Having been a dedicated and obsessive gardener for longer than most people have been alive, I like to read anything and everything to do with my favourite pastime, relevant to my circumstances or not. I've found some unlikely gems, like James Roush's thoughtful and engaging tome on gardening in wildest Kansas, which contains much broad-spectrum common sense with which I can happily identify.
No common sense here, though. The author takes a seeming delight in parading its absence, couple with abysmal gardening ignorance; even the formulaic, stereotypical advice of her so-called "Gardening Mentor" leaves much to be desired.
The author is described as a psychotherapist (it's clear she's not a gardener) and the injunction which immediately springs to mind is "Psychotherapist, heal thyself !" Gardening is the best therapy - for me at any rate - that I know of; if it weren't, I wouldn't do it. I should have thought it obvious, even to a psychotherapist, that any voluntary pastime which causes this degree of angst should be abandoned instantly as prejudicial to health and sanity; she should move to an apartment and take up stamp collecting or train spotting.
The book is ludicrously overpriced; Amazon's trade-in offer of 45p seems over-generous, and I found myself wondering who on earth could this book be aimed at ? Not at gardeners, or anyone wanting to take up gardening, that's for sure. Is it intended to be humour, à la Stephen Leacock, perhaps ? But it did not even raise a smile; it all seems too desperate.
I eventually concluded that the only possible target audience is gardening haters, who would like to be confirmed in their prejudice; they will find much to enjoy in this book. They might even want to give it five stars...