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352 pages, Paperback
First published February 1, 1981
The Summer of 1914 was the fairest in living memory. Grass had never been greener, nor skies bluer. Europe lay rich and ripening under the warming sun, and from the Ural Mountains to the wave-beaten west of Ireland the cows fattened, the newborn animals played in the rich fields, and lovers strolled in the country lanes.As Stokesbury goes on to point out, this postwar view "was the trick of selective memory," but reading his wonderful prose one can easily experience the vision's appeal, nonetheless.