Diane Ackerman reviews Amy Butler Greenfield’s A Perfect Red: Empire, Espionage, and the Quest for the Color of Desire, in To Dye For:
When Hernán Cortés invaded Mexico, he found a society besotted with strong sensations, from blood sports to drug-level chocolate, which the Aztecs sometimes stirred with the powdered bones of their enemies. The emperor, Montezuma, claimed the right to wear the most brilliant red and imposed on his subjects a special tax to be paid in cochineal insects, from which the vibrant dye came. The Spanish quickly monopolized the world’s supply of cochineal; in 1587 alone, they shipped 65 tons of it home. Other countries soon coveted it, and the equivalent of corporate espionage ensued.
So what, exactly, is cochineal?
As it happens, cochineal comes from a fragile little insect that lives on prickly pear cactus. The female produces carminic acid to annoy ants and other predators, and she is the red dye. “Pinch a female cochineal insect,” Greenfield writes, “and blood-red dye pours out. Apply the dye to mordant cloth, and the fabric will remain red for centuries.”