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All Among The Barley
From the author of Costa-shortlisted and Baileys-longlisted At Hawthorn Time comes a major new novel. Set on a farm in Suffolk just before the Second World War, it introduces a girl on the cusp of adulthood.
Fourteen-year-old Edie Mather lives with her family at Wych Farm, where the shadow of the Great War still hangs over a community impoverished by the Great Depression. Glamorous outsider Constance FitzAllen arrives from London, determined to make a record of fading rural traditions and beliefs, and to persuade Edie's family to return to the old ways rather than embrace modernity. She brings with her new political and social ideas – some far more dangerous than others.
For Edie, who has just finished school and must soon decide what to do with her life, Connie appears to be a godsend. But there is more to the older woman than meets the eye. As harvest time approaches and the pressures mount on the entire Mather family, Edie must decide whose version of reality to trust, and how best to save herself from disaster.
A masterful evocation of the rhythms of the natural world and pastoral life, All Among the Barley is also a powerful and timely novel about influence, the lessons of history and the dangers of nostalgia.
Fourteen-year-old Edie Mather lives with her family at Wych Farm, where the shadow of the Great War still hangs over a community impoverished by the Great Depression. Glamorous outsider Constance FitzAllen arrives from London, determined to make a record of fading rural traditions and beliefs, and to persuade Edie's family to return to the old ways rather than embrace modernity. She brings with her new political and social ideas – some far more dangerous than others.
For Edie, who has just finished school and must soon decide what to do with her life, Connie appears to be a godsend. But there is more to the older woman than meets the eye. As harvest time approaches and the pressures mount on the entire Mather family, Edie must decide whose version of reality to trust, and how best to save herself from disaster.
A masterful evocation of the rhythms of the natural world and pastoral life, All Among the Barley is also a powerful and timely novel about influence, the lessons of history and the dangers of nostalgia.
352 pages, Paperback
First published August 23, 2018
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About the author
Melissa Harrison
14 books242 followersMelissa Harrison is the author of the novels Clay and At Hawthorn Time, which was shortlisted for the Costa Novel Award and longlisted for the Bailey's Women's Prize, and one work of non-fiction, Rain, which was longlisted for the Wainwright Prize. She is a nature writer, critic and columnist for The Times, the Financial Times and the Guardian, among others. Her new novel All Among the Barley is due for publication in August, 2018..
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 533 reviews
June 30, 2019
I have been looking forward to reading this one since seeing the initial reviews last year, but for various reasons it has only just reached the top of the to read list. For the most part, I found it very impressive, and I will certainly read Harrison again.
The core of the book is a brilliant evocation of life on an English farm in the mid 1930s, through the eyes of the narrator Edith, recalling the events of one summer when she was a 14 year old tenant farmer's daughter. The location is not described directly but seems most likely to be Southern Suffolk. I always have a soft spot for books with maps in them, and we get two beautiful maps at the start, one of the village and a larger scale one of the farm.
The farm is still largely run by horse power, and the book vividly describes both what has since been lost in the English landscape (for example Edith adopts an orphaned landrail or corncrake - these birds were very common then but are now almost extinct here) and the hardships endured by those that worked in it. This is no sentimental idyll, as there are also sinister political undercurrents at play, and it is impossible not to see the parallels Harrison makes with the febrile atmosphere around Brexit and the populist right.
The core of the book is a brilliant evocation of life on an English farm in the mid 1930s, through the eyes of the narrator Edith, recalling the events of one summer when she was a 14 year old tenant farmer's daughter. The location is not described directly but seems most likely to be Southern Suffolk. I always have a soft spot for books with maps in them, and we get two beautiful maps at the start, one of the village and a larger scale one of the farm.
The farm is still largely run by horse power, and the book vividly describes both what has since been lost in the English landscape (for example Edith adopts an orphaned landrail or corncrake - these birds were very common then but are now almost extinct here) and the hardships endured by those that worked in it. This is no sentimental idyll, as there are also sinister political undercurrents at play, and it is impossible not to see the parallels Harrison makes with the febrile atmosphere around Brexit and the populist right.
June 26, 2019
More than 40 years ago I found a book that changed how I looked at life and history. It was titled The Days that We have Seen by George Ewart Evans. (At one point in this novel we encounter a grocer’s van belonging to G & E Evans and I suspected the author Melissa Harrison was telling us something.) He had been a schoolmaster in Suffolk but became fascinated by recollections by country folk of the old days, what life was like before the 1914-1918 war. He recorded their stories and depicted their ways of life, which in some respects were not so very different from in Chaucer’s time. It is this world that Melissa Harrison sets All Among the Barley, though at a slightly later period, the 1930s. The central character and narrator is Edith Mather, a 14 year-old farm girl in East Anglia who has just completed her formal schooling and ought to embarking on a life as a nanny or even a teacher. She is very literate and a constant reader. She lives at Wych Farm, near the village of Elmbourne, with her mother and father, her brother Frank, and two farm workers, the aged Doble and the horseman John, who had served in the war and experienced things that he does not wish to remember. Into their life comes a London woman named Constance FitzAllen, whose fictional career reminded me very much of Ewart’s. She is a freelance writer who specialises in country life, waxing eloquent about old ways of farming and housekeeping and cooking. There also seems something sinister about her, though we find out precisely what only at the end of the book.
I loved the language of the country folk, grizzle, ted, stoachy, haysel, churr and the birds, landrails, dorhawks, throstles and spinks. The landrail becomes Edie’s pet whom she names Edmund, and given the number of farm cats, a constant source of worry. (A landrail is also called a corn-crake; one turned up on Long Island in November 2017 and caused a bird-watchers’ sensation.) We are tempted to share Connie’s romantic enthusiasm for the old farming days, though it’s clear that back-breaking work, anxiety, and poverty are never absent long. Edie’s mother bakes with a range, not the brick oven Connie would prefer that she used. Edie is also conscious of mysterious powers and magical signs, and for much of the book we are not sure how much faith to put in her perceptions. (She cannot stop reading a book till she encounters a sentence of exactly seven words.) She had a grandmother who was supposed to have died mad. I particularly liked John the horseman. Though the Mathers own a tractor, virtually all their farm work is done with draught horses. Evans had introduced me to the Society of Horsemen, a sort of combination of freemasonry and horse whispering that initiated ploughmen into the craft of controlling their horses. And of course like all adepts, John doesn’t talk about what he knows and can do.
The story develops slowly, though it builds towards a frightening climax. There is plenty of foreshadowing a tragic denouement, and no absence of hints about Connie’s toxic effect on Edie and the neighbourhood. Though I was very moved by the working out of the story, I had some difficulties with both characterisation and plot. It took a long time for Melissa Harrison to get to the climax. Connie is a fascinating character but she did not have to be as odious as Harrison makes her. Had she been merely misguided in her beliefs rather than embracing views that are hateful, I believe this would be a better tragedy.
Not every reader will enjoy All Along the Barley, but for those of us who are fascinated by the much slower pace of life of country people who lived much closer to natural realities, this is a very moving read.
I loved the language of the country folk, grizzle, ted, stoachy, haysel, churr and the birds, landrails, dorhawks, throstles and spinks. The landrail becomes Edie’s pet whom she names Edmund, and given the number of farm cats, a constant source of worry. (A landrail is also called a corn-crake; one turned up on Long Island in November 2017 and caused a bird-watchers’ sensation.) We are tempted to share Connie’s romantic enthusiasm for the old farming days, though it’s clear that back-breaking work, anxiety, and poverty are never absent long. Edie’s mother bakes with a range, not the brick oven Connie would prefer that she used. Edie is also conscious of mysterious powers and magical signs, and for much of the book we are not sure how much faith to put in her perceptions. (She cannot stop reading a book till she encounters a sentence of exactly seven words.) She had a grandmother who was supposed to have died mad. I particularly liked John the horseman. Though the Mathers own a tractor, virtually all their farm work is done with draught horses. Evans had introduced me to the Society of Horsemen, a sort of combination of freemasonry and horse whispering that initiated ploughmen into the craft of controlling their horses. And of course like all adepts, John doesn’t talk about what he knows and can do.
The story develops slowly, though it builds towards a frightening climax. There is plenty of foreshadowing a tragic denouement, and no absence of hints about Connie’s toxic effect on Edie and the neighbourhood. Though I was very moved by the working out of the story, I had some difficulties with both characterisation and plot. It took a long time for Melissa Harrison to get to the climax. Connie is a fascinating character but she did not have to be as odious as Harrison makes her. Had she been merely misguided in her beliefs rather than embracing views that are hateful, I believe this would be a better tragedy.
Not every reader will enjoy All Along the Barley, but for those of us who are fascinated by the much slower pace of life of country people who lived much closer to natural realities, this is a very moving read.
September 6, 2018
’Well, I’m no anti-Semite, of course, but they’re not from here, and if we’re not careful they’ll mar the character of England forever – not to mention the way they undercut wages and take work away from ordinary people, just as the Irish did... We must rebuild the country, and we must put our own kind first!... There are hordes of them coming all the time – this country is being handed to them on a plate’
Sound familiar? This isn’t xenophobic Brexiteer rhetoric or a Trump rant but is put into the 1930s mouth of Constance FitzAllen, a glamorous Englishwoman who comes from London to the rural backwaters ostensibly to write a book about bucolic Edens and homely Englishness. Harrison cleverly makes Connie attractive and only gradually allows the insinuating creep of her nasty ideologies to permeate the narrative.
Both a commentary on our world and a reminder of where similar sentiments ended before – with fascism across Europe, WW2 and the Holocaust – this is a book which dramatizes both the insidious pull of repellent politics and the extent to which they depend on skewed storytelling and invented mythologies. While Connie tries to idealise a rural England of bread-making, cheerful peasants and pastoral idealism, real farmers like the narrator’s father are struggling with absentee landlords, debts and confusion over whether they want government subsidies and import tariffs, or free trade.
This is the third book I’ve read recently which explores Britain’s flirtation with Oswald Mosley’s blackshirt fascism in the 1930s – and looking at some of our current politics and politicians it’s not hard to see why this has emerged as a topic with some heat and urgency. All the same, it’s a submerged strand in this book which, in the foreground, is concerned with the coming-of-age of 14 year old Edie, our narrator, against a beautifully-described rural landscape.
There are perhaps too many themes struggling for deeper treatment in this book: the clash between Edie’s bright intelligence and her family’s need for her on the struggling farm, the oppressive sexual relationship she falls into with a neighbour which raises issues of abuse/non-consent and sexual complicity, the vein of ‘madness’ that emerges and its treatment in the 1930s.
What holds this all together is Harrison’s lovely understated writing and her lyrical descriptions of the natural world. This feels like a straightforward read but the more I think about it, the cleverer it is at making literary capital out of various and sometimes contradictory relationships between present and past.
Thanks to Bloomsbury for an ARC via NetGalley
June 14, 2019
I am more familiar with Melissa Harrison’s nature writing and have bought her non-fictional "Rain: Four Walks In English Weather" as Christmas presents. However she is also a successful novelist – her second novel “In the Hawthorn Time” being shortlisted for the Costa Prize and longlisted for the Women’s Prize – and I had seen this book as an outsider for the Booker longlist (in fact given the theme that the judges seemed to pick out across their books I am perhaps surprised at its exclusion).
The book is written in the first person by Edith Mather –looking back, many decades later, on events from the Summer and Autumn of 1934, when she was 14. Edie is then living on a Suffolk farm with her mother, father, brother Frank, Grandfather on her father’s side, and two yardmen (John – their horseman who unlike Edie’s Uncle and brother returned from the war; and the 70 year old Doble).
Edie was a “an odd child … by the pragmatic, practical standards of the farming families thereabouts”, preferring “the company of books to other children” and given to absent mindedness and interior dialogue sometime spilling over into talking to herself aloud. Her older sister Mary has recently married and lives nearby (Edie struggling with the sudden break in their relationships) as do her mother’s parents (Granfer and her squint eyed and mysterious Grandmother). Edie struggles with her conflicting reactions to the close, sexual attentions paid to her by a slightly older boy – Alfie.
On one level, the world in which she lives is one unchanged for many years and decades, a rural life, driven by the hard learnt and traditional lessons of farming lore, and the rhythm of the seasons overlaid by the vagaries of the weather.
But at the same time one subject to uncertainty and the need to continually adapt to change – at this time, for example a farming community adapting to the decimation of a generation of male workers as well, to increased mechanisation, to changing farm tariffs, and to a changing political backdrop.
