Plant Cuttings

Gardening can be murder: How poisonous poppies, sinister shovels, and grim gardens have inspired mystery writers by Marta McDowell, 2023. Timber Press.

It’s a widely-held view that gardening is good for you (e.g. here, Laura Scruby & Lauriane Suyin Chalmin-Pui, James Wong, and Richard Thompson (Clin Med (Lond) 18(3): 201-205, 2018; doi: 10.7861/clinmedicine.18-3-201)). Well, and I’m very sorry to be the one who puts the cat amongst the pigeons (Dipti Jain), and rains on your parade, but an alternative view by Marta McDowell is that Gardening can be murder [which book is here appraised]. By which I don’t mean that an afternoon’s weeding in the back garden, or a few hours of digging at the allotment can be really hard work, or that killing garden pests such as slugs and snails with a molluscicide might be considered murder. I mean proper murder, homicide, the taking of the life of another human being. What?!? How? Read on. But, be warned [and just a little afraid?].

According to the publisher’s website, Gardening can be murder “is the first book to explore the mystery genre’s many surprising horticultural connections”, and “takes a look at the surprising influence that gardens and gardening have had on mystery novels and their authors”. With its focus on murder, what does it deliver? As befits the book’s subject matter, this appraisal has been approached with an appropriate degree of detective diligence. But, first…

Don’t try this at home…

No doubt(?), this book is not intended to be, nor should be interpreted as, a DIY guide to murder. But, it does include lots of ideas for those so-inclined – and, arguably, hints at how to get away with it(!). Maybe one of the first things law enforcement officers should do with any garden-owner or gardener arrested on suspicion of murder is to look at their bookshelves and see if Gardening can be murder is amongst them? Which would add a whole new dimension to the concept of forensic botany (Priyom Bose; Idalia Kasprzyk, Science & Justice 63(2): 258-275, 2023; https://doi.org/10.1016/j.scijus.2023.01.002; Manuela Oliveira et al., Plant Science Volume 336, November 2023, 111860; https://doi.org/10.1016/j.plantsci.2023.111860).

Literary coverage

The books considered in Gardening can be murder are those in the English language – or, as McDowell phrases it “This survey of the mystery genre and its horticultural connections … is by no means exhaustive. It is limited to fiction available in English, due to my own language limitations” (p. 12) – which in practice means primarily American and British writers. And, in terms of what is included, she has followed her own preferences – and apologises for the omission of any reader’s favourite authors or titles. Nevertheless, over 100 books are mentioned, which is surely more than enough?

Layout, and caveat

As far as the layout of the book is concerned, the author advises us that “The structure of the classic murder mystery – detective, setting, motive, means, clues, suspects – provides the arc for the book” (p. 13). Accordingly, we have chapters entitled: Gardening detectives; Setting; Motive; Means (and More means…); Clues; and Suspects. In providing details and insights into numerous gardening-related crime mystery books, McDowell has done her best “to not spoil the plots for those who haven’t read my selections” (p. 13). However, she cautions that “on occasions, hints couldn’t be helped. Read on at your own risk” (p. 13). You have been warned.

Plant coverage

The plants considered are almost all angiosperms, with yew notable as the exceptional non-flowering plant. There’s no mention of lower plants. Is that due to a dearth of such books – and therefore a ‘gap’ in the market? Nor is there any mention of fungi, which is a pity because that would have been an excuse to shoehorn in The documents in the case by Dorothy L Sayers [and/with Robert Eustace] (Nandakishore Varma), with its tale that hinges on poisoning with deadly mushrooms and involves a good dose of science.

Great writing

The writing is stylish with some memorable phrasing and quotes – e.g. on Poirot, “His attire indicates a character best suited to an urban, urbane existence” (p. 45); “Gardens are layered art in a living medium” (p. 54); “Ellen Willmott (1858-1934), another of the matron saints of British horticulture…” (p. 55);  74); “All monkshoods are lethal, though some are more lethal than others” (p. 114) [surely, a reference to that quote in George Orwell’s Animal Farm (Oliver Tearle)?]; and “Plants make for a perfect clue, as they are everywhere and yet an often-overlooked part of our world” (p. 122).

Words and pictures

There is a lot of narrative which the book, but it’s made easy to read by its organisation. The text is broken down into short sub-headed chunks, and is enlivened by numerous, charming black and white illustrations – primarily by artist Yolanda Fundora – and the occasional black-and-white photographs (especially in the chapter on author’s gardens). Additionally, narrative flow is helped by good links within chapters, and between chapters.

