29","date_gmt":"2016-05-05T20:02:29","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=97789"},"modified":"2016-05-05T16:31:24","modified_gmt":"2016-05-05T20:31:24","slug":"green-thoughts","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/05\/05\/green-thoughts\/","title":{"rendered":"Green Thoughts"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

From the cover of Green Thoughts<\/i>.<\/p><\/div>\n

I\u2019m terrified by the concept of the green thumb. Your proverbial green thumb combines all the factors for maximum intimidation: he or she has the worthy ability to interest herself in something really boring, a general competence and practicality, and a quality that\u2019s something like mystical virtue\u2014like being able to horse whisper or something. (I think\u00a0The Secret Garden<\/em>\u2019s Dickon is partially responsible for this stereotype.)\u00a0When someone loves to garden, he or she immediately becomes an alien species to me, just as do people who love to run.\u00a0<\/p>\n

And in an urban setting, any kind of gardening feels\u00a0rich<\/em>. It implies the wealth required for space and leisure, or at least for ample sunlight. It used to be that the notion of a garden conjured a lady of the manor walking around with a flat basket of flowers, a la Rebecca de Winter. But nowadays, a \u201cValencia\u201d-tinted, sun-filled space restfully endowed with a few flourishing ferns feels almost as aspirational.\u00a0<\/p>\n

On the other end of the spectrum, there\u2019s a certain louche glamour to the urbanite who simply can\u2019t keep a houseplant alive\u2014who doesn\u2019t even try to water it, really. It\u2019s like someone who can only conceive of the oven as a shoe closet.<\/p>\n

As for me, I\u2019m the worst of all worlds: I try, and I fail. \u00a0Some of my plants wither from neglect but others from overwatering. Even with diligent trimming and water rotation, the cut-flower life expectancy in my apartment\u00a0is alarmingly low. Flowers are always a reminder of death. For some of us, they\u2019re also a memento of failure.<\/p>\n

Which perhaps makes it curious that I\u2019ve been on a kick of gardening books. It started with Eleanor Perenyi\u2019s\u00a0Green Thoughts: A Writer in the Garden<\/em><\/a><\/em>. I\u2019d loved the bracing, crisp voice in her memoir of 1930s Eastern Europe<\/a>,\u00a0More Was Lost<\/em>, and didn\u2019t want to say good-bye. I\u2019d seen Green Thoughts<\/em> described as a \u201cclassic of gardening literature,\u201d but if, like me, you find those the least enticing words in English, don\u2019t worry: it\u2019s a good book on\u00a0any terms. Perenyi\u2019s a tough person, not always \u201clikable.\u201d She makes no apology for her competence. Her love of growing things is clearly wrapped up with conjuring a life and a world that\u2019s lost\u2014in her case, the prewar years detailed in\u00a0More Was Lost.\u00a0<\/em>\u00a0The book is \u2026 gorgeous. It\u2019s not about flowers\u2014or not solely\u2014it\u2019s about an animating passion.\u00a0<\/p>\n

After that I picked up Elizabeth von Arnim\u2019s\u00a0Elizabeth and Her German Garden<\/em><\/a><\/em>, from 1898.\u00a0Nominally a novel, this also proved to be a tough, personal but fundamentally unsentimental work. It\u2019s been called a feminist book, although it\u2019s not overtly polemical, but light and wry. Elizabeth is opinionated, independent-minded, curious, tough. Both books deal with a seemingly frivolous hobby, but in each case the work of growing things creates a natural framework for talking about life, physical and otherwise.\u00a0<\/p>\n

There\u2019s no sense in either case that building a garden is at odds with a fundamental seriousness\u2014about politics, the world, life. On the contrary. (Perenyi complains about the government\u2019s refusal to let her grow weed, for one thing.) A garden provides a refuge, a release, yes, but not a place to hide so much as a way to make sense of the world. It is a strange fact that both women had failed marriages to aristocrats, and later had to make it on their own in new countries and very different worlds.\u00a0<\/p>\n

The gardening memoir is a vast field, and I\u2019m sure as it\u2019s well larded with self-absorbed duds as any other. A couple I picked up were too lyrical by half, and too on the nose\u2014but that\u2019s memoir for you. What I can say is that I\u2019ve learned, if not a new enthusiasm for gardening, a renewed appreciation. We don\u2019t all have gardens; we all need a metaphorical one. As Von Arnim wrote to a friend,\u00a0\u201cI\u2019m so glad I didn\u2019t die on the various occasions I have earnestly wished I might, for I would have missed a lot of lovely weather.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n

Sadie Stein is contributing editor of <\/em>The Paris Review, and the <\/em>Daily\u2019s correspondent.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I\u2019m terrified by the concept of the green thumb. Your proverbial green thumb combines all the factors for maximum intimidation: he or she has the worthy ability to interest herself in something really boring, a general competence and practicality, and a quality that\u2019s something like mystical virtue\u2014like being able to horse whisper or something. (I […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":178,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[13115],"tags":[12511,21502,22224,7470,22225,22223,10368],"class_list":["post-97789","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-our-daily-correspondent","tag-city-life","tag-eleanor-perenyi","tag-elizabeth-von-arnim","tag-gardening","tag-green-thoughts","tag-green-thumbs","tag-memoirs"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nOn Eleanor Perenyi\u2019s \u201cGreen Thoughts\u201d<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"May 5, 2016 \u2013 I\u2019m terrified by the concept of the green thumb. 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