And specific change is bought to the farm and wider community, by a rare outside visitor – Constance, a writer from London keen to capture and celebrate the rural traditions. While Connie may be keen to celebrate tradition, those around Edie are aware of the need for adaption and for balancing progress against tradition.
After around a third of the book, two jarring notes change our perceptions of the story:
The increasingly political Connie describes her belief in the need for an Agricultural Bank, run mutually by farmers themselves, not by the … - well not by international financiers – and the reader, sometime ahead of Edie, realises that Connie’s increasingly expressed views on the importance of rural English traditions include a strong dose of anti-Semitism.
And only a few pages later, as a small bird that Edie rescues, returns to her after being set free her mother remarks happen you have yourself a familiar and Edie, this time sometime ahead of the reader, suddenly discovers a shadow world of traditional rural witchcraft of which she is increasingly convinced she is the heir (after her mother, and her mother in turn).
We and Edie also see more the tensions in the small farm community – her father’s struggle with despondency and alcohol, her mother’s odd relationship with John whose political differences with her father become increasingly open as the tensions between tradition and progress become greater.
This is certainly an ambitious book and one which attempts a lot – perhaps not altogether successfully. Like two recent books I have read – “There, There” and “In a Mad and Furious City” ends with what seems an unnecessary dramatic finale.
The angle which seems to have been given the greatest (and compared to its treatment in the book disproportionate) coverage in press reviews and interviews, is an examination of 1930s rural themed fascism (my term).
As the author explains in a closing historical note, a complex set of fragmented groups all drawing from “a murky broth of nationalism, anti-Semitism, nativism, protectionism, anti-immigration sentiment, economic autarky, secessionism, militarism, anti-Europeanism, rural revivalism, nature worship, organicism, landscape mysticism and distrust of big business – particularly international finance”.
Of course the reviewers are immediately drawn to Trump and Brexit parallels – although I could not help sadly reflect on the level of overlap with the leader of a major left wing party – anti-Zionist, anti-European, distrusting of big business and international finance, and owner of an allotment.
However an equally important theme – and one which is crucial to the limited present day part of the book – is the 1930s rural treatment of the “mad” which often amounted to a lifetime sentence to an institution
And the key part of the book for me was the portrayal of the rural community as explained earlier in my comments – at a time of great change. Harrison drawing on her nature writing beautifully captures the rhythms of rural life – both the natural rhythm of flora and fauna, as well as the rhythms that man has imposed on the landscape to make a marginal living from it.
Interestingly as an aside – shortly after writing this book, the author decided to leave her City life and move to a small cottage in the Suffolk countryside where this book was set.
Overall an enjoyable book.
The book is written in the first person by Edith Mather –looking back, many decades later, on events from the Summer and Autumn of 1934, when she was 14. Edie is then living on a Suffolk farm with her mother, father, brother Frank, Grandfather on her father’s side, and two yardmen (John – their horseman who unlike Edie’s Uncle and brother returned from the war; and the 70 year old Doble).
Edie was a “an odd child … by the pragmatic, practical standards of the farming families thereabouts”, preferring “the company of books to other children” and given to absent mindedness and interior dialogue sometime spilling over into talking to herself aloud. Her older sister Mary has recently married and lives nearby (Edie struggling with the sudden break in their relationships) as do her mother’s parents (Granfer and her squint eyed and mysterious Grandmother). Edie struggles with her conflicting reactions to the close, sexual attentions paid to her by a slightly older boy – Alfie.
On one level, the world in which she lives is one unchanged for many years and decades, a rural life, driven by the hard learnt and traditional lessons of farming lore, and the rhythm of the seasons overlaid by the vagaries of the weather.
But at the same time one subject to uncertainty and the need to continually adapt to change – at this time, for example a farming community adapting to the decimation of a generation of male workers as well, to increased mechanisation, to changing farm tariffs, and to a changing political backdrop.
And specific change is bought to the farm and wider community, by a rare outside visitor – Constance, a writer from London keen to capture and celebrate the rural traditions. While Connie may be keen to celebrate tradition, those around Edie are aware of the need for adaption and for balancing progress against tradition.
After around a third of the book, two jarring notes change our perceptions of the story:
The increasingly political Connie describes her belief in the need for an Agricultural Bank, run mutually by farmers themselves, not by the … - well not by international financiers – and the reader, sometime ahead of Edie, realises that Connie’s increasingly expressed views on the importance of rural English traditions include a strong dose of anti-Semitism.
And only a few pages later, as a small bird that Edie rescues, returns to her after being set free her mother remarks happen you have yourself a familiar and Edie, this time sometime ahead of the reader, suddenly discovers a shadow world of traditional rural witchcraft of which she is increasingly convinced she is the heir (after her mother, and her mother in turn).
We and Edie also see more the tensions in the small farm community – her father’s struggle with despondency and alcohol, her mother’s odd relationship with John whose political differences with her father become increasingly open as the tensions between tradition and progress become greater.
This is certainly an ambitious book and one which attempts a lot – perhaps not altogether successfully. Like two recent books I have read – “There, There” and “In a Mad and Furious City” ends with what seems an unnecessary dramatic finale.
The angle which seems to have been given the greatest (and compared to its treatment in the book disproportionate) coverage in press reviews and interviews, is an examination of 1930s rural themed fascism (my term).
As the author explains in a closing historical note, a complex set of fragmented groups all drawing from “a murky broth of nationalism, anti-Semitism, nativism, protectionism, anti-immigration sentiment, economic autarky, secessionism, militarism, anti-Europeanism, rural revivalism, nature worship, organicism, landscape mysticism and distrust of big business – particularly international finance”.
Of course the reviewers are immediately drawn to Trump and Brexit parallels – although I could not help sadly reflect on the level of overlap with the leader of a major left wing party – anti-Zionist, anti-European, distrusting of big business and international finance, and owner of an allotment.
However an equally important theme – and one which is crucial to the limited present day part of the book – is the 1930s rural treatment of the “mad” which often amounted to a lifetime sentence to an institution
And the key part of the book for me was the portrayal of the rural community as explained earlier in my comments – at a time of great change. Harrison drawing on her nature writing beautifully captures the rhythms of rural life – both the natural rhythm of flora and fauna, as well as the rhythms that man has imposed on the landscape to make a marginal living from it.
Interestingly as an aside – shortly after writing this book, the author decided to leave her City life and move to a small cottage in the Suffolk countryside where this book was set.
Overall an enjoyable book.
July 20, 2021
If you like vividly painted descriptions of nature, lyrical evocations of rural life, and more specifically of farming, then this is the thing for you. And also, if you like a classic coming-of-age story, including the inevitable sexual initiation, then this is it, too. Harrison brings to life a fictional village in 1930s Suffolk, England, all through the eyes of the young, fairly naive farmer's daughter Edi Mather. Many ingredients seem familiar, especially if you've already read a few Thomas Hardy novels. But Harrison adds some accents of her own. The most original of these is presented through the character Constance FitzAllen, a feisty town lady who speaks highly of the traditional values of the countryside, but appears to have an agenda of her own. The author here incorporates the rise of fascism in England, but in such a way that it actually has more to do with Brexit and topics of today. Captivating and lyrical, for sure, but, personally, I thought the story was a bit long-winded, in the first half. It picks up speed past halfway, only to come to at a rather abrupt and not entirely satisfying ending. (rating 2.5 stars)
August 31, 2019
A magical read in so many ways. With consummate ease Melissa Harrison took me back to rural England (Suffolk, I believe) between the wars (c 1919-34). The old settled way of life, customs and practices working alongside mechanisation and new fangled methods. The rural idyll is there and beautifully portrayed by the narrator and central character Edith (Edie) Mather. But life is hard on her family’s farm and the tensions within the family reflect the wider national and international picture. Women have only recently been able to vote but society, especially in the sticks, is patriarchal with a capital P.
A journalist/writer appears on the scene, befriending Edie, her family and neighbours. She is there, she says, to record and broadcast through her magazine all the things which make rural England special and why we should feel so proud of our heritage. As well as cherishing it we must guard against those who would do it harm, in the same way as parasites can blight and destroy our crops and livelihoods. How easy to sow these seeds in receptive ground...
A clever and thought provoking read. I did not anticipate the conclusion. 5* recommendation.
A journalist/writer appears on the scene, befriending Edie, her family and neighbours. She is there, she says, to record and broadcast through her magazine all the things which make rural England special and why we should feel so proud of our heritage. As well as cherishing it we must guard against those who would do it harm, in the same way as parasites can blight and destroy our crops and livelihoods. How easy to sow these seeds in receptive ground...
A clever and thought provoking read. I did not anticipate the conclusion. 5* recommendation.
July 31, 2018
"The spring she is a young maid who does not know her mind,
The summer is a tyrant of a most ungracious kind,
But the autumn is an old friend that does the best he can
To reap the golden barley and cheer the heart of man.
All among the barley, oh who would not be blithe
When the free and happy barley is smiling on the scythe!
The wheat he’s like a rich man, all sleek and well-to-do;
The oats they are a pack of girls, all lithe and dancing too;
The rye is like a miser, he’s sulky, lean and small
But the free and golden barley is monarch of them all.
All among the barley, oh who would not be blithe
When the free and happy barley is smiling on the scythe."
collected by Alfred Williams from farm hand Henry Sirman of Stanton Harcourt, and printed in the 1923 book Folk-songs of the Upper Thames: with an essay on folk-song activity in the Upper Thames neighbourhood
Melissa Harrison's previous novel, At Hawthorn Time, was shortlisted for the Costa Novel Award 2015 and longlisted for the 2016 Baileys Women's Prize for Fiction. All Among the Barley was unfortunate to miss out on this year's Booker but I suspect could be a repeat contender for the other awards.
The novel is set in 1933-4 and narrated in the first person by Edith, looking back at the events of that time when she was a 14 year-old girl living on the family farm. Her self-introduction immediately alerts us that something very significant happened at the end of this period.
"My name is Edith June Mather and I was born not long after the end of the Great War. My father, George Mather, had sixty acres of arable land known as Wych Farm; it is somewhere not far from here, I believe. Before him my grandfather Albert farmed the same fields, and his father before him, who ploughed with a team of oxen and sowed by hand. I would like to think that my brother Frank, or perhaps one of his sons, has the living of it now; but a lifetime has passed since I was last on its acres, and because of everything that happened I have been prevented from finding out."
Edie is not a typical farming girl, something of a loner, a deep-thinker but also superstitious:
"I preferred the company of books to other children, and was frequently chided by my parents after leaving my tasks half-done, distracted by the richer, more vivid world within my head.
...
I would hear Mother calling me in exasperation, but it has always been my habit never to close a book unless I have reached a sentence of seven words exactly in case something dreadful should happen to the farm, or to my family; so I would delay, and often go home to a hiding, because we were expected to work in the fields when we weren’t at school and not to waste time reading books. "
When she finds a recently abandoned nest and, with the add of the farm hens, hatches an egg, she finds herself the unwitting foster-mother of a corncrake, although a joke of her mother's takes on more significance in Edith's mind than intended.
"‘Well,’ said Mother, sliding the ash pan out and standing up, ‘happen as you have
yourself a familiar, Edith June.’‘A familiar?’ She laughed.‘ A pet, at any rate.’"
The farm is near the village of Elmbourne set in a fictionalised part of Suffolk:
"Some say that ours is a flat county, but that isn’t quite true: it undulates gently, unlike the level landscape of the Fens, and dips to the winding course of the River Stound ; but the skies are huge, and the views, from any slight rise, go on for miles.The lanes are narrow, the fields small and deeply hedged , sometimes in double rows, tree-high: oak and ash, field maple, and dog-roses twining through. Because our part of the country was never reshaped as other places were, by prosperity or the railways or industry, a great many of its dwellings have survived to a great age. The farmhouses are often sway-backed, with deep thatch and crooked timber frames; the black barns are brick-footed, with tall gables and great doors. Our churches are of knapped flint gleaned from the fields, the land itself raised up in prayer; and everywhere the corn reaches right up to the village edges, as I have been told the vineyards do in France.
....
The village’s main thoroughfare, The Street, ran along the north side of the river, which was only a stream here really, and slow. There was a post office and general stores, our little schoolroom, a grocer, a butcher, two smithies – one with a crimson petrol pump outside – the wheelwright Connie had mentioned, who was also a cabinet-maker and undertaker, a draper, a sweet shop and the Bell & Hare; once there had been an inn called the Cock, too, but that was no more.We had nearly everything we needed, excepting a bank and a doctor, both of which could be found in Market Stoundham, where the cattle and grain markets were held. There was little need to travel any further, and most people didn’t; likewise, new people rarely moved to the district, and so our day-to-day world was composed almost entirely of people we knew."
