The big picture
Why aren’t plants considered cute and cuddly, like animals, asks MICHAEL McCOY, when so many are soft, flu y or furry?
If I were to do parenting all over again (what a thought! I did so well first time that I’d be mad to put my grade average at risk), I’d let my kids have as many soft toys as they wanted. But they’d be soft, cuddly plants. There’d be plush primroses, velour violas and brushed-cotton banksias.
Why, after all, are soft toys always animals? Apparently it is due to a condition known as zoochauvinism, referring to a preference for animals over plants. And what’s worse is that, according to The Wall Street Journal, we parents constantly reinforce it.
I can’t help but think zoochauvinism is more than just a learnt behaviour. Animals are more active, more interactive, and have that inexplicable but intriguing thing I can only call ‘eye-power’. Why do we look dogs in the eye? And how is it that a dog knows to look a human in the eye? How does it ‘know’ the eye isn’t just an organ for looking out of, but one to look into – deeply into – in order to perceive someone’s character, or intent? (Not all animals have equal eye-power. My son’s axolotl, named Bufonaquishria, isn’t capable of anything but an expressionless stare. My daughter reckons it watched telly with her for hours one night but, try as I might, I can’t follow its gaze).
There’s also the undeniable truth that animals are easier to anthropomorphise than plants. The presence of eyes and a mouth on something resembling a face must play a big part, leading to at least a century-long history of dressed-up animals in children’s literature. It’s much less common to anthropomorphise plants, though the exceptions are memorable, such as that by May Gibbs, which was so powerful as to result in a whole generation sharing an unshakable conviction of the sinister intent of the banksia flower. Hence the desperate need for the brushed-cotton, cuddly version. They really need some love.
Captain W E Johns of Biggles fame was at his best when treating plants like people in his occasional garden writing. He’d have heated dialogues with his Scilla peruviana, warning it of emerging too early, and after an argument with his next-door neighbour, in which Johns came off the clear victor, he describes laughing with his nasturtiums until they were nearly sick. That stretch of the imagination doesn’t come naturally to me, but I have to admit to thinking of diminutive treasures such as snowdrops as so ‘cute’ that I find myself approaching them with a paternal attitude, while having an altogether different and less tolerant picture of, say, the ‘muscular’ and ‘thuggish’ acanthus.
At least I clearly can’t be accused of plant blindness, which is one of the recognised consequences of our zoochauvinism. Apparently, as a society, we’re increasingly blind to plants around us, and consistently undervalue our utter and total dependence upon their ongoing existence.
Hopefully my kids will, by sheer osmosis, avoid plant blindness. But I’m wondering if it’s too late to encourage them to cuddle up to a felt fritillaria or a terry trillium. Michael blogs at thegardenist.com.au