HONEY AND VENOM

New York City’s "premier beekeeper" has some stories to tell.

Coté structures his book around the beekeeping calendar, one chapter per month, weaving seasonally relevant facts about bees around stories that occurred during that month. In March, for instance, the author informs readers of the “cleansing flight,” made when the weather is finally warm enough for pent-up bees to leave their hives and defecate, and the life cycle of the worker bee, as the hive ramps up its population in anticipation of spring blooms. He also documents the March 2010 debate on legalizing beekeeping in New York City and a mishap involving the relocation of several hives from western Pennsylvania to Brooklyn. This latter anecdote begins with a sneering and entirely gratuitous description of the trailer home and dilapidated equipment of the retiring Appalachian beekeeper, whom he snidely calls “the feller,” from whom he purchased some 100 hives. It concludes with his mocking account of the efforts of the inept beekeepers he sold them to. Alas, it’s scenes like this, in which Coté freely expresses his superiority to so many of the other “beeks” he encounters both in NYC and around the world, that render him a less-than-charming companion. One or two such anecdotes might be funny; 12 months’ worth grow old. So, too, do the author’s frequent references to his appearances in the media. The freely dropped celebrity names also grate (10 within three paragraphs in the prologue alone); irritatingly, he refers to both Martha Stewart and Yoko Ono, whom he “bump[s]” into when keeping bees at MoMA, by their given names, a familiarity he does not assume with male celebrities such as Paul Newman or Bill Clinton (Spike Lee is an exception). Coté has both a rambling, conversational style that can leave readers unmoored in his timeline and the bad habit of introducing beekeeping practices unlikely to be understood by general readers pages before he describes their purpose, often only elliptically. His obvious, oft-stated love for his father—his beekeeping mentor—and regard for those beekeepers he deems competent are warming, but it's not enough to remove the sour air of self-regard.

Too much venom, not enough honey.