But the village life is interrupted by the arrival of a visitor, a middle-aged woman from London, Constance FitzAllen ('Connie'), wearing men's clothing, who has come to record and preserve the rural ways:
"I’m making a study of country ways: folklore, cottage crafts, dialect words, recipes – that kind of thing.The War – well, that’s when everything began to change, don’t you agree? And it’s such a dreadful shame to see it all being forgotten. So I mean to preserve it – or some of it, at least – for future generations.We simply must celebrate places like this.’"
Topically, given the summer of 2018 when this book is published, 1933-4 were some of the driest years on record (indeed 1933 had the lowest rainfall in the UK in the 20th Century) - albeit this was more of a gradual than sudden drought, with consistent low rainfall over a prolonged period. The following passage also highlights Harrison's wonderful prose descriptions of the countryside and the way that she uses nature and the changing seasons to illustrate the passing of time in the book in a way reminiscent of my favourite book of 2017, Reservoir 13. All Among the Barley fully justifies the glowing praise from Jon McGregor and Robert Macfarlane.
"I was thirteen in 1933, the year our district began to endure its famous – or infamous – drought. It crept up on us: the hay came in well, and when the rick was thatched Father was pleased, because he knew it was dry and wouldn’t spoil; this meant that the horses would have enough fodder to last the winter , and he would not have to buy any in. But without any rain the field drains ran dry and by August even the horse-pond by the house had shrunk to a thick green scum.
...
In October, Wych Farm’s trees turned quickly and all at once, blazing into oranges and reds and burnished golds; with little wind to strip them the woods and spinneys lay on our land like treasure, the massy hedgerows filigreed with old-man’s-beard and enamelled with rosehips and black sloes. Along the winding course of the River Stound the alder carrs were studded with earthstars and chanterelles and dense with the rich, autumnal stink of rot; but crossing Long Piece towards The Lottens the sky opened into austere, equinoctial blue, where flocks of peewits wheeled and turned, flashing their broad wings black and white. At dawn, dew silvered the spiders’ silk strung between the grass blades in our pastures so that the horses left trails where they walked, like the wakes of slow vessels in still water. At last, wintering fieldfares and thrushes stripped the berries from the lanes, and at night the four tall elms for which the farm was named welcomed their cold-weather congregations of rooks. The dew dampened the stubble in the parched cornfields, drawing from it a mocking green aftermath."
Harrison manages to create a number of threads in the book, and possible triggers for whatever event Edith was referring to in the opening: the threat to the harvest and the suggestion that Edith's father may be in debt; family tensions between Edith's parents and also with the workers on the farm; the inappropriately sexual attention Edith experiences from an older boy; wider political developments and Edith's own, rather fevered, superstitions. But one particularly grabbed my attention as both fascinating and pertinent to the current time.
Connie's project starts to take on a slightly more political (and sinister) air than the bucolic project she initially suggested. The first hint is when she bites her tongue when describing her ideal:
"‘It must be run by farmers themselves, not by the – well, not by international financiers.’"
She claims inspiration from the editor of The Nation, the radical magazine that would eventually merge with the New Statesman:
"I met Henry Massingham too, once. Such a fine man. It was his articles on rural crafts and home cultivation that helped me to see what my life’s work should be."
But her real project seems to have a rather different inspiration as the left-leaning farm worker John identifies:
"We need a strong government to free us from our dependence on the international finance system – one which will act in the best interests of the British people, that will favour British manufacturing and farming, and ensure this never happens again . We need a British system of credit that benefits Britain alone, rather than lining the pockets of usurers and profiteers – and that means proper import quotas , and reform of our agricultural system.We must bring down national debt and return to full employment, of course; and we must look to the shires and their ancient traditions, not to the intellectual classes in the cities, for a new sense of national identity and pride. Places like here,’ she said, smiling at all of us and sitting back, her little speech over. ‘
Hear, hear,’ Father said.
‘A strong government, you say? I’ll wager I can guess who it is that you mean,’ said John.
‘The silly little fencing-master?’ she laughed.‘ Good Lord, no, you’re quite wrong on that account.’"
That last a reference to Oswald Mosley of course, a fencing champion in his youth. Connie wants to create something rather different to Mosley's League, an Order of English Yeomanry, a type of organisation that was common in the 1930s, as the author explains in an afterword:
"These complex, fragmented groups differed from one another, sometimes slightly, sometimes profoundly; but all drew from a murky broth of nationalism, anti-Semitism, nativism, protectionism, anti-immigration sentiment, economic autarky, secessionism, militarism, anti-Europeanism, rural revivalism, nature worship, organicism, landscape mysticism and distrust of big business – particularly international finance."
A beautifully written tale of country life between the Wars, but with important political echoes for our own time. Recommended.
The summer is a tyrant of a most ungracious kind,
But the autumn is an old friend that does the best he can
To reap the golden barley and cheer the heart of man.
All among the barley, oh who would not be blithe
When the free and happy barley is smiling on the scythe!
The wheat he’s like a rich man, all sleek and well-to-do;
The oats they are a pack of girls, all lithe and dancing too;
The rye is like a miser, he’s sulky, lean and small
But the free and golden barley is monarch of them all.
All among the barley, oh who would not be blithe
When the free and happy barley is smiling on the scythe."
collected by Alfred Williams from farm hand Henry Sirman of Stanton Harcourt, and printed in the 1923 book Folk-songs of the Upper Thames: with an essay on folk-song activity in the Upper Thames neighbourhood
Melissa Harrison's previous novel, At Hawthorn Time, was shortlisted for the Costa Novel Award 2015 and longlisted for the 2016 Baileys Women's Prize for Fiction. All Among the Barley was unfortunate to miss out on this year's Booker but I suspect could be a repeat contender for the other awards.
The novel is set in 1933-4 and narrated in the first person by Edith, looking back at the events of that time when she was a 14 year-old girl living on the family farm. Her self-introduction immediately alerts us that something very significant happened at the end of this period.
"My name is Edith June Mather and I was born not long after the end of the Great War. My father, George Mather, had sixty acres of arable land known as Wych Farm; it is somewhere not far from here, I believe. Before him my grandfather Albert farmed the same fields, and his father before him, who ploughed with a team of oxen and sowed by hand. I would like to think that my brother Frank, or perhaps one of his sons, has the living of it now; but a lifetime has passed since I was last on its acres, and because of everything that happened I have been prevented from finding out."
Edie is not a typical farming girl, something of a loner, a deep-thinker but also superstitious:
"I preferred the company of books to other children, and was frequently chided by my parents after leaving my tasks half-done, distracted by the richer, more vivid world within my head.
...
I would hear Mother calling me in exasperation, but it has always been my habit never to close a book unless I have reached a sentence of seven words exactly in case something dreadful should happen to the farm, or to my family; so I would delay, and often go home to a hiding, because we were expected to work in the fields when we weren’t at school and not to waste time reading books. "
When she finds a recently abandoned nest and, with the add of the farm hens, hatches an egg, she finds herself the unwitting foster-mother of a corncrake, although a joke of her mother's takes on more significance in Edith's mind than intended.
"‘Well,’ said Mother, sliding the ash pan out and standing up, ‘happen as you have
yourself a familiar, Edith June.’‘A familiar?’ She laughed.‘ A pet, at any rate.’"
The farm is near the village of Elmbourne set in a fictionalised part of Suffolk:
"Some say that ours is a flat county, but that isn’t quite true: it undulates gently, unlike the level landscape of the Fens, and dips to the winding course of the River Stound ; but the skies are huge, and the views, from any slight rise, go on for miles.The lanes are narrow, the fields small and deeply hedged , sometimes in double rows, tree-high: oak and ash, field maple, and dog-roses twining through. Because our part of the country was never reshaped as other places were, by prosperity or the railways or industry, a great many of its dwellings have survived to a great age. The farmhouses are often sway-backed, with deep thatch and crooked timber frames; the black barns are brick-footed, with tall gables and great doors. Our churches are of knapped flint gleaned from the fields, the land itself raised up in prayer; and everywhere the corn reaches right up to the village edges, as I have been told the vineyards do in France.
....
The village’s main thoroughfare, The Street, ran along the north side of the river, which was only a stream here really, and slow. There was a post office and general stores, our little schoolroom, a grocer, a butcher, two smithies – one with a crimson petrol pump outside – the wheelwright Connie had mentioned, who was also a cabinet-maker and undertaker, a draper, a sweet shop and the Bell & Hare; once there had been an inn called the Cock, too, but that was no more.We had nearly everything we needed, excepting a bank and a doctor, both of which could be found in Market Stoundham, where the cattle and grain markets were held. There was little need to travel any further, and most people didn’t; likewise, new people rarely moved to the district, and so our day-to-day world was composed almost entirely of people we knew."
But the village life is interrupted by the arrival of a visitor, a middle-aged woman from London, Constance FitzAllen ('Connie'), wearing men's clothing, who has come to record and preserve the rural ways:
"I’m making a study of country ways: folklore, cottage crafts, dialect words, recipes – that kind of thing.The War – well, that’s when everything began to change, don’t you agree? And it’s such a dreadful shame to see it all being forgotten. So I mean to preserve it – or some of it, at least – for future generations.We simply must celebrate places like this.’"
Topically, given the summer of 2018 when this book is published, 1933-4 were some of the driest years on record (indeed 1933 had the lowest rainfall in the UK in the 20th Century) - albeit this was more of a gradual than sudden drought, with consistent low rainfall over a prolonged period. The following passage also highlights Harrison's wonderful prose descriptions of the countryside and the way that she uses nature and the changing seasons to illustrate the passing of time in the book in a way reminiscent of my favourite book of 2017, Reservoir 13. All Among the Barley fully justifies the glowing praise from Jon McGregor and Robert Macfarlane.
"I was thirteen in 1933, the year our district began to endure its famous – or infamous – drought. It crept up on us: the hay came in well, and when the rick was thatched Father was pleased, because he knew it was dry and wouldn’t spoil; this meant that the horses would have enough fodder to last the winter , and he would not have to buy any in. But without any rain the field drains ran dry and by August even the horse-pond by the house had shrunk to a thick green scum.
...
In October, Wych Farm’s trees turned quickly and all at once, blazing into oranges and reds and burnished golds; with little wind to strip them the woods and spinneys lay on our land like treasure, the massy hedgerows filigreed with old-man’s-beard and enamelled with rosehips and black sloes. Along the winding course of the River Stound the alder carrs were studded with earthstars and chanterelles and dense with the rich, autumnal stink of rot; but crossing Long Piece towards The Lottens the sky opened into austere, equinoctial blue, where flocks of peewits wheeled and turned, flashing their broad wings black and white. At dawn, dew silvered the spiders’ silk strung between the grass blades in our pastures so that the horses left trails where they walked, like the wakes of slow vessels in still water. At last, wintering fieldfares and thrushes stripped the berries from the lanes, and at night the four tall elms for which the farm was named welcomed their cold-weather congregations of rooks. The dew dampened the stubble in the parched cornfields, drawing from it a mocking green aftermath."
Harrison manages to create a number of threads in the book, and possible triggers for whatever event Edith was referring to in the opening: the threat to the harvest and the suggestion that Edith's father may be in debt; family tensions between Edith's parents and also with the workers on the farm; the inappropriately sexual attention Edith experiences from an older boy; wider political developments and Edith's own, rather fevered, superstitions. But one particularly grabbed my attention as both fascinating and pertinent to the current time.
Connie's project starts to take on a slightly more political (and sinister) air than the bucolic project she initially suggested. The first hint is when she bites her tongue when describing her ideal:
"‘It must be run by farmers themselves, not by the – well, not by international financiers.’"
She claims inspiration from the editor of The Nation, the radical magazine that would eventually merge with the New Statesman:
"I met Henry Massingham too, once. Such a fine man. It was his articles on rural crafts and home cultivation that helped me to see what my life’s work should be."
But her real project seems to have a rather different inspiration as the left-leaning farm worker John identifies:
"We need a strong government to free us from our dependence on the international finance system – one which will act in the best interests of the British people, that will favour British manufacturing and farming, and ensure this never happens again . We need a British system of credit that benefits Britain alone, rather than lining the pockets of usurers and profiteers – and that means proper import quotas , and reform of our agricultural system.We must bring down national debt and return to full employment, of course; and we must look to the shires and their ancient traditions, not to the intellectual classes in the cities, for a new sense of national identity and pride. Places like here,’ she said, smiling at all of us and sitting back, her little speech over. ‘
Hear, hear,’ Father said.
