74 Culture The Economist April 16th 2022
Worldina dish
The garden path
I
magineaplateholdingtwostrawber
ries, identical in appearance. One came
out of a clamshell supermarket box, mean
ing it was probably harvested when it was
still unripe, immediately placed in a
forcedair cooling unit, loaded onto a re
frigerated truck and driven hundreds of
miles. By the time it reached the plate it
may have been off the vine for two weeks.
The other strawberry was picked from a
garden minutes before being eaten.
The first one will probably taste like a
slightly mushy cucumber, with a vague
hint of berry tang and strong sour under
tones. The second is likely to be sweet and
floral; the flavour will linger in the mouth,
as the scent will on the hands. Supermar
ket strawberries are not entirely without
advantages: they are convenient and avail
able in the northern hemisphere in Febru
ary. But the two berries differ from each
other in the same way that hearing Bach’s
Mass in B Minor in a concert hall differs
from listening to it on a threadbare cas
sette. The homegrown fruit is an edible
case for cultivating a home garden.
Your columnist, who long deemed gar
dening a twee waste of time, advances this
argument with a convert’s zeal. Planting
coolweather greens, as gardeners across
the northeast of America are now doing,
can seem nonsensical. Convenient, per
petually wellstocked supermarket shelves
are available all week, in many places sup
plemented on weekends by farmers’ mar
kets, which offer a jolt of virtuous season
ality. But the same could be said of cook
ing: cheap and decent restaurants abound,
sowhybothertomakeyourownmeals?
That attitude misconstrues the ulti
mate appeal of gardening: it mistakes the
product for the purpose. It is true that a
garden can yield peas that taste like the vi
brant, green essence of spring; tomatoes
and carrots of incomparable sweetness;
lettuces and herbs that taste like them
selves rather than the plastic they are usu
ally packaged in; and potatoes with the bis
cuity richness of earth itself. Finding, say,
fenugreek leaves or celtuce in the shops
can take some time, effort and expense;
growing your own vegetables, exotic or
routine, ensures a reliable supply.
On the other hand a garden, especially
in the early years, can also yield little but
frustration. Novice gardeners may plant
the wrong crops for their soil. Squirrels
have an infuriating habit of taking single
bites of cucumbers, beans and tomatoes,
then leaving the rest on the vine to rot. And
even expert gardeners can lose a season’s
harvest to uncooperative weather.
No matter. The real joy of gardening is
the time spent doing it. The deepest plea
sure—as with cooking, writing, bringing
up children or almost anything worth
while—is in the work itself. A gardener’s
memories revolve not around the food pro
duced, but around long summer after
noons with hands in the dirt, surrounded
by family, if the garden is at home, or deep
ening acquaintances with friends and
neighbours in an allotment or community
garden. To gardenistopatiently, lovingly
and diligently help life flourish, in the
ground and aboveit.n
Home gardens produce delicious food. But that is not their main virtue
Speculativefiction
Worlds elsewhere
I
nhertwomostrecentnovels,Emily St
John Mandel introduced a broad cast of
characters who emerge from the wreckage
of a unifying upheaval. Now adapted for
television, “Station Eleven”—a smash hit
published in 2014—plays out in the after
math of a flu pandemic that decimates the
world’s population. “The Glass Hotel”
(2020) deals with the fallout from a multi
billiondollar Ponzi scheme that wipes out
fortunes, reputations and savings.
The characters in the Canadian author’s
latest book find themselves struggling to
make sense of a moment of dislocation,
rather than a lifechanging disaster. Com
pared with its predecessors, the lowstakes
setup hints at a scaledback drama. But
“Sea of Tranquility” proves to be a bold and
exciting novel, which manages to explore
modernday concerns while travelling in
and out of the familiar world and back
wards and forwards in time.
It begins in 1912 with 18yearold Edwin
St Andrew, the son of an English aristocrat,
who is banished to Canada after making an
unpalatable comment about empire dur
ing a dinner party. At a remote spot on Van
couver Island he enters a forest and is dis
orientated by a flash of darkness, notes
from a violin and the fleeting sensation of
being in a vast, cavernous space.
The next section unfolds in New York in
- Paul Smith, a composer and video
Sea of Tranquility.By Emily St John
Mandel. Knopf; 272 pages; $25.
Picador; £14.99