The World Grows Round My Door
SCRIBNER, $5.00
IN WALKING with Dr. Fairchild through “The Kampong,” his “home on the edge of the tropics,” as it is described in the subtitle of this book, one knows that he loves his house, his trees, his shrubs, and his vines from dozens of distant lands. At the same time, on these occasions, it is apparent that Dr. Fairchild is not rooted to this spot either physically or in spirit; he quite obviously would like nothing better than to depart for some remote country in search of a promising fruit tree or vine, and his conversation, like his newest book, reflects his absorbing interest in a vast number of places, their people, and especially the useful and beautiful plants to be found in them.
hor his plants are not the dried subjects of systematic study of the botanist, but useful and pleasing symbols of the continuity of life, and of the forces of nature in a world full of man-made ugliness, destruction, and stress.
The World Grows Round My Door is at once the story of a house and garden, a series of reminiscences of the life of David Fairchild, and a number of short essays on, among other things, such matters as sense perception, human beings, the kinds of houses people live in in various parts of the world, and the orderliness of the jungle. The Kampong, acquired by the Fairchilds in 1916, stands as a central theme among the separate stories of many plants, of the great figures in the world of botany and plant introduction, and of incidents of plant exploration from the author s world-wide experience.
The house itself, low, rambling, and charming, with its outlook on Biscayne Bay, plays second fiddle to the palms, vines, mangoes, avocados, strange and varied citrus, and hundreds ot other mysterious species. Their nurture has not been easy; the limestone has had to be blasted or dug away to provide root space; periodic freezes have killed tender specimens; and three savage hurricanes have left the garden a shambles of uprooted trees and torn limbs. But Dr. I airehild, as much as he dislikes these excesses oi nature, views them with philosophic calm; other trees will grow where those damaged beyond revival grew before.
He is far more perturbed, I think, by the spectacle of modern civilized people destroying the Everglades, for example, or, what I believe he fears almost worse, generally appearing to lose their keenness of perception and full appreciation of the natural world. His mind is inquiring and imaginative, so trained in nature and so unbiased and adventurous in matters of smell, taste, and the appreciation of beauty that he is distressed when others so obviously miss the pleasures he enjoys. Those of like spirit, with imagination and without prejudice, whether plant lovers or not, will relish this book. The 123 excellent photographs, most of them by the author, and not by any means confined to south Florida, bear captions that, in themselves, form a considerable text, adding enormously to the worth of the book.
ALFRED KIDDER, II