‘A strong government, you say? I’ll wager I can guess who it is that you mean,’ said John.
‘The silly little fencing-master?’ she laughed.‘ Good Lord, no, you’re quite wrong on that account.’"
That last a reference to Oswald Mosley of course, a fencing champion in his youth. Connie wants to create something rather different to Mosley's League, an Order of English Yeomanry, a type of organisation that was common in the 1930s, as the author explains in an afterword:
"These complex, fragmented groups differed from one another, sometimes slightly, sometimes profoundly; but all drew from a murky broth of nationalism, anti-Semitism, nativism, protectionism, anti-immigration sentiment, economic autarky, secessionism, militarism, anti-Europeanism, rural revivalism, nature worship, organicism, landscape mysticism and distrust of big business – particularly international finance."
A beautifully written tale of country life between the Wars, but with important political echoes for our own time. Recommended.
December 16, 2019
There aren't many words to describe the subtle nuances and intricacies of this book. It is perfectly written, with a wonderfully emotional and poignant nod towards the days of farming in 1930s Suffolk which have now almost completely disappeared. The story centres around a young girl named Edith, who struggles to grow up under her tired and demotivated mother and strict father as they farm their land. However she does adore living on a farm and the descriptions we are given of her early mornings and late night strolls are beautiful. The book takes a bit of a darker turn later on, but I was still captivated by the story, and nearly in tears when I turned the last page. It's one of those books I have always wanted to read, even before I knew it existed, and now I've read it I wish I could start it from the beginning - unaware of what is to happen.
July 20, 2019
This was marvelous and by far the best thing I’ve read all summer, if not this year. I bought it on impulse on vacation in the highlands this week, because I thought it would be a Mood, if nothing else, and it was that- but it was also far, far more. Its the first impulse buy that’s worked out this well since I discovered Elizabeth von Arnim. Its relevant without feeling like a Obligatory Must Read Bc It Is Relevant To Our Times, it’s gorgeously written without ever crossing into purple prose, it’s got a protagonist whose teenage experience I recognized and felt for fiercely (what happens to her is awful but is an awful very much found in the everyday course of things that is complicated and most certainly not an outlier and therefore is able to teach without screaming and we need more of these stories about boundaries and sex and trauma and hormones). Its language is ever so slightly alien, in a deliberate way- the painterly language of flower names and agricultural terms that has faded away- it’s almost like reading a book where characters speak partly in a foreign language. It forces you to orient yourself and sink into it, to feel it rather than understand every word. You have to leave behind where you are to really understand it. I love Robert McFarlane and it is no surprise to find he’s blurbed this- not only is the author a nature writer, this is a great job of someone showing in fiction what he’s been arguing for years- the impoverishment that the loss of nature words causes, the kind of writing and knowing and kinds of beauty we lose. I was on a terrifyingly old plane flying across the Atlantic reading this, with a whole list of inconveniences and annoyances that can happen piling up around my travel, but this book made seven hours disappear and warm sunshine envelope me until I was just completely transported. I kept back a star because I think there was no way to write the Connie stuff without it coming across as a little on the nose sometimes (which is the fault of 2019, not the author), and I wish more had been illuminated about the parents so that the mom made more sense to me (but since it is written from the perspective of a 14 year old girl, I know why not), and I wanted more follow through about some of the lines of thought about Alfie, and I for sure sure wanted more John. But most of these bar the first are the complaints of love, wanting more, so I’m not sure it even matters. A perfect book for summer, for autumn evenings, for a winter’s fire, even. I can not recommend it highly enough. Make it happen.
October 23, 2021
An author I have never read before and a novel about rural England in the 1930s with a fourteen year old unreliable narrator. What could go wrong? Actually, not much. Another writer I respect, Jon McGregor, called this a masterpiece and yes, it is really good.
The setting is rural Suffolk in the early 1930s on a fairly poor tenant farm. It is narrated by fourteen year old Edith Mather, which adds a coming of age element. The Great Depression is one of the backdrops. The other is the Great War which casts a long shadow and the gaps left in families are still obvious. There are tensions between what are called the “old ways” and modern farming methods. The novel revolves around the arrival of a stranger, Constance FitzAllen who has come to record and document old farming methods, songs, pastimes, recipes and all things agricultural. She is treated warily at first, but gradually gains some trust. She also takes time to get to know Edith, who is shy and rather bookish and has reached the point where she has to think about what to do with her life.
Harrison creates a sense of place in terms of the farm and the natural world. There are maps at the beginning of the novel, one of the farm and one of the farm in relation to the nearby village of Elmbourne. Neil Gower the illustrator says of the maps:
“The completeness of Harrison’s maps indicated that they had been an integral part of the novel’s creation. She inhabits the landscape intimately, like her characters, who seem to have emerged straight from it as readily and naturally as the flints they clear from the soil each year.”
The writing about nature is also very strong:
“On a cornland farm, such as ours, the pause between haysel and harvest is like a held breath. The summer lanes are edged with dog-roses and wild clematis, the hedges thronged with young birds. At last the cuckoos leave, and you are glad of it, having heard their note for weeks; but the landrails creak on interminably, invisible among the corn. The nights are brief and warm, the Dog Star dazzles overhead; the moon draws a shadow from every blade of wheat. All day, dust rises from unmade roads and hangs in the air long after a cart or a motor-car passes. Everything waits.”
This however is no rural idyll. The farm is struggling. Edie’s father tends towards drink and doesn’t like to be contradicted and everyone knows he is violent towards Edie’s mother. The newcomer Connie it transpires is a fascist and there is much about strength and tradition and England for the English. The target then was the Jews and in the after note Harrison reminds the reader of Orwell’s essay on Antisemitism in England. Her views find some support and some opposition from union members and socialists among the farm hands. This, of course, leads to more tensions.
Edie is trying to negotiate growing up. She is fascinated by stories of witches and wise women, wondering if she is part of that tradition herself. At the beginning of the book she is reading Lolly Willowes, which helps to fuel her imagination. She starts to get attention from boys and from one boy in particular. There is uncertainty on all sides:
“It isn’t easy to conceive when you are growing up, that the world could be any different than how you find it, for the things you first encounter are what normality comes to consist of, and only the passage of time teaches you that your childhood could have been otherwise.”
Edie’s narration hints at a number of things throughout the novel which begin to add up. A glimpse of her fifty years later in Thatcher’s Britain highlights another sinister aspect of twentieth century British history. All is not as it seems and this is not a sentimental novel, there are flaws in the rural idyll.
The setting is rural Suffolk in the early 1930s on a fairly poor tenant farm. It is narrated by fourteen year old Edith Mather, which adds a coming of age element. The Great Depression is one of the backdrops. The other is the Great War which casts a long shadow and the gaps left in families are still obvious. There are tensions between what are called the “old ways” and modern farming methods. The novel revolves around the arrival of a stranger, Constance FitzAllen who has come to record and document old farming methods, songs, pastimes, recipes and all things agricultural. She is treated warily at first, but gradually gains some trust. She also takes time to get to know Edith, who is shy and rather bookish and has reached the point where she has to think about what to do with her life.
Harrison creates a sense of place in terms of the farm and the natural world. There are maps at the beginning of the novel, one of the farm and one of the farm in relation to the nearby village of Elmbourne. Neil Gower the illustrator says of the maps:
“The completeness of Harrison’s maps indicated that they had been an integral part of the novel’s creation. She inhabits the landscape intimately, like her characters, who seem to have emerged straight from it as readily and naturally as the flints they clear from the soil each year.”
The writing about nature is also very strong:
“On a cornland farm, such as ours, the pause between haysel and harvest is like a held breath. The summer lanes are edged with dog-roses and wild clematis, the hedges thronged with young birds. At last the cuckoos leave, and you are glad of it, having heard their note for weeks; but the landrails creak on interminably, invisible among the corn. The nights are brief and warm, the Dog Star dazzles overhead; the moon draws a shadow from every blade of wheat. All day, dust rises from unmade roads and hangs in the air long after a cart or a motor-car passes. Everything waits.”
This however is no rural idyll. The farm is struggling. Edie’s father tends towards drink and doesn’t like to be contradicted and everyone knows he is violent towards Edie’s mother. The newcomer Connie it transpires is a fascist and there is much about strength and tradition and England for the English. The target then was the Jews and in the after note Harrison reminds the reader of Orwell’s essay on Antisemitism in England. Her views find some support and some opposition from union members and socialists among the farm hands. This, of course, leads to more tensions.
Edie is trying to negotiate growing up. She is fascinated by stories of witches and wise women, wondering if she is part of that tradition herself. At the beginning of the book she is reading Lolly Willowes, which helps to fuel her imagination. She starts to get attention from boys and from one boy in particular. There is uncertainty on all sides:
“It isn’t easy to conceive when you are growing up, that the world could be any different than how you find it, for the things you first encounter are what normality comes to consist of, and only the passage of time teaches you that your childhood could have been otherwise.”
Edie’s narration hints at a number of things throughout the novel which begin to add up. A glimpse of her fifty years later in Thatcher’s Britain highlights another sinister aspect of twentieth century British history. All is not as it seems and this is not a sentimental novel, there are flaws in the rural idyll.
July 18, 2021
England auf dem Land in den 1930er Jahren: Die 14-jährige Edith Mather lebt mit ihrer Familie auf Whych Farm. Sie ist die Jüngste von vier Geschwistern und wächst in konservativen Verhältnissen auf. Auf der Farm gibt es immer etwas zu tun und vor allem die Sommermonate, in denen die Ernte eingeholt werden muss, sind besonders arbeitsreich. Als Anfang eines Sommers die Journalistin Constance FitzAllen aus London anreist, ist Edie begeistert von der extrovertierten Frau, die Hosen trägt und zu allem etwas zu sagen hat. Constance nimmt Edie unter ihre Fittiche, verfolgt jedoch ihre ganz eigenen Ziele: Unter dem Deckmantel, eine Kolumne über das traditionelle Landleben in England zu schreiben, beginnt sie zu missionieren - und verbreitet ein Weltbild, das in dieser ländlichen Gegend auf fruchtbaren Boden trifft...
"Vom Ende eines Sommers" von Melissa Harrison ist ein sehr langsames Buch, das seine Dramatik nach und nach offenbart und ein Stück Zeitgeschehen aufarbeitet, dem ich persönlich zuvor nie meine Aufmerksamkeit gewidmet habe. Der Roman steckt voller Naturbeschreibungen, die so gelungen sind, dass man das Gefühl hat, mit Edie über die Felder zu streifen, mit ihr der Landarbeit nachzugehen und die selben Gerüche und Geschmäcker wahrzunehmen, die sie auf den Seiten erlebt. Mir hat diese eindringliche Beschäftigung mit den ländlichen Gegebenheiten wirklich gut gefallen, sie hatten auf mich eine sehr entschleunigende Wirkung. Generell fand ich diesen nüchtern-beschreibenden Schreibstil sehr passend zur Geschichte.
Im Gegensatz zu der verlangsamenden Stimmung, die durch die vielen detailgetreuen Schilderungen der Umgebung hervorgerufen wird, stehen die Geschehnisse des Sommers, die die Autorin ausführt. Patriarchale Machtdemonstrationen der Männer im Buch treffen auf antisemitisches und patriotisches Gedankengut, das unter dem Deckmantel einer scheinbar fortschrittlich geprägten Figur daher kommt. Dabei sind alle Charaktere des Romans für mein Empfinden sehr authentisch gelungen, sie verhalten sich der Zeit entsprechend, zu der das Buch spielt, was den Ereignissen eine noch größere Tragik verleiht.
Das Ende von "Vom Ende eines Sommers" kommt dann ganz abrupt, aber doch passend, gerade auch im Hinblick auf die historischen Anmerkungen, die die Autorin der Geschichte hinten anstellt. Für mich ein sehr gut gelungener historischer Roman, der wirklich lesenswert ist und aus dem ich viel mitnehmen konnte.
