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Guest
Guest
Jon Carroll, SF Chron columnist, February 25, 2005
You may recall an earlier discussion of books that are about One Thing, as represented by the very fine "The Earth Moved: On the Remarkable Achievements of Earthworms," by Amy Stewart. Correspondents suggested many additions to the half-a-dozen titles I mentioned.
One was "Dust: A History of the Small and the Invisible" by Joseph A. Amato, which was praised by several readers. This volume is not to be confused with "The Secret Life of Dust: From the Cosmos to the Kitchen Counter, the Big Consequences of Little Things," by Hannah Holmes. That also may be a swell book, but my cadre of tastemakers did not mention it.
Imagine, if you will, not one but two distinguished authors spending years and years contemplating dust, researching dust, thinking about dust, inventing poetic tropes to discuss dust. "What are you writing about now?"
"Dust."
"I'm sorry, I thought you said dust."
But there are odder jobs. Remember about a decade ago when the memo went out that people should paint themselves all one color and stand motionless in public places? What was that about? Swift writes about the courage of the person who ate the first oyster; what about the first person who painted himself silver and stood with one arm upraised in front of the Prado? Maybe he considered a book about dust and thought, "no, much brighter future in painting my body and standing motionless. And if someone gives me money, I'll wink or something. Hey, I can get paid for winking. So much better than reading up on dust."
I was once at the tiny fair in Broom, Australia, a fair so small the fireworks guy thought you had to wait five minutes between each burst, so people could appreciate the special qualities of each one in turn. There was aboriginal dance and native crafts and, yes, a woman dressed as an angel and painted all white. I guess the fascination with painted still people goes back to the famously motionless guards at Buckingham Palace. Later, I saw the angel out behind the portable lavatories having a smoke, her wings between her legs. Who needs Diane Arbus when life provides so much natural weirdness.
I heard about a couple, a Green Girl and a Gold Guy, who traveled around Spain together and stood at opposite ends of large public plazas. I suppose it is better to marry within the industry; so few outsiders understand the unique problems of the whole painted motionless thing. "Damn fog really did me in today. I looked like a Dali melting watch out there."
But anyway, my favorite One Thing book is "Mauve: How One Man Invented a Color That Changed the World," by Simon Garfield. The official description goes like this: " 'Mauve' is the beguiling story of a man who invented a color, and in the process transformed the world around him. Before 1856, artificial color was derived with difficulty and at enormous expense from animals, minerals, or plants. But then a chemist called William Perkin found a way of making color from coal. Perkin found mauve by chance, at the age of 18, working on a treatment for malaria. Instead of artificial quinine, he produced a dark oily sludge that, much to his surprise, turned silk a beautiful light purple. The color was unique; it not only stormed the fashion houses of Paris and London, it earned Perkin a fortune."
All very well, but I instantly imagined a scene at the pearly gates, with God interrogating various inventors. (Because I watched an Eddie Izzard video last night, in this scene God will be played by James Mason. Work with me here):
God: So, you there, what did you invent?
Edison: The electric light.
God: Well done, well done. I didn't give that to you, did I? You had to invent the whatsit, the light thing. Brilliant. How about you?
Farnsworth: Television.
God: Perhaps not such a good idea after all, eh? But still, pictures flying through the air; couldn't have done that on my own. Well done to you as well. And you?
Perkin: Mauve.
God: Bloody hell you invented mauve. Have you seen my sunsets lately? I eat mauve for breakfast. I could make animals mauve if I wanted too. I could make you mauve. How would you like that, eh? Sorry, no wings for you. Go out around behind the lavatories and have a smoke.
Still at work on "Sodium: It's in Salt, It's in Truth Serum, It's in Those Weird Yellow Lights, and Yet, Who Cares?"
You may recall an earlier discussion of books that are about One Thing, as represented by the very fine "The Earth Moved: On the Remarkable Achievements of Earthworms," by Amy Stewart. Correspondents suggested many additions to the half-a-dozen titles I mentioned.
One was "Dust: A History of the Small and the Invisible" by Joseph A. Amato, which was praised by several readers. This volume is not to be confused with "The Secret Life of Dust: From the Cosmos to the Kitchen Counter, the Big Consequences of Little Things," by Hannah Holmes. That also may be a swell book, but my cadre of tastemakers did not mention it.
Imagine, if you will, not one but two distinguished authors spending years and years contemplating dust, researching dust, thinking about dust, inventing poetic tropes to discuss dust. "What are you writing about now?"
"Dust."
"I'm sorry, I thought you said dust."
But there are odder jobs. Remember about a decade ago when the memo went out that people should paint themselves all one color and stand motionless in public places? What was that about? Swift writes about the courage of the person who ate the first oyster; what about the first person who painted himself silver and stood with one arm upraised in front of the Prado? Maybe he considered a book about dust and thought, "no, much brighter future in painting my body and standing motionless. And if someone gives me money, I'll wink or something. Hey, I can get paid for winking. So much better than reading up on dust."
I was once at the tiny fair in Broom, Australia, a fair so small the fireworks guy thought you had to wait five minutes between each burst, so people could appreciate the special qualities of each one in turn. There was aboriginal dance and native crafts and, yes, a woman dressed as an angel and painted all white. I guess the fascination with painted still people goes back to the famously motionless guards at Buckingham Palace. Later, I saw the angel out behind the portable lavatories having a smoke, her wings between her legs. Who needs Diane Arbus when life provides so much natural weirdness.
I heard about a couple, a Green Girl and a Gold Guy, who traveled around Spain together and stood at opposite ends of large public plazas. I suppose it is better to marry within the industry; so few outsiders understand the unique problems of the whole painted motionless thing. "Damn fog really did me in today. I looked like a Dali melting watch out there."
But anyway, my favorite One Thing book is "Mauve: How One Man Invented a Color That Changed the World," by Simon Garfield. The official description goes like this: " 'Mauve' is the beguiling story of a man who invented a color, and in the process transformed the world around him. Before 1856, artificial color was derived with difficulty and at enormous expense from animals, minerals, or plants. But then a chemist called William Perkin found a way of making color from coal. Perkin found mauve by chance, at the age of 18, working on a treatment for malaria. Instead of artificial quinine, he produced a dark oily sludge that, much to his surprise, turned silk a beautiful light purple. The color was unique; it not only stormed the fashion houses of Paris and London, it earned Perkin a fortune."
All very well, but I instantly imagined a scene at the pearly gates, with God interrogating various inventors. (Because I watched an Eddie Izzard video last night, in this scene God will be played by James Mason. Work with me here):
God: So, you there, what did you invent?
Edison: The electric light.
God: Well done, well done. I didn't give that to you, did I? You had to invent the whatsit, the light thing. Brilliant. How about you?
Farnsworth: Television.
God: Perhaps not such a good idea after all, eh? But still, pictures flying through the air; couldn't have done that on my own. Well done to you as well. And you?
Perkin: Mauve.
God: Bloody hell you invented mauve. Have you seen my sunsets lately? I eat mauve for breakfast. I could make animals mauve if I wanted too. I could make you mauve. How would you like that, eh? Sorry, no wings for you. Go out around behind the lavatories and have a smoke.
Still at work on "Sodium: It's in Salt, It's in Truth Serum, It's in Those Weird Yellow Lights, and Yet, Who Cares?"
