Book Review: Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

Dan here. Joy asked me to post a review of my most recent read, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver, which is a story about one family's return to the farm and year-long quest to become "locavores" - eating only locally-grown food: either produced by themselves or purchased from other farmers in their own county. This book was recommended to us by Joy's cousin Justin, upon learning of Joy's newfound garden obsession and also our self-identification as Crunchy Cons (i.e. "conservatives" with some downright hippie-ish habits).

The book is well-written and easy to read, a delightful account of a family's year-long adventure into a more self-sustaining lifestyle. Worth the purchase price alone (at least according to Joy) are the recipies that are included at the end of each chapter. In addition to knowing good food, however, Barbara Kingsolver has a knack for bringing to life engaging narratives that illustrate the many trials and ecstasies of her foray into the "simple" life. Whether coming to learn that her sick turkey simply had a horrible case of.... lovesickness, or sharing her travails with (and violations of) the local superstition in her neck of the Appalachians of never, ever saying "thank you" when given the gift of a plant (lest a curse immediately descend upon the flora), Barbara conveys the wonderment and learning that accompanied her adventure in an enjoyable manner.

But this book isn't just a nostalgic trip down a bucolic memory lane. Ms. Kingsolver has a firm purpose in mind. Simply put: she became a locavore to prove that you, too, can become a locavore. Many have criticized her for hypocrisy in this endeavor: at the beginning of the year, each of the members of her family were allowed one luxury food item that they could import from outside their county (between the four of them, her family was thus allowed the otherwise off-limits delicacies of coffee, chocolate, imported dried fruits, and imported spices). Later in the book, other splurges were revealed, too. I myself won't jump on board that judgment train, however - she joyfully accepted sacrifices few of us could endure without at least a lot of grumbling (a whole year without bananas? WOW.). Kudos to her family for that.

But her underlying motivational philosophy is not above reproach. She does manage to raise many good points, such as the fact that our society, so used to seeing only the beautiful (and sanitized) displays in the grocery aisle, is now almost completely ignorant of the real origins of our food. She relates the story of her husband's young friend Malcolm, who recoiled with horror at the sight of carrots being pulled out of the ground, "How'd you get them in there?" and had trouble coming to terms with his new knowledge that the vegetables on his plate had once touched.... dirt. Also worthy of note is her contention that the way that the modern food industry has prized a product's ability to preserve well for shipping and look good on a shelf (for obvious reasons) has led to both a loss of flavor in the products as well as diversity in the products. There are many varieties of vegetables, well suited to particular climates and palates, that are at risk of becoming extinct because they are no longer planted. I agree with her that these are worth preserving. Fortunately, the increase in gardeners' interest in heirloom vegetables is helping to reverse that trend.

But that's as far as Barbara and I travel together, separating just when we come to the topic of morality. She is elusive enough that she can't be pinned down to a well-defined position on the ethics of our food purchases, but she is, at the least, out of balance in her analysis here. She is very critical of industrialized agriculture, for which everything must be given the most negative possible spin. You mean the companies are seeking profit? It must be sinister corporate greed. (I ask: Isn't profit the same motive of the vendors down at the farmer's market?) You mean big farms produce lots of waste? It must be environmental pollution. (I ask: doesn't a waste management plan for that waste - if it is carried out properly - return those nutrients to the soil, just as it would with a small organic farmer?) Clearly, there are some problems with modern agribusiness, as with the case of Percy Schmeiser, a small-time canola grower in Saskatchewan, who was sued in 1998 by Monsanto for the lowly crime of owning seeds containing one of their patented genes (it seems pollen had drifted, uninvited, into his field from a neighboring field, and yet he was held accountable for planting the resulting seeds). But tarring the entire industry without recognizing the good that is also inherent is unfair.

That, then, is the crux of my criticism of Ms. Kingsolver's arguments: although she leaves such sentiments somewhat vague, she comes perilously close to assigning a negative moral value to the intrinsic nature of certain acts, rather than to the circumstances surrounding them, which is where the moral content (if any) should be. Using fuel to transport vegetables from California to the East Coast? Simply bad. (I ask: but isn't it a good thing that it can be transported so that, for example, New Yorkers can enjoy a salad in December?) Farms growing larger and larger? Simply bad. (I ask: but isn't it a good thing to leverage economies of scale to improve efficiency, and therefore lower the cost for the consumer?) Everything certainly comes with a price - transporting the vegetables increases demand for fuel, which drives up the gas price for all of us, and as mentioned before, cheaper goods don't necessarily mean tastier goods. Further, it might be downright wasteful to bring in cheaper goods when it will cause other goods to be thrown away (as happened to tomatoes grown in Ms. Kingsolver's county when cheaper imports arrived from California). But that's where the debate and analysis needs to take place - in the realm of the circumstances surrounding the issues, with a balanced understanding of the various positive and negative elements at stake. At times, Kingsolver does just this, but often she simply blurs the distinction, as when she confesses her guilt for having lived out 25 years of life in Tucson, Arizona where, owing to the desert, nearly all food must be imported from elsewhere. In her own words, "I'd moved there as a young adult, then added through birth and marriage three more mouths to feed. As a guest, I'd probably overstayed my welcome." And I thought "Catholic guilt" was the only kind that haunted people for years....

Most of my time spent reading this book took place with either a mocha (imported coffee and chocolate) or a lemonade (imported lemon and cane sugar) in one hand. As you can see, while I have become more committed to buying locally grown food whenever I can, I nevertheless happily remain a "globavore" - enjoying the edible delicacies of faraway lands guilt-free. So go ahead -read this book. Enjoy her stories of life on the farm. And learn a few things, while you're at it. Just don't set aside your critical thinking skills. And most important, don't feel too guilty for enjoying life a little.