"Vom Ende eines Sommers" von Melissa Harrison ist ein sehr langsames Buch, das seine Dramatik nach und nach offenbart und ein Stück Zeitgeschehen aufarbeitet, dem ich persönlich zuvor nie meine Aufmerksamkeit gewidmet habe. Der Roman steckt voller Naturbeschreibungen, die so gelungen sind, dass man das Gefühl hat, mit Edie über die Felder zu streifen, mit ihr der Landarbeit nachzugehen und die selben Gerüche und Geschmäcker wahrzunehmen, die sie auf den Seiten erlebt. Mir hat diese eindringliche Beschäftigung mit den ländlichen Gegebenheiten wirklich gut gefallen, sie hatten auf mich eine sehr entschleunigende Wirkung. Generell fand ich diesen nüchtern-beschreibenden Schreibstil sehr passend zur Geschichte.
Im Gegensatz zu der verlangsamenden Stimmung, die durch die vielen detailgetreuen Schilderungen der Umgebung hervorgerufen wird, stehen die Geschehnisse des Sommers, die die Autorin ausführt. Patriarchale Machtdemonstrationen der Männer im Buch treffen auf antisemitisches und patriotisches Gedankengut, das unter dem Deckmantel einer scheinbar fortschrittlich geprägten Figur daher kommt. Dabei sind alle Charaktere des Romans für mein Empfinden sehr authentisch gelungen, sie verhalten sich der Zeit entsprechend, zu der das Buch spielt, was den Ereignissen eine noch größere Tragik verleiht.
Das Ende von "Vom Ende eines Sommers" kommt dann ganz abrupt, aber doch passend, gerade auch im Hinblick auf die historischen Anmerkungen, die die Autorin der Geschichte hinten anstellt. Für mich ein sehr gut gelungener historischer Roman, der wirklich lesenswert ist und aus dem ich viel mitnehmen konnte.
January 23, 2021
See my review on Booktube!
May 1, 2019
3.5 stars
There are many wonderful elements to this book, but somehow they didn’t all add up for me. What was meant to be a dramatic climax felt somewhat limp and anticlimactic- and I don’t know if that was a fault in the storyline, or due to the fact that I had been primed for somewhat more. Let me explain: before beginning this book, I heard the author Melissa Harrison discuss it an event at the Owl Bookshop in London. The interlocutor focused rather too much on the plot, and not only did she give away many aspects of it, but even worse she hinted at drama which turned out to be not so dramatic. Harrison was very eloquent when it came to discussing her own work, but she raised my expectations a bit too high.
The premise is particularly interesting to me. It takes place during 1933, in a small farming community in Suffolk. The losses of World War I are still unhealed wounds in the community, and there is a sense that the old ways of farming are being lost, spoilt or proved inefficient. Markets are becoming international, rather than local, and that pressure has lowered prices. Yields are down, too. Drought in the previous farming season has brought the Mather family farm to the brink of ruin, and the father (George Mather) is gambling everything on a tricky barley crop. In the midst of this, a charismatic Londoner (Constance FitzAllen) comes to the community in order to capture the ‘old ways’ for a series of nostalgic and exalting pieces she is writing for a journal associated with the emerging British Fascist movement.
The novel is narrated from the first-person point of view of 14 year old Edith, the youngest daughter of the Mather family. Edith is on the cusp in many ways; she has just left school, but she has no idea of what the future might hold for her. Too young to marry, nevertheless she is being ‘courted’ by a local young man named Alfie Rose. His intentions are approved by her family, but his sly interactions with her are unwanted and invasive. Edith is lonely and isolated in many ways, and there is definitely the sense that the farm (which she loves) cannot provide any positive future for her. Constance becomes her friend, but she is an inappropriate influence in many ways, and her attentions are ultimately superficial.
The nature writing in this book is often very moving - particularly in the first half. We can ‘see’ the land through both Edith’s and Constance’s eyes - one of them deeply knowledgeable, the other misty-eyed with romantic notions about unspoiled Englishness, but both of them appreciative of the beauty of the landscape and the changing seasons. Harrison’s research into farming methods in the 1930s gives a rich texture to the storyline, and that aspect of the story is believable. What doesn’t entirely work, though, is how the author touches on local folklore and superstitions. Edith forms some erroneous conclusions, and acts upon them, but that part of the story didn’t quite ring true or seem built up enough.
The ending of the novel is surprising in many ways, but it felt rushed and inconclusive to me. It was an enjoyable book in many ways, and the author has a pleasing style, but it didn’t stir my emotions as much as I felt it should have done.
There are many wonderful elements to this book, but somehow they didn’t all add up for me. What was meant to be a dramatic climax felt somewhat limp and anticlimactic- and I don’t know if that was a fault in the storyline, or due to the fact that I had been primed for somewhat more. Let me explain: before beginning this book, I heard the author Melissa Harrison discuss it an event at the Owl Bookshop in London. The interlocutor focused rather too much on the plot, and not only did she give away many aspects of it, but even worse she hinted at drama which turned out to be not so dramatic. Harrison was very eloquent when it came to discussing her own work, but she raised my expectations a bit too high.
The premise is particularly interesting to me. It takes place during 1933, in a small farming community in Suffolk. The losses of World War I are still unhealed wounds in the community, and there is a sense that the old ways of farming are being lost, spoilt or proved inefficient. Markets are becoming international, rather than local, and that pressure has lowered prices. Yields are down, too. Drought in the previous farming season has brought the Mather family farm to the brink of ruin, and the father (George Mather) is gambling everything on a tricky barley crop. In the midst of this, a charismatic Londoner (Constance FitzAllen) comes to the community in order to capture the ‘old ways’ for a series of nostalgic and exalting pieces she is writing for a journal associated with the emerging British Fascist movement.
The novel is narrated from the first-person point of view of 14 year old Edith, the youngest daughter of the Mather family. Edith is on the cusp in many ways; she has just left school, but she has no idea of what the future might hold for her. Too young to marry, nevertheless she is being ‘courted’ by a local young man named Alfie Rose. His intentions are approved by her family, but his sly interactions with her are unwanted and invasive. Edith is lonely and isolated in many ways, and there is definitely the sense that the farm (which she loves) cannot provide any positive future for her. Constance becomes her friend, but she is an inappropriate influence in many ways, and her attentions are ultimately superficial.
The nature writing in this book is often very moving - particularly in the first half. We can ‘see’ the land through both Edith’s and Constance’s eyes - one of them deeply knowledgeable, the other misty-eyed with romantic notions about unspoiled Englishness, but both of them appreciative of the beauty of the landscape and the changing seasons. Harrison’s research into farming methods in the 1930s gives a rich texture to the storyline, and that aspect of the story is believable. What doesn’t entirely work, though, is how the author touches on local folklore and superstitions. Edith forms some erroneous conclusions, and acts upon them, but that part of the story didn’t quite ring true or seem built up enough.
The ending of the novel is surprising in many ways, but it felt rushed and inconclusive to me. It was an enjoyable book in many ways, and the author has a pleasing style, but it didn’t stir my emotions as much as I felt it should have done.
December 23, 2019
Edie Mather tells the story. She is an elderly woman of seventy. She speaks of one year in her life, when she was thirteen and then fourteen. This was in 1933 and 1934. She was living then with her family at Wych Farm in Suffolk.
This is a book of historical fiction. It draws for readers a time and a place—rural England of the interwar years when industrialization leading to mechanization was rapidly changing how land was farmed. That tractors were replacing horsepower was merely the tip of the iceberg. In daily life, old traditions were being replaced by new.
We tend to look back at old ways and traditions with nostalgia. We say life was sweeter, simpler, calmer, even more beautiful then, but under the veneer lay never-ending work, struggle and poverty for many. Prejudice was rank. It is all too easy to overlook earlier generations’ difficulties. Often, we fail to acknowledge that modern technology has in fact made life easier. I see this as a clear message of the book. You may think differently.
For me, the book goes a step further. As industrialization led to urbanization, people began to eulogize the rural idyll which in its urn led to an enhancement of national pride. Dangers lurk. Nationalism, carried too far, leads to dislike of all things foreign and even fascism. The author is drawing attention to a trend that occurred in Britain during the interwar years, and she is criticizing it.
These messages are delivered by looking at Edie, her family and the two trusted and longtime employed workmen living at Wych farm. Edie is young, confused and lonely. She feels as an outsider, even at home. She needs a friend, someone to whom she can confide. When the glamorous, charismatic and outspoken Constance FitzAllen arrives from London, interested in documenting and promoting traditional customs, folklore and ways, the two form a bond. Each affords the other what they need, but one is young and naïve. And the elder? We learn by the end of the novel that the outspoken and friendly Constance hides secrets. Neither is she the only one with secrets. Edie’s family too is riddled with secrets.
One might say that this is first and foremost a coming-of-age story. This has been done many times before, but I do think the reader truly comes to perceive the situation Edie finds herself in. We are given a good characterization of not only Edie but also of others in her family too.
The author widens the scope of the book further, bringing in other issues that characterize Britain during the thirties. That women were is woven in too. I say focus on one issue rather than many. The book spreads itself thin.
I like this book, but I don’t love it. It has loose ends. On several points, I couldn’t help wondering why parts were added. For example, Edie takes in and fosters a landrail chick. He becomes a beloved pet. She gives him a name, Edmund. and then he . What is the author saying with this? I have no idea.
Helen Ayres narrates the audiobook. When she relates Edie’s thoughts, I have no problem, despite that her voice is not that of an elderly woman. There is, however, a lot of dialogue, and the way she reads these lines drove me nuts. The villagers use a dialect. That their lines are written in dialect makes sense to me. What I dislike though is the shrill screech of the dialogues. The young and the old, the women and the men--they are all screeching. Neither is there any differentiation made for the sex or age of the person speaking. I am giving the narration one star because it is not pleasant listening to the incessant screeching.
This is a book of historical fiction. It draws for readers a time and a place—rural England of the interwar years when industrialization leading to mechanization was rapidly changing how land was farmed. That tractors were replacing horsepower was merely the tip of the iceberg. In daily life, old traditions were being replaced by new.
We tend to look back at old ways and traditions with nostalgia. We say life was sweeter, simpler, calmer, even more beautiful then, but under the veneer lay never-ending work, struggle and poverty for many. Prejudice was rank. It is all too easy to overlook earlier generations’ difficulties. Often, we fail to acknowledge that modern technology has in fact made life easier. I see this as a clear message of the book. You may think differently.
For me, the book goes a step further. As industrialization led to urbanization, people began to eulogize the rural idyll which in its urn led to an enhancement of national pride. Dangers lurk. Nationalism, carried too far, leads to dislike of all things foreign and even fascism. The author is drawing attention to a trend that occurred in Britain during the interwar years, and she is criticizing it.
These messages are delivered by looking at Edie, her family and the two trusted and longtime employed workmen living at Wych farm. Edie is young, confused and lonely. She feels as an outsider, even at home. She needs a friend, someone to whom she can confide. When the glamorous, charismatic and outspoken Constance FitzAllen arrives from London, interested in documenting and promoting traditional customs, folklore and ways, the two form a bond. Each affords the other what they need, but one is young and naïve. And the elder? We learn by the end of the novel that the outspoken and friendly Constance hides secrets. Neither is she the only one with secrets. Edie’s family too is riddled with secrets.
One might say that this is first and foremost a coming-of-age story. This has been done many times before, but I do think the reader truly comes to perceive the situation Edie finds herself in. We are given a good characterization of not only Edie but also of others in her family too.
The author widens the scope of the book further, bringing in other issues that characterize Britain during the thirties. That women were is woven in too. I say focus on one issue rather than many. The book spreads itself thin.
I like this book, but I don’t love it. It has loose ends. On several points, I couldn’t help wondering why parts were added. For example, Edie takes in and fosters a landrail chick. He becomes a beloved pet. She gives him a name, Edmund. and then he . What is the author saying with this? I have no idea.
Helen Ayres narrates the audiobook. When she relates Edie’s thoughts, I have no problem, despite that her voice is not that of an elderly woman. There is, however, a lot of dialogue, and the way she reads these lines drove me nuts. The villagers use a dialect. That their lines are written in dialect makes sense to me. What I dislike though is the shrill screech of the dialogues. The young and the old, the women and the men--they are all screeching. Neither is there any differentiation made for the sex or age of the person speaking. I am giving the narration one star because it is not pleasant listening to the incessant screeching.