Insightful

Although one might be tempted to view the book as merely a catalogue of plot  summaries of gardening-related crime novels, it is much more than just that. McDowell goes to considerable lengths to provide context and insights for all the books she highlights. For example, she takes trouble to point out that the action in the books referenced often mirrors what was happening in the wider world at the time the books were written, or the periods in which their stories were set, e.g. Sergeant Cuff’s fascination with roses, Miss Marples’ Japanese garden, and Nero Wolfe’s obsession with growing – and owning – orchids. In that way the fictional and factual worlds are neatly related; after all, murder is – sadly – as much a part of the everyday world we all inhabit as the fictional literary one. Researching for this seemingly encyclopaedic coverage of English language garden sleuthery must have required a lot of reading by the author.

Some comments on chapters, and main sections

Hoping to avoid any plot spoilers, here are my potted summaries of the book’s main chapters and sections.

Gardening detectives advises us that the first horticulturally-minded detective is Sergeant Cuff in Wilkie Collins’ 1868 book The moonstone, publication of which “legitimized detective fiction in the English language” (p. 17)*. [For good measure, in the Introduction, McDowell has already told us that modern crime fiction begins with Murders in the Rue Morgue, a short story by Edgar Allen Pope, in 1841, and that the first full-length detective novel was L’Affaire Lerouge by Emile Gaboriau in 1865.] This chapter has quite a lot to say about rose-afficionado Sgt Cuff, as well as Agatha Christie’s proud cottage gardener Jane Marple**, Ellis Peters’ herbalist monk Brother Cadfael [for whom plants often offer clues], Rex Stout’s orchid-obsessive Nero Wolfe, and Susan Wittig Albert’s herb-retailing China Bayles.

Setting is concerned with gardens as places of murder, as they are macabrely transformed from Earthly paradise to crime scene. It concerns imaginary gardens, and real ones, e.g. Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew in Death in Kew Gardens by Jennifer Ashley. It also includes made-up gardens that hint at real ones, e.g. John Sherwood’s The mantrap garden, the design of which fictional garden – Monk’s Mead – is attributed to Gertrude Jekyll, real-life garden-designer. But, it’s not always the crime of murder that takes place in a garden. For instance, McDowell tells us that there’s no murder as such in Deacon King Kong by James McBride, and there doesn’t appear to be one in The yellow room conspiracy by Peter Dickenson. Which may leave you wondering why such books are included in one explicitly about murder.

Motive showcases garden-related motives for crimes, as indicated by section headings, such as ‘a rose made me do it’; and ‘an orchid made me do it’. Not so obvious from its sub-heading of ‘science made me do it’, this section concerns a “garden morality tale” (p. 83) by Nathaniel Hawthorne – Rappaccini’s daughter – with science as its driver [and which features the creation of hyper-poisonous plants…]. McDowell also reminds us that there is a parody of the horticultural mystery genre Compost mortem by Louise Gazzoli. Which is encouraging for this brand of ‘phytofiction’ because, if a thing is being parodied that thing must be doing something right.

Means can be summed-up in this quote, “Even without plant poisons – to be dealt with further on [in More means] – a cold-blooded killer can have a field day with the many tools of the garden” (p. 85). In reading it I was reminded of Bill Laws’ A history of gardening in fifty tools which provides a pretty impressive catalogue of potential murder weapons: spade, hoe, billhook, sickle and scythe, pruning saw, terracotta pot, etc. Indeed, after reading this chapter, who is not now wondering if one can ‘dispose’ of a dead body in a wood chipper or garden shredder? [Surely, it’s not just Mr P Cuttings with this dark thought..?]

More means was my favourite chapter and deals with plant toxicology – whether featuring fictional, but all-too-potent, plants, such as Karen Hugg’s ‘forgetting flower’ or the South American xolotl of Kate Khavari, or the very real ones: opium poppy, yew, hemlock, foxglove, castor bean, monkshood, and rhubarb.

Clues is an interesting chapter because it deals not with gardening strictly speaking, but plant knowledge. Importantly, it gives a big ‘shout-out’ for the value of ethnobotany, particularly that of the Navajo Nation as showcased in the 18 mysteries by Tony Hillerman that feature Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee of the Navajo Tribal Police. Such books provide a great opportunity to educate the reader – as well as ‘entertain’ [and if the reader can be informed and educated whilst being entertained, that’s got to be a winning combination]. This chapter also mentions Elizabeth Schussler & James Wandersee and plant blindness (The American Biology Teacher 61(2): 82+84+86, 1999; https://www.jstor.org/stable/4450624; Angelique Kritzinger), and gives us one of McDowell’s most thoughtful quotes, “For the authors of detective fiction, however, plant blindness can be a boon” (p. 123). If that’s not encouragement enough for everybody to want to know more about plants – think: increased botanical literacy might save you from being murdered! – I don’t what is. On the theme of – non-fictional – forensic botany, McDowell mention’s Mark Spencer’s book Murder most florid.

