Review by Booklist Review
To be captivated by beauty is a soul-enriching feeling, one that can defy rationalization. One loves what one loves, after all. But sometimes it's wise not to look too closely at the object of desire, to refrain from going beneath the veneer of beauty, for often there is a painful and ugly history behind its creation. Kelleher, once a moody, emotive teen, has always found herself drawn to the glittering light of diamonds, the sensuous feel of pure silk, the narcissistic allure of the mirror. A journalist who frequently chronicles opulent home décor trends on location, Kelleher is immersed in beauty in her professional and personal lives, although the latter is often on a less-expensive scale. What attracts her to a translucent porcelain plate or iridescent scallop shell, however, is often offset by the realization that these objects are rarely "untouched by the depravity of human greed or unblemished by the chemical undoings of time." Through personal revelation and scholarly research, Kelleher's engrossing essays cogently explore the unsettling dichotomy between the precious and the problematic, the seedy and the sublime to vividly reveal the pleasures and perils in pursuit of ideal beauty.
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Science writer Kelleher (Handcrafted Maine) delivers grimly illuminating essays about the unseemly processes that produce beautiful goods. She examines what's required to bring such luxuries as gems, makeup, marble, mirrors, pearls, perfume, and silk to market and contemplates their appeal. Musk, she notes, used to be harvested by killing deer and extracting their pungent glandular sacs; natural musk has largely been replaced by chemical substitutes, but studies suggest these artificial fragrances disrupt hormone functioning and might cause tumors. Waxing philosophical about the draw of mirrors, she links the madness that came over early mirror makers, who inhaled the fumes of the mercury they melted to create reflective surfaces, with the "insidious" "cultural obsession with looks" that mirrors enabled. Kelleher eloquently interrogates the allure of luxury items even as she remains clear-eyed about the damaging social expectations that drive their value, as when she admits she gets a "thrill" from makeup shopping despite knowing it's motivated by unrealistic beauty standards that cause women to "exercise our desire until it becomes the strongest muscle in our hearts." The author's perceptive analysis and self-reflection raise intriguing questions about consumerism, aesthetics, and gendered understandings of beauty. The result is a thoughtful offering as precious as the goods studied. (Apr.)
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review
Art, design, and science writer Kelleher (Handcrafted Maine) offers a series of essays examining the underside of beauty. These essays, narrated with clarity and emotion by Cindy Kay, speak to people's instinctive desire for beauty and the manufactured desire for specific things deemed beautiful. Kelleher combines science, history, and memoir to describe desirability and the ugly truth about how beautiful things are made and obtained. The book delves into the history of products often considered beautiful, including glass, gemstones, cosmetics, textiles, mirrors, pearls, perfumes, and more. Beauty comes at a cost, however. The author piercingly describes how these luxury items damage the earth, exploit those who obtain raw materials, and benefit only a privileged few. While these items may provide pleasure, Kelleher emphasizes that the natural world is already full of beauty, and it is possible--and necessary--to experience beauty without possessing it. VERDICT A fascinating look at the history of beautiful things and how they came to be considered so while implacably revealing the ugliness beneath the veneer. Thought-provoking and earnestly narrated; recommended for all collections.--Joanna M. Burkhardt
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
Ruminations on beautiful things with dark origins. A love of beauty is an essential part of being human, writes Kelleher, a freelance journalist who specializes in design and visual culture. She admits that for her, the study of beauty is more than a profession, and she notes that her desire for lovely things rescued her from the depths of depression at several points in her life. However, she also realized that many of the things she loved had problematic stories behind them, which she explores while trying to find the roots of her own desires. The mining of gemstones often involves environmental degradation, and most diamonds are unearthed by workers who endure slavelike conditions. The author also loves perfume, but it has a troubling history. Whales were slaughtered for their ambergris, which was the basis of expensive scents for a long time, and other animals were likewise exploited. Many cosmetics have equally unsavory origins. The red coloring of lipstick, for example, comes from the shells of crushed bugs. Kelleher saves some of her sharpest barbs for silk, a fabric she has desired since she was young. The production of silk involves the careful unwrapping of silkworm cocoons, usually done by children. Even marble, whether in sculptures or tabletops, is dangerous to miners and masons, leading to numerous health problems. For Kelleher, all this creates terrible moral dilemmas, but she eventually came to terms with the duality. "I came to accept that desire and repulsion exist in tandem and that the most poignant beauties are interthread with ugliness," she writes. "There is no way to live without causing harm. Despite all that, we keep trying. At least, I do." Though occasionally pretentious and self-indulgent, the author has plenty of interesting things to say. Kelleher has always been obsessed with beauty, and this poetic book is a careful study of its ambiguity and meaning. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.