July 6, 2021
Ein Buch im englischen ländlichen Setting in den 1930ern.. es ist entschleunigend und fast schon naiv zu Beginn, wird aber im Laufe der Geschichte erwachsener, politischer und vor allem gefährlicher. Unsere Protagonistin Edie ist dabei ein unzuverlässiger Erzähler, was ich sehr interessant fand und erst nach und nach entdeckte. Das Ende war dann für mich unvorhergesehen rasant und ungewöhnlich. 3,5 Sterne
October 25, 2018
All Among the Barley started rather heavy-handedly with the 1930s farming research that Harrison has clearly thoroughly done, but once I settled into that and the slow quiet story, I came to love it. She brings the time and the location so vividly to life with wonderful descriptions of nature, that the fact that everything seemed to happen in the final quarter of the novel didn't matter.
January 9, 2026
4/5
Jei taip visai atvirai, tai maniau, kad čia bus viena tų „oi, moteris prisimena praeitį ir ten paslaptys, ir meilė, ir oi gamtužė gamtužėlė“ tipo istorijų, nu, su visa derama pagarba tiem 155466 leidimam, kaip Vėžiai. Bet čia... blemba, čia visai graži ir rimta knyga. Net rimtesnė, nei galėjau tikėtis. Paliečianti labai skausmingas PTSD, smurto šeimoje, antisemitizmo, sufražizmo idėjas. Vis priverčianti spėlioti apie tai, kas bus, nuostabiai parašyta (o jei jum patinka gamtos aprašymai, tai išvis saldainis), o ir žiauriai talentingai I. Albertavičienės išversta. Labai liūdna – liūdna net tada, kai tarsi nevyksta nieko siaubingo, nes nuojauta neapleidžia, o ir nes liūdesys mažuose dalykuose – vyrų, sulaužytų per karą ir tada laužančių ir taip karo ne ką mažiau sulaužytas moteris, atskirtimi tarp praeities ir ateities, papročių ir modernumo.
Ir nors knyga parašyta apie labai jauną merginą, iš tiesų idealizmo ar naivumo joje labai mažai. Yra tas idiliškas Anglijos kaimas, kur iš tiesų ir šalta miegoti, ir per stogą varva, yra ir bandymai kurti santykius, kuriems niekada nebuvo lemta išstovėti ant savų kojų, ne tik ant iliuzijų ir vilčių. Yra labai sudėtingi emociniai išgyvenimai ir tuo pat metu gana stulbinantis autorės gebėjimas fikciją supinti su istoriniais aspektais, mano iki šiol nepažintais. Sakyčiau, kad čia tokia liūdnesnė ir skaudesnė „Kur susitinka dangus ir jūra“ pusseserė.
Jei taip visai atvirai, tai maniau, kad čia bus viena tų „oi, moteris prisimena praeitį ir ten paslaptys, ir meilė, ir oi gamtužė gamtužėlė“ tipo istorijų, nu, su visa derama pagarba tiem 155466 leidimam, kaip Vėžiai. Bet čia... blemba, čia visai graži ir rimta knyga. Net rimtesnė, nei galėjau tikėtis. Paliečianti labai skausmingas PTSD, smurto šeimoje, antisemitizmo, sufražizmo idėjas. Vis priverčianti spėlioti apie tai, kas bus, nuostabiai parašyta (o jei jum patinka gamtos aprašymai, tai išvis saldainis), o ir žiauriai talentingai I. Albertavičienės išversta. Labai liūdna – liūdna net tada, kai tarsi nevyksta nieko siaubingo, nes nuojauta neapleidžia, o ir nes liūdesys mažuose dalykuose – vyrų, sulaužytų per karą ir tada laužančių ir taip karo ne ką mažiau sulaužytas moteris, atskirtimi tarp praeities ir ateities, papročių ir modernumo.
Ir nors knyga parašyta apie labai jauną merginą, iš tiesų idealizmo ar naivumo joje labai mažai. Yra tas idiliškas Anglijos kaimas, kur iš tiesų ir šalta miegoti, ir per stogą varva, yra ir bandymai kurti santykius, kuriems niekada nebuvo lemta išstovėti ant savų kojų, ne tik ant iliuzijų ir vilčių. Yra labai sudėtingi emociniai išgyvenimai ir tuo pat metu gana stulbinantis autorės gebėjimas fikciją supinti su istoriniais aspektais, mano iki šiol nepažintais. Sakyčiau, kad čia tokia liūdnesnė ir skaudesnė „Kur susitinka dangus ir jūra“ pusseserė.
June 14, 2019
Melissa Harrison is best known for nature writing and broadcasting.
This, her first work of fiction, is excellent.
There are three distinct themes running through All Among The Barley, and while I was a bit non plussed by the fire that represents a kind of finale, that’s a minor quibble.
The themes
* The rural community in Britain in the 1930’s.
Harrison absolutely captures the last decade of hand, and horse drawn, farming methods, ahead of the mechanisation in agriculture. Young Edith’s (aged 13) adoption and bond with a landrail (corn crake) is a beautiful portrait of the last era of ground nesting birds (before the arrival of tractors).
The unremitting reality of seasonal weather and the race to make harvest transports the reader back in time.
The local, parochial community life, is reflected in the reality that you go to school with other neighbourhood children, then you marry one of your classroom peers.
* The introspection of a young woman/ girl.
The book is written as a first hand account by Edith Maher (Evie); and then restrospectively as she looks back in old age.
Evie’s young adolescence is compromised as a consequence of a lack of parental guidance. The friendship between her and Alf is pitiful and poignant. Alf’s letter from the war front some years later is his attempt to purge his soul of the guilt he now feels for his wrongful behaviour.
Evie’s confusion as a young woman, haunted by superstition, of witches signs, draws her into a sense that like her mother and grandmother, she has unnatural, and undesirable powers. The consequences are tragic.
* The shadow of war, and of fascism.
Two of the best characters are John Hurlock, “the horseman” and Constance (Connie) FitzAllen. The showdown in the local pub, with the villagers gathered around, pitches the exotic, liberated, eloquent Connie against the taciturn Horlock.
Connie is the epitome of misguided malice; anti Semitic, promoting a backward looking nationalism.
Horlock warns ”the English are already much too in love with the past”(21)
A notional Order of English yeomanry fetes the rural idyll; but this is actually a misogynistic world which urgently needs change and open mindedness.
I very much enjoyed this book and strongly recommend it.
This, her first work of fiction, is excellent.
There are three distinct themes running through All Among The Barley, and while I was a bit non plussed by the fire that represents a kind of finale, that’s a minor quibble.
The themes
* The rural community in Britain in the 1930’s.
Harrison absolutely captures the last decade of hand, and horse drawn, farming methods, ahead of the mechanisation in agriculture. Young Edith’s (aged 13) adoption and bond with a landrail (corn crake) is a beautiful portrait of the last era of ground nesting birds (before the arrival of tractors).
The unremitting reality of seasonal weather and the race to make harvest transports the reader back in time.
The local, parochial community life, is reflected in the reality that you go to school with other neighbourhood children, then you marry one of your classroom peers.
* The introspection of a young woman/ girl.
The book is written as a first hand account by Edith Maher (Evie); and then restrospectively as she looks back in old age.
Evie’s young adolescence is compromised as a consequence of a lack of parental guidance. The friendship between her and Alf is pitiful and poignant. Alf’s letter from the war front some years later is his attempt to purge his soul of the guilt he now feels for his wrongful behaviour.
Evie’s confusion as a young woman, haunted by superstition, of witches signs, draws her into a sense that like her mother and grandmother, she has unnatural, and undesirable powers. The consequences are tragic.
* The shadow of war, and of fascism.
Two of the best characters are John Hurlock, “the horseman” and Constance (Connie) FitzAllen. The showdown in the local pub, with the villagers gathered around, pitches the exotic, liberated, eloquent Connie against the taciturn Horlock.
Connie is the epitome of misguided malice; anti Semitic, promoting a backward looking nationalism.
Horlock warns ”the English are already much too in love with the past”(21)
A notional Order of English yeomanry fetes the rural idyll; but this is actually a misogynistic world which urgently needs change and open mindedness.
I very much enjoyed this book and strongly recommend it.
June 18, 2021
Eine Geschichte des Umbruchs: Wie England in den 1930ern politisch und wirtschaftlich sich auf dem Land ändert, wo Technologie das Magische des Alltags ersetzt, die Frauenbewegung anfängt und ein Mädchen zu einer Frau wird. Das Buch wird aus der Sicht von Edith erzählt, das diese Verwandlungen miterlebt und von ihren Erinnerungen erzählt.
Die eindeutige Stärke des Buches sind die wunderschönen, detailreichen Beschreibungen der Atmosphäre und der Natur. Es fühlt sich greifbar an, absolut wundervoll, und als würde ein Bild vor Augen gemalt werden. So schön diese Art der Beschreibungen ist, wird es bis zur Mitte/Ende zäh und ich hatte mich irgendwann gefragt, wo mich diese Geschichte hinführen. Ist es die Geschichte der Pionierin Constance? Oder eher über die Aufbruchstimmung in England zu diesen Zeiten? Oder ist es einfach nur eine Coming-of-Age-Geschichte über Edith? Ich hatte das Gefühl, dass das Buch unnötige Ereignisse und Szenen hatte, die eher dazu geführt hatten, dass die Geschichte einen wirren Eindruck hinterließ. Das Ende war auch zu abrupt mit sehr vielen offenen Fragen. Es war schade, dass eine so schöne Erzählung leider zu viel auf einmal aufarbeiten wollte und dabei sich selbst darin verloren hatte.
** Dieses Buch wurde mir über NetGalley als E-Book zur Verfügung gestellt **
Die eindeutige Stärke des Buches sind die wunderschönen, detailreichen Beschreibungen der Atmosphäre und der Natur. Es fühlt sich greifbar an, absolut wundervoll, und als würde ein Bild vor Augen gemalt werden. So schön diese Art der Beschreibungen ist, wird es bis zur Mitte/Ende zäh und ich hatte mich irgendwann gefragt, wo mich diese Geschichte hinführen. Ist es die Geschichte der Pionierin Constance? Oder eher über die Aufbruchstimmung in England zu diesen Zeiten? Oder ist es einfach nur eine Coming-of-Age-Geschichte über Edith? Ich hatte das Gefühl, dass das Buch unnötige Ereignisse und Szenen hatte, die eher dazu geführt hatten, dass die Geschichte einen wirren Eindruck hinterließ. Das Ende war auch zu abrupt mit sehr vielen offenen Fragen. Es war schade, dass eine so schöne Erzählung leider zu viel auf einmal aufarbeiten wollte und dabei sich selbst darin verloren hatte.
** Dieses Buch wurde mir über NetGalley als E-Book zur Verfügung gestellt **
October 9, 2018
Harrison brings 1930s rural England to life stylishly in this story of a teenage girl trying to figure out who she is and what she wants to do with her life. The summer and autumn of 1934 are momentous for Edie Mather as she sheds her innocence and illusions. She’s being courted by Alf Rose, and isn’t sure she likes it; she learns some unpleasant truths about her family; and she looks up to Constance FitzAllen, a career woman from London who arrives in the village to write a column about the old country ways, only to find that the woman isn’t who she thought.
There are many lovely passages describing the countryside and the rituals of home and harvest; you can tell that Harrison really took joy in the nature writing and historical research, but they (especially the archaic terminology) end up feeling like an overlay on the plot – like a rich ganache atop a bland sponge cake. (Similar to how I felt about Jon McGregor’s Reservoir 13; he has in fact revealed that he kept nature observations and fictional scenes in separate files and gradually merged them, which strikes me as quite an unnatural way to craft a novel.)
I wasn’t convinced by the mystical and ideological material that starts creeping into the last third of the book, nor by the framing story that sees Edie looking back as an older woman. (Claire Fuller’s Bitter Orange is a better example of how to introduce a surprising future for a character.) I also thought there was some overkill: we don’t need to see Edie getting her period and having cramps three times to prove this is a teen girl’s experience; just once will do. My husband admires Harrison’s nature writing so read this before me; I had to wonder what he thought about all the menstruation!
This is a lot like an English version of The Truth According to Us by Annie Barrows: 1930s setting, child narrator, experienced older woman coming to town, the slight feeling of menace as times and ideas are changing, and so on. What I’ll remember from the book is the feeling of an idyllic but transient time between childhood and adulthood: “No more harm would ever come to us, and so it would go on forever, world without end: the elms always sheltering our old farmhouse, the church looking out over the fields. For the fields were eternal, our life the only way of things, and I would do whatever was required of me to protect it. How could it be otherwise?”
I’d certainly read more by Harrison, but I have a feeling I’ll prefer her nonfiction (and perhaps her contemporary settings).