Suspects is a roll-call of the ‘shadowy gardeners’ that feature as suspects in horticulturally-relevant crime books, such as: the owner-gardener; the caretaker gardener; the jobbing gardener; the vegetable gardener; the least-likely gardener; and the most likely gardener.

Mystery writers and their gardens leaves the fiction behind and considers the gardening background and credentials of the ‘horticrime’ fiction writers Nathaniel Hawthorne, Agatha Christie, Rex Stout, Karen Hugg, Vicki Lane, Cynthia Rigg, and Naomi Hirahara. And why not? After all, “What better way to handle a stuck paragraph than to get up from my seat and dig, weed, rake and just breathe in the wonder of plant life” (p. 176) [attributed to Cynthia Rigg, via eMail with Marta McDowell].

The Book list provides titles, author’s names, publishers, and dates of first publication for the books that McDowell mentions in the text. Apart from being a useful catalogue of those titles, the author hopes that by providing these details it will make it easier for readers to track them down. The list goes from 1868’s The moonstone by Wilkie Collins to 2022’s A botanist’s guide to parties and poisons by Kate Khavari, and includes 104 titles. If there are any ‘winners’ in such a listing, then it’s probably Agatha Christie with 19 titles [second is Dorothy L Sayers with 5, followed by Arthur Conan Doyle with four]. It would seem that the fairer sex have found their forte when it comes to floricidal fiction.

The list of Sources and citations is mainly for excerpts from the books that are included at some length throughout the text. Occasionally, some sources are also provided for the background information that McDowell provides, e.g. the origin of paradise gardens; or Japanese strawberry farming. However, there is very little of that. And, there is one occasion where factual notes are presented in this section regarding coniine, but without any indication of its source(s). Only two scientific articles are cited, Wandersee & Schussler’s plant blindness article (The American Biology Teacher 61(2): 82+84+86, 1999; https://www.jstor.org/stable/4450624), and Conan Doyle’s letter regarding gelsemium (Br Med J 1879;2:481 – for commentary on this, see Justin Brower, and Robert New).

The Index is 10 pages two-columned pages, from ‘Abel’, to ‘Zizia aurea’, by way of entries such as: bluebells; Darwin, Charles; Equal Rights Amendment; forensic botany; ginseng; ha-ha design element; International Camellia Society; Kipling, Rudyard; laudanum; Marple, Miss Jane; Navajo culture; orchids; plant blindness; Beatrix Potter; Queen Anne’s lace; ricin; snapdragons; “Twenty rules for writing detective stories” (Van Dine); Ulmus glabra; villa gardens; weed killer, as means; and yew. The main categories of entry are: names of authors (and other people, such as characters in their books), titles of books; and plants – common and scientific names indexed separately – e.g. foxglove, hemlock, lily-of-the-valley, Ipomea alba (whose spelling should be Ipomoea, but also shown incorrectly – although consistently – on cited page 12 as well), Taxus baccata, and Yucca gloriosa. Surprisingly, there is no entry for strychnine, despite this plant-derived poison being mentioned in-text on page 149 in connection with Hercule Poirot and Christie’s short story How does your garden grow? [Disappointingly, having mentioned this poison, McDowell makes no mention of its plant connections – strychnine is derived from a tree, Strychnos nux-vomica.]***

Botanical inexactitude…

Although Gardening can be murder is not a botanical textbook, since it deals with plant biological matters, its botanical credentials deserve particular attention. To that end, there are two matters that should be highlighted.

First, one of author McDowell’s own garden plants is described as a “perennial sunflower”, yet the scientific name given for this is Helianthemum (p. 113). I wonder if that should be Helianthus, the sunflower genus which includes both annual and perennial species. Helianthemum is the genus of the rock rose (Andrew Roberts), which plants are also known as sun roses. That interpretation is strengthened when McDowell’s variety is named as ‘Lemon Queen’ (p. 113); my Google search for ‘Helianthemum Lemon Queen’ only returned results for Helianthus ‘Lemon Queen’ (e.g. here, here, here, and here). Maybe adding to any nomenclatural confusion, the etymology of Helianthemum is similar to that of Helianthus, both genera are derived from the Greek words for ‘sun’ and ‘flower’. Or was the plant simply mislabelled (Jerry Parsons, Graham Wright)..?

Second, is the sentence, “Whilst rhubarb stems are perfectly safe to eat, its leaves are relatively high in problematic compounds known as anthrone glycosides” (p. 116). Apart from the absence of any sources for that factual statement, there is a word choice that needs to be queried. It is a fact that the blades of the leaves of the rhubarb plant – which McDowell simply calls ‘leaves’, and which over-simplification is repeated in most internet sources – should be avoided and not eaten (see here, here [which medical site distinguishes between poisonous leaf blade and edible ‘stalk’], Glenda Hyde, Tara Yarlagadda, and Rebecca Rupp). In contrast, the petioles, the leaf-stalks of rhubarb are safe to eat (Tara Yarlagadda). Leaf-stalks are not stems.

