Ayurella Horn-Muller is the author of the new book Devoured: The Extraordinary Story of Kudzu, the Vine That Ate the South. Also a journalist, she is based in Florida.
Q: What inspired you to write Devoured?
A: I’ve always been fascinated by the links between plants and people. It’s an interest that I’ve centered in my work as a climate journalist.
From writing about how climate change is driving a range expansion for Florida’s mangroves, and what that means for the communities who rely on them, to reporting on the global climate-fueled rise in seed preservation research, plants have remained a constant in the stories I cover.
Whether we’re talking about dwindling food crops or the loss of coastal trees that buffer extreme storms, the impacts of our rapidly warming planet on plants serve as a vital illustration of the consequences of climate change for people worldwide.
My story with kudzu officially started in 2020. It began as a seed of a thought planted by an interview I was conducting for another story — one that led me to look further into what climate change could mean for several prolific invasive species.
This conversation was serendipitously followed by a drive down a canopied Florida road that was flanked by gleaming sheets of kudzu.
It was then that I realized that this was a plant I had been around my whole life, a vine I had regularly spotted draping languidly over the fringes of forests and farmland, a common landscape fixture on plenty of roadways winding through the South.
This was kudzu — a weed I had only ever heard referred to in a negative context. It not only represented an unwanted nuisance in the landscape but doubled as a part of Southern vernacular. Kudzu was used to signify something that “smothers” or “chokes the life out of” another thing.
And yet, I had no idea until then that the vine behind this symbolism also carried with it an ancient cultural history rooted in East Asia. I had no inkling that there were places where kudzu is not deemed a curse, but a valuable resource.
I also had no clue that this plant, which generations of Southerners have viewed with disdain, was once deified by farmers throughout the region. Nor did I know it was this bewildering source of modern scientific mystery.
After learning about its complex past in the States, as a climate reporter, I immediately became curious about what rising temperatures could mean for its spread, which led me to report on the topic for Southerly, a now-defunct news publication.
In 2021, I published a story that spotlighted the surprisingly sustainable ways architects, chefs, and artists are putting kudzu’s blossoms and roots to use across the South. That piece spurred conversations with an editor at LSU Press. Fast forward a few years, and here we are!
Q: How did you research the book, and what did you learn that especially surprised you?
A: The foundation of my research began with that story for Southerly, which was followed by years spent reading every digitized peer-reviewed publication about kudzu I could find, unearthing old articles and government reports on the vine, and interviewing everyone who had a role to play in recently published scientific papers on it.
I recruited the help of friends and colleagues to translate a bevy of reports about kudzu published in Chinese and Japanese.
While working on this book, I also interviewed dozens of people based across the country who have researched, written about, or innovated in some way with kudzu in the U.S. — the bulk of whom readers meet in the text.
What surprised me most was the dearth of quantitative evidence that exists about a vine that is commonly referred to as the “poster child” of invasive plants in the South. An entire chapter in Devoured is devoted to my investigation into this, where I take readers through my journey to figure out some of the biggest questions orbiting kudzu in the U.S.
Those include examining how much kudzu covers land in the South, how much money is spent on tracking and controlling the plant, who is accountable for managing plants like it, and ultimately why these answers even matter.
Q: The writer Masha Rumer said of the book, “Meticulously researched, personal, and gorgeously written, Devoured centers a powerful plant as a symbol of immigration and climate justice in America. A timely narrative that will inspire readers to examine their deeply rooted notions of belonging, both in our society and in the natural world, as we race against the peril of climate change.” What do you think of that description?
A: I couldn’t be more honored by it. Not only is Masha a skilled author and reporter I respect immensely, but much of her work centers on her experiences as an immigrant in the U.S.
Given that part of Devoured explores what it was like growing up in an immigrant household in America — as well as my experiences as a person of color living in a world where climate change is substantially deepening racial and social divides — that kind of response is feedback I cherish. It’s also exactly the message I hope readers take away from the book.
Q: How was the book's title chosen, and what does it signify for you?
A: I have Jenny Keegan (trade editor at LSU Press, brilliant wordsmith, and overall wonderful human) to thank for that. While the manuscript was in its final round of edits, Jenny helped me brainstorm a title that would capture the premise of the book while still appealing to a broad readership.
After dancing around a few other prospective titles, Devoured: The Extraordinary Story of Kudzu, the Vine That Ate the South emerged as a clear victor for us both.
The way I see it, the use of “devoured” signifies the omnipresence of kudzu in the South. Kudzu isn’t just abundant in one region’s natural topography, but it’s been woven into the cultural fabric of the South for over a century.
The word “devoured” also pokes fun at a popular stereotype about kudzu in American lore. It conjures up visions of this unstoppable, monstrous plant that creeps in from the wild countryside and swallows your entire property. Memorable, if nothing else!
Q: What are you working on now?
A: I can’t say too much yet, but what I can share is that I will be continuing my coverage of climate change and all kinds of plants for a news organization I've always admired. More to come!
Q: Anything else we should know?
A: Devoured is a nonfiction book that chronicles the past, present, and future of kudzu in the South, while digging into the stories of people working in industries — spanning architecture, science, education, art, food, medicine, and more — who are changing how we look at something like a historically undesirable vine.
Devoured is also a political book. And I know some readers may not be overjoyed to hear that. Maybe you’re just interested in learning about the history of kudzu in America and don’t understand why that account should have a political slant.
But if you read Devoured, you’ll discover that the political influences behind kudzu’s remarkable cultural downfall are a crucial part of its story in the South.
This is a plant that is native to East Asia and was formally introduced to the States in the 19th century from Japan. A plant that was, at first, celebrated for utility — as this miraculous solution to soil erosion. A plant that the federal government paid farmers to grow with abundance, inspiring fan clubs and festivals.
Until it became this “alien invader” haunting the Southern countryside, a “poster child” of invasive plants, and the unwanted agricultural problem it is known as today.
Devoured peels back many layers of American history to make sense of that colossal shift, revealing a rather uncomfortable reality: How we talk about plants with origins beyond U.S. borders does have an effect on how people with origins outside of America are perceived.
So I hope that this book challenges readers to reconsider how we decide what — and who — belongs in the changing world around us. Most of all, I hope it demonstrates what one seemingly ordinary vine can tell us about ourselves.
--Interview with Deborah Kalb
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