There are many lovely passages describing the countryside and the rituals of home and harvest; you can tell that Harrison really took joy in the nature writing and historical research, but they (especially the archaic terminology) end up feeling like an overlay on the plot – like a rich ganache atop a bland sponge cake. (Similar to how I felt about Jon McGregor’s Reservoir 13; he has in fact revealed that he kept nature observations and fictional scenes in separate files and gradually merged them, which strikes me as quite an unnatural way to craft a novel.)
I wasn’t convinced by the mystical and ideological material that starts creeping into the last third of the book, nor by the framing story that sees Edie looking back as an older woman. (Claire Fuller’s Bitter Orange is a better example of how to introduce a surprising future for a character.) I also thought there was some overkill: we don’t need to see Edie getting her period and having cramps three times to prove this is a teen girl’s experience; just once will do. My husband admires Harrison’s nature writing so read this before me; I had to wonder what he thought about all the menstruation!
This is a lot like an English version of The Truth According to Us by Annie Barrows: 1930s setting, child narrator, experienced older woman coming to town, the slight feeling of menace as times and ideas are changing, and so on. What I’ll remember from the book is the feeling of an idyllic but transient time between childhood and adulthood: “No more harm would ever come to us, and so it would go on forever, world without end: the elms always sheltering our old farmhouse, the church looking out over the fields. For the fields were eternal, our life the only way of things, and I would do whatever was required of me to protect it. How could it be otherwise?”
I’d certainly read more by Harrison, but I have a feeling I’ll prefer her nonfiction (and perhaps her contemporary settings).
did-not-finish
July 2, 2020Not enough story and not nearly compelling enough characters among all that barley.
I read half of this, and was still pretty much waiting for something to happen. I am not somebody who needs much plot in my fiction, but the absence of any here was compounded by the fact that the characters were extremely uninteresting. Instead, Harrison seemed most preoccupied with representing in an overwhelming amount of detail every fact she gleaned about agriculture and rural life in this part of the UK in the years following World War I. I learned quite a bit about all that, and some of it was rather interesting. As a novel, though, the book failed utterly. Bailed at the halfway mark.
I read half of this, and was still pretty much waiting for something to happen. I am not somebody who needs much plot in my fiction, but the absence of any here was compounded by the fact that the characters were extremely uninteresting. Instead, Harrison seemed most preoccupied with representing in an overwhelming amount of detail every fact she gleaned about agriculture and rural life in this part of the UK in the years following World War I. I learned quite a bit about all that, and some of it was rather interesting. As a novel, though, the book failed utterly. Bailed at the halfway mark.
July 15, 2021
Vom Ende eines Sommers ist ein Buch, das ich sehr gerne gelesen habe und das mich vor allem am Ende komplett überrascht hat.
Die Geschichte spielt 1934 im ländlichen England. Die vierzehnjährige Edith wächst auf der Farm ihrer Eltern auf. Es ist Sommer und sie wird langsam erwachsen. Edith ist ein intelligentes, neugieriges, aber auch etwas schüchternes Mädchen. Für sie ist das Leben auf dem Land nicht leicht. Sie würde gerne mehr von der Welt kennenlernen, leidet aber unter ihrem Vater, der die Familie streng behandelt und gerade Edie und ihre Mutter häufig unterdrückt; oft trinkt er auch zuviel. Gleichzeitig wird Edie von einem der Dorfjungen sexuell bedrängt. Dann taucht Connie auf, eine Journalistin aus London, die über das ländliche Leben schreiben möchte. Connie ist völlig anders, sie trägt Hosen, interessiert sich für politische Ereignisse und eröffnet Edie neue Perspektiven auf die Welt.
Ich möchte die Beschreibungen des Landlebens und der Landschaft sehr. Hier wird einerseits eine Idylle beschrieben, gleichzeitig wird aber auch das harte Leben der Bauern nicht verheimlicht. Erstaunlich fand ich auch, wie stark der Aberglaube oft noch verbreitet war, in einer Zeit, die noch keine hundert Jahr zurückliegt.
Edie mochte ich sehr. Ich denke, dass es viele Mädchen gab, die in einer ähnlichen Situation waren wie sie: intelligent und schüchtern, gleichzeitig aber auch weltfremd. Wären die Gesellschaft und auch ihre Mutter und Schwester offener gewesen, wäre manches nicht passiert.
Durch den Titel und die ganze Atmosphäre, die in der Luft lag, war erwarten, dass am Ende des Buches große Veränderungen anstehen. Connies Rolle entwickelte sich in die Richtung, in die ich es erwartet hatte. Wie sich Edies Leben verändern sollte, hat mich doch sehr überrascht. Ich fand das Ende aber sehr gelungen. Vom Ende eines Sommers hebt sich dadurch von anderen Coming-of-Age-Geschichten ab. Auch die kurzen historischen Bemerkungen am Ende runden den Roman schön ab.
Die Geschichte spielt 1934 im ländlichen England. Die vierzehnjährige Edith wächst auf der Farm ihrer Eltern auf. Es ist Sommer und sie wird langsam erwachsen. Edith ist ein intelligentes, neugieriges, aber auch etwas schüchternes Mädchen. Für sie ist das Leben auf dem Land nicht leicht. Sie würde gerne mehr von der Welt kennenlernen, leidet aber unter ihrem Vater, der die Familie streng behandelt und gerade Edie und ihre Mutter häufig unterdrückt; oft trinkt er auch zuviel. Gleichzeitig wird Edie von einem der Dorfjungen sexuell bedrängt. Dann taucht Connie auf, eine Journalistin aus London, die über das ländliche Leben schreiben möchte. Connie ist völlig anders, sie trägt Hosen, interessiert sich für politische Ereignisse und eröffnet Edie neue Perspektiven auf die Welt.
Ich möchte die Beschreibungen des Landlebens und der Landschaft sehr. Hier wird einerseits eine Idylle beschrieben, gleichzeitig wird aber auch das harte Leben der Bauern nicht verheimlicht. Erstaunlich fand ich auch, wie stark der Aberglaube oft noch verbreitet war, in einer Zeit, die noch keine hundert Jahr zurückliegt.
Edie mochte ich sehr. Ich denke, dass es viele Mädchen gab, die in einer ähnlichen Situation waren wie sie: intelligent und schüchtern, gleichzeitig aber auch weltfremd. Wären die Gesellschaft und auch ihre Mutter und Schwester offener gewesen, wäre manches nicht passiert.
Durch den Titel und die ganze Atmosphäre, die in der Luft lag, war erwarten, dass am Ende des Buches große Veränderungen anstehen. Connies Rolle entwickelte sich in die Richtung, in die ich es erwartet hatte. Wie sich Edies Leben verändern sollte, hat mich doch sehr überrascht. Ich fand das Ende aber sehr gelungen. Vom Ende eines Sommers hebt sich dadurch von anderen Coming-of-Age-Geschichten ab. Auch die kurzen historischen Bemerkungen am Ende runden den Roman schön ab.
September 3, 2018
All Among The Barley - Melissa Harrison's third novel - opens in Autumn 1933, and we meet 14-year-old Edith who lives on a Suffolk farm with her family. England is still recovering from the First World War, and Edith is increasingly aware of how she doesn't fit in among her peers and family members. Enter Constance FitzAllen, a liberal woman from London, visiting the countryside to document rural traditions and the lifestyles of its people. Edith strikes up a friendship with Constance, and this is the focus of the novel.
Harrison's writing is great, and she clearly excels are writing about the countryside. Like Clay, All Among The Barley has a heavy focus on nature (more so than in Clay, actually). Harrison is clearly incredibly knowledgeable about the topic and it shows. It is also apparent that a lot of research has gone into this book - particularly on folklore and farming methods of the era.
If you like books heavy on plot then All Among The Barley is probably not the book for you. Nothing particularly of note happened until about half way through, maybe even later in the book. The book is quite heavily descriptive, and there is a lot of the family working in the fields and Edith showing Constance around. This was all fine, but I began to lose interest after half a book of just this. Thankfully things picked up a bit in the second half of the book, although they did not go in the way I hoped/anticipated they would - I have to say I found the ending a bit abrupt and vague.
Overall I would still recommend picking this one up if you are either a fan of Melissa Harrison and/or historical fiction (particularly that about post-War Britain), as the writing and setting are both great. The plot just didn't quite work for me, unfortunately.
Thank you Netgalley and Bloomsbury for the advance copy, which was provided in exchange for an honest review.
Harrison's writing is great, and she clearly excels are writing about the countryside. Like Clay, All Among The Barley has a heavy focus on nature (more so than in Clay, actually). Harrison is clearly incredibly knowledgeable about the topic and it shows. It is also apparent that a lot of research has gone into this book - particularly on folklore and farming methods of the era.
If you like books heavy on plot then All Among The Barley is probably not the book for you. Nothing particularly of note happened until about half way through, maybe even later in the book. The book is quite heavily descriptive, and there is a lot of the family working in the fields and Edith showing Constance around. This was all fine, but I began to lose interest after half a book of just this. Thankfully things picked up a bit in the second half of the book, although they did not go in the way I hoped/anticipated they would - I have to say I found the ending a bit abrupt and vague.
Overall I would still recommend picking this one up if you are either a fan of Melissa Harrison and/or historical fiction (particularly that about post-War Britain), as the writing and setting are both great. The plot just didn't quite work for me, unfortunately.
Thank you Netgalley and Bloomsbury for the advance copy, which was provided in exchange for an honest review.
December 10, 2023
An intriguing combination of Bildungsroman and nature writing, ‘All Among the Barley’ is also notable for its fictional commentary of the social agenda and political climate of 1934 England.
Harrison’s descriptions of the everyday rhythms of a small rural community are minutely observed and vitally detailed, and the novel is so confidently located within its period setting that it feels as though it might have been penned decades ago. It’s modernity lies in the powerfully unreliable narration of Eddie and in the exploration of her physical and emotional maturing.
Harrison’s descriptions of the everyday rhythms of a small rural community are minutely observed and vitally detailed, and the novel is so confidently located within its period setting that it feels as though it might have been penned decades ago. It’s modernity lies in the powerfully unreliable narration of Eddie and in the exploration of her physical and emotional maturing.
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July 1, 2021...zu diesem Buch gab es ein ganz wunderbares Community-Leserunden-Projekt und war in diesem Zuge auch wieder ein Buddyread mit meiner lieben Leilani. Doch leider hatte ich große große Schwierigkeiten in die Geschichte hinein zu finden.
Das Buch ist definitiv eine sehr ruhige Geschichte, die eine absolut entschleunigende Wirkung hat. Doch es kam für mich der Punkt, an dem ich einfach hoffte neben der Stille eben auch die Charaktere insbesondere die junge Edie mehr spüren und ihr näher kommen zu können. Das hat für mich persönlich einfach nicht klappen wollen.
Insbesondere durch die ganze Community-Aktion und den Buddyread bedingt wollte ich das Buch so so gern doch noch ein bisschen mehr mögen und vor allem auslesen, doch war es für mich so ermüdend, dass ich mich schließlich dazu entschlossen habe es abzubrechen.
Das Buch ist definitiv eine sehr ruhige Geschichte, die eine absolut entschleunigende Wirkung hat. Doch es kam für mich der Punkt, an dem ich einfach hoffte neben der Stille eben auch die Charaktere insbesondere die junge Edie mehr spüren und ihr näher kommen zu können. Das hat für mich persönlich einfach nicht klappen wollen.
Insbesondere durch die ganze Community-Aktion und den Buddyread bedingt wollte ich das Buch so so gern doch noch ein bisschen mehr mögen und vor allem auslesen, doch war es für mich so ermüdend, dass ich mich schließlich dazu entschlossen habe es abzubrechen.
