"Junipers are generally chosen for the latter purpose, as they can be more readily bent into the desired form; the eyes and tongue are added afterwards, and the representation altogether is really good"
About this Quote
Junipers, bent into shape and then given eyes and a tongue as an afterthought: it is botanical craft described with the calm tone of an instruction manual, and that calmness is the point. Robert Fortune writes like a scientist, but the sentence betrays the imperial age’s talent for treating living things - and, by extension, living cultures - as raw material. “Generally chosen,” “readily bent,” “added afterwards”: the verbs assume a world that yields. The plant is compliant; the maker’s intention is sovereign.
Fortune’s context matters. As a 19th-century plant hunter moving through East Asia for British interests, he occupied a borderland between curiosity and extraction. His accounts often translate unfamiliar practices for Western readers, and here he’s likely describing an ornamental tradition (topiary or crafted plant figures). What’s striking is how the language of careful observation doubles as a language of control. The “desired form” isn’t discovered; it’s imposed. Even the face - “eyes and tongue” - arrives post hoc, a reminder that realism is manufactured, not inherent. You can almost hear the satisfaction of a collector admiring a convincing imitation.
The subtext is a quiet endorsement of mastery: nature can be trained into legibility, into entertainment, into “representation.” Fortune isn’t sneering; he’s impressed. That’s why it works. The sentence gives us the period’s default ideology in miniature: the world is full of pliable specimens, and “really good” is the verdict of the observer who gets to decide what counts as good enough to take home, display, and replicate.
Fortune’s context matters. As a 19th-century plant hunter moving through East Asia for British interests, he occupied a borderland between curiosity and extraction. His accounts often translate unfamiliar practices for Western readers, and here he’s likely describing an ornamental tradition (topiary or crafted plant figures). What’s striking is how the language of careful observation doubles as a language of control. The “desired form” isn’t discovered; it’s imposed. Even the face - “eyes and tongue” - arrives post hoc, a reminder that realism is manufactured, not inherent. You can almost hear the satisfaction of a collector admiring a convincing imitation.
The subtext is a quiet endorsement of mastery: nature can be trained into legibility, into entertainment, into “representation.” Fortune isn’t sneering; he’s impressed. That’s why it works. The sentence gives us the period’s default ideology in miniature: the world is full of pliable specimens, and “really good” is the verdict of the observer who gets to decide what counts as good enough to take home, display, and replicate.
Quote Details
| Topic | Nature |
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