I was reading this book on the train last night, and the woman next to me asked if I was an artist—because I was reading a book about color. “No, just interested,” I said, and then she asked about the subtitle, which is “How One Man Invented a Color that Changed the World.” “So, how did it change the world? Or maybe you’re still getting to that part?” So I told her a bit about the book, and then it was my stop, and I hadn’t managed to ask if she was an artist (probably!) or what kind of art she made. But nevertheless, I was pleased to have one of those bookish encounters one sometimes has in the city. And I was, mostly, pleased with this book, which tells the story of William Henry Perkin and his discovery of mauve aniline dye in 1856, and the future scientific advances that were related to that initial discovery.
Garfield’s writing style is mostly matter-of-fact, with a few flashes of oddness or romance, which I wanted more of: I liked, for example, that he gave the recipe for Perkin’s dye alongside a recipe for Nesselrode pudding (served at a jubilee dinner in New York celebrating Perkin’s invention). I wanted more of that: my absolute favorite thing in the book was this passage, in a section about a celebration/convention put on in 1956 by the American Association of Textile Chemists and Colorists and other related trades:
The most interesting new analysis came from Deane B. Judd at the National Bureau of Standards, Washington, DC, who found that Perkin and his successors had made a significant contribution to the English language. Of the 7,500 colour names identified by this time, over 100 originated directly from synthetic dyes. (That is to say, while almost all the 7,500 could be made artificially, there were over 100 names—including anthracene green and naphthalene yellow—that originated purely from the chemist’s workbench.) The other sources include 528 flowers (from amaryllis to wisteria), 427 proper names of places (Antwerp brown to Zanzibar brown), 340 pure colour names (black, blue, red), 290 pigments (chrome green), 254 fruits (apricot, banana), 239 foods (brown sugar, yolk yellow), 221 peoples (Tyrian purple, Dutch blue), 214 substances (amber, asphalt), 200 personal names (Robin Hood green, Salome pink), 183 botany (acacia), 149 common things (brick red), 144 natural dyes (indigo, madder), 133 birds (bluejay) and 133 animals (buff—from buffalo). There were 125 jewels (amethyst), 123 metals (brass), 121 geographical elements (glacier blue), 117 alcoholic drinks (absinthe), 107 trees (willow green), 105 atmospherical features (aurora yellow), 83 weather aspects (smog), 82 moods (blue funk), 79 abstract things (triumph blue), 72 romance and passion (golden rapture), 64 minerals (agate), 60 old things (antique brown), 59 end-use (battleship grey), 56 fable and superstition (goblin scarlet), 55 time of day (midnight blue), 50 marine life (coral), 50 undyed textiles (ecru), 46 mythology (Bacchus), 36 ceramic (Wedgwood blue), 31 religious occupations (cardinal purple), and 20 human (nude). (pp 176-177)
Which isn’t to say that the central story of Perkin, who made his discovery by accident at the age of eighteen, wasn’t interesting in itself. Perkin studied and worked in the lab of August Wilhelm von Hofmann at the Royal College of Chemistry, and one of Hofmann’s interests was showing “how well the study of chemistry could produce the artificial synthesis of natural substances” (29). One of the substances he wanted to synthesize was quinine, which was in huge demand for the prevention and treatment of malaria; Perkin’s discovery, which came about at home over the Easter holiday because of his curiosity about the results of a failed experiment, was not synthetic quinine, but rather a way of treating coal-tar to make a distinctive powerful and color-fast purple dye with aniline as its base. Mauve inspired many imitators: other aniline dyes in similar shades and other shades were developed, and were manufactured (especially in Germany) on a huge scale, bringing more and brighter colors to more consumer goods.
And aniline dyes like Perkin’s mauve weren’t just used to dye textiles: they were used to stain cell and tissue samples, and were useful in staining and therefore identifying and studying specific bacteria associated with specific diseases. They even were the starting point for chemotherapy, as scientists realized that the dyes weren’t just staining the cells but reacting with matter in them.
I wasn’t so into the parts of this book about industry (I especially could have done without all the bits about corporate buyouts and mergers) though I did like some of the more lively bits, particularly a section on the Victorian-era dye industry’s publicity battle. As more and more people made aniline dyes in various colors, worries about health risks grew: some colors used arsenic, which could pollute local water supplies and might also cause skin irritations; some doctors and concerned citizens claimed that even arsenic-free colors were irritating because of the coal-tar itself – especially in cheaper dyes that were less color-fast than Perkin’s mauve. There was a push to encourage a switch back to natural dyes, but that didn’t really make financial/logistical sense, and besides, the manufacturers of artificial dyes pushed back. I love this: “Williams Bros and Ekin, from Hounslow, Middlesex, mentioned that an analytical chemist from London called Antony Nesbitt fed his rabbits for many weeks on oats which had been steeped in strong solutions of magenta, violet, brown and orange. The rabbits seemed to like it, and stayed white” (108).
Mostly I liked the bits of this book about the history of dyes and dying: I knew that cochineal was made from insects, for example, but had no idea that it took “about 17,000 dried insects for a single ounce of dye” (40). And I’d heard of Tyrian purple, but I loved this passage about it:
Pliny described how, during autumn and winter, the shellfish were crushed, salted for three days and then boiled for ten. The resultant colour resembled ‘the sea, the air and a clear sky,’ suggesting that Tyrian purple defined not one particular shade but a rich spectrum from blue to black. The dying process varied from port to port, and might have water or honey mixed in to achieve different hues. (39-40)
That’s what I wanted more of: color as product/process and color as evocative, bits of shell conjuring sea and air and sky.
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