Down In The Garden, by Anne Geddes

For many years, I thought that I had managed to escape the creepy and uncomfortable phenomenon of naked baby photos, until I saw as a teenager that my father, who was our family’s photographer, had taken all kinds of photos of me as a baby, including my first bath. For very personal reasons, the sight of naked baby photos makes me extremely uncomfortable, to the point of being viscerally disturbed. That makes reading a book like this, which is reputedly about gardening [1], an unpleasant experience because it is actually a coffee table sort of book from a photographer who takes pictures of babies and very small children up to the age of three or so who are in gardening related costumes or scenes, sometimes naked and curled up, or dressed up like gnomes or fairies or butterflies or even worms. What may have appeared cute to the photographer herself, who is known to be a photographer who specializes in infants, ends up seeming to be in the uncanny valley for someone like myself.

In terms of the contents and presentation of this book, this is a very straightforward volume. There is an introductory text that reminds the writer that the author is an unlikely fan of gardening because while she can appreciate gardens aesthetically, she does not wish to take the time to work in them, but rather uses them as a backdrop for her love of taking baby pictures. In terms of its overall presentation, the book has very glossy photos, as well as text that is occasionally formatted in distinctive and artistic ways [2]. This is precisely the sort of book that people who enjoy baby photos would keep on a coffee table as a way of encouraging oohing and awwing on the part of their friends and houseguests. Although I am not someone who tends to find a great deal of enjoyment in looking at photographs of babies or small children, I am aware that many parents are very interested in such sorts of art, so there are likely many people who would appreciate such a work. I must admit that I’m not the target audience for this book, but I am willing to accept that as a frequent reality.

As someone who reads a lot of books, sometimes I ponder what it is that makes someone create the sort of book that they do. Some books, most books in fact, are not mysterious at all in terms of their purpose and conception. I tend to read fairly straightforward nonfiction books for the most part, and appreciate it when the reason for works is clear. When it comes to imaginative fiction, there are often clear reasons autobiographically speaking for works as well, and as a literary critic of some practice I appreciate having at least some glimpse of the importance of biography when it comes to works. This book, though, is somewhat mysterious in its conception. It is very difficult for me to imagine why someone would want to take dozens of pages worth of photographs where babies are dressed in strange costumes. Perhaps it is something that I would not understand, even if I am someone who enjoys wearing my fair share of humorous historical costumes, at least. Those who enjoy this sort of book will enjoy this sort of book, if it makes any sense.

[1] See, for example:

https://edgeinducedcohesion.wordpress.com/2016/04/03/book-review-the-bee-friendly-garden/

https://edgeinducedcohesion.wordpress.com/2016/03/22/book-review-through-the-seasons-with-dulcy/

https://edgeinducedcohesion.wordpress.com/2016/03/22/book-review-back-in-the-garden-with-dulcy/

https://edgeinducedcohesion.wordpress.com/2016/03/02/book-review-the-rooftop-growing-guide/

https://edgeinducedcohesion.wordpress.com/2015/05/02/book-review-brother-cadfaels-herb-garden/

[2] See, for example:

https://edgeinducedcohesion.wordpress.com/2016/03/18/book-review-gyorgy-sebok-words-from-a-master/