It is possible that the ‘leaf-stalks versus stems’ issue merely represents a difference in usage of terms between horticultural [‘practically-relevant’?] botany and ‘academic’ botany. But, since here it relates to a rather important health issue, it is one worth making. Furthermore, although one site states that anthraquinone glycosides are possibly present in rhubarb leaf blades, the main danger in eating this part of the plant seems to be from the oxalic acid it contains (e.g. here, Tara Yarlagadda, Elise Mandl, Andy Brunning, and Rebecca Rupp). Without any sources it is impossible to know where McDowell’s statement about anthrone glycosides in leaves came from, but it is curious that she didn’t mention oxalic acid.

Sources…

As you should expect from a book that deals with an evidence-based subject, providing sources to substantiate statements would be a high priority. Unfortunately, that’s not always the case. Although McDowell provides the sources for the numerous quotes from books, the same rigour is not applied to the accompanying material – that provides important context and background information. For example, references are absent for: the extensive notes on the history of the rose; Beatrix Potter’s statement that enchanter’s nightshade is neither enchanting nor a nightshade; “a quaking aspen can notify its clonal grove of imminent drought conditions” (p. 102); nutrient exchange within mixed arboreal communities via the wood-wide web; and numerous statements about opium on p. 107. Although some sources for this sort of background material are cited in the Sources and Citations section, they are rather few-and-far-between. Their inclusion would greatly enhance the evident scholarship that the author has undertaken. Something to bear in mind fir a future edition of the book.

The book straddles the Atlantic

Reading that McDowell “lives, write, and gardens in Chatham, New Jersey” (from the book’s inside back cover), I assumed that she was American. I was therefore a little puzzled – although pleased – by her knowledge of, and frequent references to, British TV crime drama. That mystery was solved when I read elsewhere that she is English, but now lives in the USA. Mindful of her transatlantic audience, McDowell very helpfully points out that the murder mystery board game called Clue in the US is known as Cluedo “if you live outside of North America” (p. 137), and the phrase ‘having a green thumb’ is the American equivalent of Brits’ ‘being green-fingered’ (Patricia O’Conner & Stewart Kellerman).

Overview

Dealing with the intriguing combination of gardening and murder in literature, Gardening can be murder is ‘charming’ [if that’s a word you can use for such a macabre subject]. It’s also stylish, very well written, highly readable, entertaining [again, an appropriate word..?], and enjoyable – with some suitably black or dark humour (Akashi Peshin) in places. Well done, Ms McDowell!

Summary

Gardening can be murder by Marta McDowell is a great little book. It’s an enjoyable read in its own right that gives abundant insights into dozens of books with a garden/murder theme – and is therefore a great addition to the literature under the plants-and-people category. If I were still teaching my forensic botany session, it’s a book I would definitely have on the reading list. It’s also a really good way of identifying books on the topic of gardening and murder that you might consider reading in their entirety.

PS, For more on “What Do Gardens and Murder Have in Common?” (which is effectively an appraisal of McDowell’s book), try the article at JSTOR Daily by Tim Brinkhof.

* Sergeant Cuff is somewhat bizarrely described as an inspector by McDowell on p. 18. A sergeant and an inspector are two distinctly different ranks in the British police force. It is, however, somewhat amusing to learn that he has a horticulturally-appropriate employer, the Metropolitan Branch, per McDowell.

** McDowell mentions Ms Marple’s attendance at the Tuesday Night Club. I wonder if that fictional gathering by august crime-writer Agatha Christie is being alluded to by Richard Osman in his 21^st century quartet of crime novels featuring The Thursday Murder Club?

*** Perhaps even more surprisingly, strychnine is not mentioned in-text when Agatha Christies’ debut novel The mysterious affair at Styles (Arup K Chatterjee) was discussed. Strychnine – “an extremely bitter-tasting alkaloid found in the seeds of the shrub Strychnos nux–vomica” (Deborah Blum; Kathryn Harkup) was what killed Emily Inglethorp in that book (Harley; Klaus Roth).

Interestingly, McDowell only mentions morphine – derived from the opium poppy – in connection with The mysterious affair at Styles (on p. 118). Although morphine was – probably – also involved in the death of Ms Inglethorp, it was used to allow the strychnine more time to be absorbed and do its work on Ms Inglethorp’s body (Kathryn Harkup). For more on Christie’s knowledge – and literary use – of pharmaceuticals, see here, Eunice Bonow Bardell (Pharmacy in History 26(1): 13-19, 1984; https://www.jstor.org/stable/41109449), Janet Sellick’s “Agatha Christie, Queen of crime and her deadly dispensary of poison” (West of England Medical Journal Vol 117, No 2 Article 2, 2018), and Howard Fischer.