acterized by rapid climate change, sea-level rise, 
and mass extinction—an imprint far more per- 
manent than the markings at Chauvet Cave. 
The unprecedented biotic exchange ushered in 
by the experimental plant shipments between 
London and Sydney is a piece of this story. 
The experiments had been orchestrated by 
an affable English physician named Nathanial 
Ward and the nurseryman George Loddiges. 
Previously, it had been exceptionally difficult 
to ship live plants over such long distances. In 
addition to the general perils of sea travel (salt 
spray, tempestuous weather, foraging rodents), 
fresh water was a scarce resource and could sel- 
dom be spared for plants. In a backyard experi- 
ment, Ward discovered that plants could be 
sustained within an enclosed glass container 
for long periods without supplemental water. 
When such cases were used aboard ships, they 
solved many of the persistent problems associ- 
ated with long-distance plant transport. In a fol- 
low-up experiment in 1834, Ward sent six cases 
to Egypt and Syria, and when the plants were 
received, scarcely a leaf was reported missing. 
Keogh follows the Wardian case as it became a 
commonplace tool, not only for moving botani- 
cal curiosities but also for transporting crops 
(including tea, Camellia sinensis, and rubber, 
Hevea brasiliensis) that supported the endeav- 
ors of Western empire-building. Also, because 
Wardian cases contained soil, the plants invari- 
ably arrived with insects and pathogens in tow. 
“To move plants was to move ecosystems,” 
Keogh writes. Some of these newcomers proved 
devasting, including coffee rust (Hemileia vas- 
tatrix), which erupted in Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) 
in 1869 and subsequently decimated planta- 
tions in many coffee-growing regions around the 
world. Altogether, this global churning—which 
continues in a post-Wardian world—accumu- 
lates to dramatic effect. Keogh, for instance, 
cites a study suggesting that approximately 
nine out of ten invertebrate pests in the United 
Kingdom arrived on live plants. 
Certainly, the Wardian case was just one inno- 
vation within the broader scope of the Anthro- 
pocene. The case gained traction at a moment of 
enormous industrialization and fossil fuel use. 
While the first Wardian cases were transported 
on sailing ships, steam power soon predomi- 
Book Review 43 
nated. Carbon dioxide levels in the atmosphere 
would mount. Moreover, industrial agricul- 
ture favors monocultures, which are especially 
susceptible to pests and pathogens (like coffee 
rust) that spread rapidly in the Wardian era. In a 
curious twist, Keogh recounts how, in the early 
twentieth century, entomologists used Ward- 
ian cases to intentionally transport insects to 
control invasive plants and other pests that had 
been imported in earlier shipments. 
By the 1920s, plant quarantines and import 
restrictions slowed the use of Wardian cases, but 
it was the airplane that finally rendered them 
obsolete. Now live plants can be moved with- 
out soil, wrapped in plastic, and mailed directly 
to inspection sites before being admitted into a 
country, assuming importers follow the rules. 
Yet pests and pathogens continue to spread. 
The emerald ash borer (Agrilus planipennis) 
was first identified in the United States in 2002 
and likely arrived burrowed within wood ship- 
ping materials. The Asian longhorned beetle 
(Anoplophora glabripennis) arrived in a similar 
fashion before 1996. In this light, the Wardian 
case was only one contributor to this dramatic 
biotic exchange. Not only has the admixture 
continued to the present but humans began 
moving plants long before Nathaniel Ward 
arrived on the scene. Ward’s main innovation, 
Keogh stresses, was the enclosed system. Also, 
not insignificantly, Ward was a charismatic 
individual who used his social connections to 
promote the case. 
For Ward, awaiting news on his inaugural 
shipment to Australia, the long-term impli- 
cations of his cases would have been impos- 
sible to imagine. Thinking about consequences 
two hundred years in the future is almost 
beyond the realm of comprehension—almost 
as unlikely as the painters at Chauvet Cave 
imagining researchers studying their work 
more than thirty thousand years later. Yet the 
concept of the Anthropocene asks us to think 
even further ahead. In 1833, the captain of the 
ship to Australia penned a congratulatory letter 
to Ward: “Your experiment for the preservation 
of plants alive ... has fully succeeded.” The case 
of the Anthropocene challenges us to reconsider 
the meaning of our own small successes. 
Jonathan Damery is the editor of Arnoldia. 