June 17, 2021
Edith Mather vermisst ihre Schwester Mary, die gerade jung geheiratet hat und nun ihrem Ehemann gehorchen muss. Obwohl Mary mit Mann und Baby nicht weit von der elterlichen Farm lebt, ist es im ländlichen Suffolk der 30er Jahre nicht üblich, dass eine verheiratete Frau alltags spontan einen Besuch macht. Als landlose Bauern, die ihre Farm vom Großgrundbesitzer gepachtet haben, sind drei Generationen Mathers erfahrene Landwirte, deren tägliches Leben sich allein um „unser Land“ dreht, um den Betrieb, die Arbeitspferde und das sichere Einbringen der Getreideernte. Marys Heirat hat der Familie verdeutlicht, an welch dünnem Faden das Funktionieren des Betriebes hängt; denn Mary fehlt nicht nur Edith und Mutter Ada als Vertraute, sondern als Arbeitskraft auf dem Hof. Mehr als 10 Jahre nach dem Ersten Weltkrieg befindet sich England mitten in einer Wirtschaftkrise; für die Versorgung des Landes mit Lebensmitteln fehlen besonders in der Landwirtschaft Arbeitskräfte. Spätestens beim Besuch der Großeltern mütterlicherseits muss Edith der Nebenwiderspruch klar sein, dass Haus und Einkommen traditionell allein mit der Arbeitskraft des männlichen Landarbeiters oder Pächters verbunden sind – auch wenn die gesamte Familie den Hof bewirtschaftet. Gingen Haus und Hof verloren, ständen drei Generationen mit leeren Händen da.
Ediths Familie stellte ihre gesellschaftliche Schicht und traditionelle Rollenverteilungen nie in Frage. Die Planung der Farmarbeit, Wirtschaft und Politik sind Männersache. Ada würde sich um des lieben Friedens willen dazu nicht äußern, obwohl sie dazu in der Lage ist und ihre Vorfahren Bauern waren. Die 14-jährige Edith jedoch will sich dem Druck nicht beugen, Männern gefallen zu müssen, noch ehe sie selbst entschieden hat, wie sie leben will. Edith schließt eine Ehe nicht aus, sie möchte nur nicht in eine Rolle gedrängt und über ihren Kopf hinweg per Dorfklatsch verschachert werden. Ihren Heimatort hat sie nie weiter verlassen als bis zum Markt in der nächstgrößeren Stadt, doch sie will anders leben als Mutter und Schwester. Als Constance FitzAllen nach Elmbourne kommt, um eine regelmäßige Kolumne zu schreiben über das idyllische Landleben, wie sie es sich vorstellt, hätte das eine Chance für Edith sein können, ein anderes Rollenbild kennenzulernen. Constance, die geschickt besonders die Männer des Dorfs zum Reden bringt über traditionelle Landarbeit, interessiert sich bemerkenswert wenig für Leben und Arbeit von Frauen. Die gebildete Frau aus der Stadt findet offenbar alle Arbeiten bewahrenswert, die zeitraubend und anstrengend sind. Ada hätte sicher nichts dagegen, dass auf dem Hof selbst gebuttert wird, wenn sie ein Hausmädchen hätte, die Butter zu fairen Preisen zu verkaufen wäre und sie über die Einnahmen selbst verfügen könnte. Von Rechten für die „mithelfenden“ Familienangehörigen ohne eigenes Einkommen ist in Constances Artikeln jedoch nicht die Rede. Was wären Großvater, Vater und Sohn Mather, wenn Frauen und Töchter nicht auf dem Hof mitarbeiten würden?
Vom Nachwort der Autorin, wie sie zu ihrem Roman angeregt wurde, sollte man sich überraschen lassen und sich vor Spoilern hüten.
Melissa Harrison verbindet in der Tonlage britischen Nature-Writings das Heranwachsen eines Mädchens vom Dorf in den 30ern mit der Sozialgeschichte landloser Pachtbauern und der Frage, ob Traditionen veränderbar sind, solange allein sozialer Status das Bewusstsein bestimmt. Zwei eher beiläufige Bemerkungen sorgen in ihrem atmosphärisch gelungenen Roman für Spannung: Edith erzählt in hohem Alter offensichtlich rückblickend ihre Lebensgeschichte, so dass ich gespannt darauf wartete, ob die damals 14-Jährige vom vorgezeichneten Weg abweichen konnte. Vorangetrieben wurde die Handlung ebenso durch das Rätseln, welche Interessen Constance in Elmbourne eigentlich verfolgte …
Spannend, empathisch, mit sensiblem Blick für die Natur – eines meiner Highlights in diesem Lesejahr.
Ediths Familie stellte ihre gesellschaftliche Schicht und traditionelle Rollenverteilungen nie in Frage. Die Planung der Farmarbeit, Wirtschaft und Politik sind Männersache. Ada würde sich um des lieben Friedens willen dazu nicht äußern, obwohl sie dazu in der Lage ist und ihre Vorfahren Bauern waren. Die 14-jährige Edith jedoch will sich dem Druck nicht beugen, Männern gefallen zu müssen, noch ehe sie selbst entschieden hat, wie sie leben will. Edith schließt eine Ehe nicht aus, sie möchte nur nicht in eine Rolle gedrängt und über ihren Kopf hinweg per Dorfklatsch verschachert werden. Ihren Heimatort hat sie nie weiter verlassen als bis zum Markt in der nächstgrößeren Stadt, doch sie will anders leben als Mutter und Schwester. Als Constance FitzAllen nach Elmbourne kommt, um eine regelmäßige Kolumne zu schreiben über das idyllische Landleben, wie sie es sich vorstellt, hätte das eine Chance für Edith sein können, ein anderes Rollenbild kennenzulernen. Constance, die geschickt besonders die Männer des Dorfs zum Reden bringt über traditionelle Landarbeit, interessiert sich bemerkenswert wenig für Leben und Arbeit von Frauen. Die gebildete Frau aus der Stadt findet offenbar alle Arbeiten bewahrenswert, die zeitraubend und anstrengend sind. Ada hätte sicher nichts dagegen, dass auf dem Hof selbst gebuttert wird, wenn sie ein Hausmädchen hätte, die Butter zu fairen Preisen zu verkaufen wäre und sie über die Einnahmen selbst verfügen könnte. Von Rechten für die „mithelfenden“ Familienangehörigen ohne eigenes Einkommen ist in Constances Artikeln jedoch nicht die Rede. Was wären Großvater, Vater und Sohn Mather, wenn Frauen und Töchter nicht auf dem Hof mitarbeiten würden?
Vom Nachwort der Autorin, wie sie zu ihrem Roman angeregt wurde, sollte man sich überraschen lassen und sich vor Spoilern hüten.
Melissa Harrison verbindet in der Tonlage britischen Nature-Writings das Heranwachsen eines Mädchens vom Dorf in den 30ern mit der Sozialgeschichte landloser Pachtbauern und der Frage, ob Traditionen veränderbar sind, solange allein sozialer Status das Bewusstsein bestimmt. Zwei eher beiläufige Bemerkungen sorgen in ihrem atmosphärisch gelungenen Roman für Spannung: Edith erzählt in hohem Alter offensichtlich rückblickend ihre Lebensgeschichte, so dass ich gespannt darauf wartete, ob die damals 14-Jährige vom vorgezeichneten Weg abweichen konnte. Vorangetrieben wurde die Handlung ebenso durch das Rätseln, welche Interessen Constance in Elmbourne eigentlich verfolgte …
Spannend, empathisch, mit sensiblem Blick für die Natur – eines meiner Highlights in diesem Lesejahr.
October 9, 2018
In rural Suffolk in the 1930's the effects of the Great War still loomed over those working the land. There was some change in the air though, modernisation was slowly happening despite the global Great Depression. For everything that was moving on, there was as much standing still too. At Wych Farm, they farm the land in the old way and everyone, including the fourteen-year-old Edie Mather, is still expected to help with the harvest.
In these uncertain times the appearance of Constance FitzAllen from the heady heights of the capital looking for stories in the rural economy and hoping to capture the old ways before they disappear for good. For all her glamour, FitzAllen brings with her ideas that seem quite innocent at first, yet have deeply sinister and radical roots. As Edie finishes school and has to decide what she does next, the appeal of heading to London grows on her and she hopes that it will take her away from the unwanted attention she is getting from a lad from a nearby farm. Things are coming to a head as FitzAllen starts to push her agenda to the villagers in the pub one night.
As with her previous books, the natural world is the very bedrock of this story, but this time she has woven in the hardship of farming the 1930's as well as the alarming rise of nationalism in the UK that had certain parallels to Germany. Draped over all of this is the story of Edie as she reaches a crossroads in her life, unsure of what to do, wanting to not be the baby of the family anymore, but fearful of the future. There is something about Harrison's novels that resonate with me and in All Among the Barley, her writing is lyrical and eloquent without feeling rose-tinted and sentimental; there is proper drama within these pages. It feels authentic too, the research that Harrison must have undertaken to get the details right for the season, the region and the language spoken at the time. It evokes standing in that field feeling the late summer breeze brushing the barley. There are beautiful maps by Neil Gower too! I can highly recommend this book from Melissa Harrison, her stature with words increases with every book she writes. It is timely too as it feels that history is repeating itself at the moment.
In these uncertain times the appearance of Constance FitzAllen from the heady heights of the capital looking for stories in the rural economy and hoping to capture the old ways before they disappear for good. For all her glamour, FitzAllen brings with her ideas that seem quite innocent at first, yet have deeply sinister and radical roots. As Edie finishes school and has to decide what she does next, the appeal of heading to London grows on her and she hopes that it will take her away from the unwanted attention she is getting from a lad from a nearby farm. Things are coming to a head as FitzAllen starts to push her agenda to the villagers in the pub one night.
As with her previous books, the natural world is the very bedrock of this story, but this time she has woven in the hardship of farming the 1930's as well as the alarming rise of nationalism in the UK that had certain parallels to Germany. Draped over all of this is the story of Edie as she reaches a crossroads in her life, unsure of what to do, wanting to not be the baby of the family anymore, but fearful of the future. There is something about Harrison's novels that resonate with me and in All Among the Barley, her writing is lyrical and eloquent without feeling rose-tinted and sentimental; there is proper drama within these pages. It feels authentic too, the research that Harrison must have undertaken to get the details right for the season, the region and the language spoken at the time. It evokes standing in that field feeling the late summer breeze brushing the barley. There are beautiful maps by Neil Gower too! I can highly recommend this book from Melissa Harrison, her stature with words increases with every book she writes. It is timely too as it feels that history is repeating itself at the moment.
August 14, 2018
The perfect read for me this month - the long, hot summer of 1934 reflecting this unusual summer of 2018. For farmers in the depressed 1930s, the prospect of a good harvest at last couldn’t have come a moment too soon but the weather can be fickle and they are short of manpower after WWI - will they be able to pull it off? We have a glimpse of this feverish time through the eyes of 14-year-old Edie - a studious, unworldly, impressionable girl, young for her years, suggestible and superstitious. Her older sister would have helped her through her teenage years and the scary attentions of the boy next door had she not just got married, moved away and had a baby, and her mother is distracted by too much work, money worries and an irascible husband. So Edie is ready to be dazzled by a visitor to the village from London, the independent, outspoken Connie, gathering material for magazine articles about farming practices and traditional rural ways, who somehow seems able to charm her way into most everyone’s confidence and treats Edie for the first time in her life as someone worth listening to.
We are treated to an abundance of wonderful descriptions of the countryside of East Anglia and its wildlife. I adored all of this. One example of the gorgeous writing - ‘At dawn, dew silvered the spiders’ silk strung between the grass blades in our pastures so that the horses left trails where they walked, like the wakes of slow vessels in still water’.
Below this glorious surface, though, is tension - economic and political. We know from the outset that this is the last harvest Edie will have at the farm, we don’t know why and I was on edge throughout as to what was going to happen. What does happen is nothing I had anticipated.
Change is on the way for everyone, not just the teenaged Edie, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. This novel gives a stunning picture of rural life in that short period between the two wars when the old ways and the new existed side by side. It has been a real joy to immerse myself in it.
With thanks to Bloomsbury via NetGalley for the opportunity to read an ARC.
We are treated to an abundance of wonderful descriptions of the countryside of East Anglia and its wildlife. I adored all of this. One example of the gorgeous writing - ‘At dawn, dew silvered the spiders’ silk strung between the grass blades in our pastures so that the horses left trails where they walked, like the wakes of slow vessels in still water’.
Below this glorious surface, though, is tension - economic and political. We know from the outset that this is the last harvest Edie will have at the farm, we don’t know why and I was on edge throughout as to what was going to happen. What does happen is nothing I had anticipated.
Change is on the way for everyone, not just the teenaged Edie, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. This novel gives a stunning picture of rural life in that short period between the two wars when the old ways and the new existed side by side. It has been a real joy to immerse myself in it.
With thanks to Bloomsbury via NetGalley for the opportunity to read an ARC.
April 17, 2019
I absolutely loved this book. When I saw that one of my favourite authors, Jon McGregor had called it “a masterpiece” I knew I had to read it, and then was lucky enough to find it in my local library. It really is a beautifully written book. It’s set in 1930’s rural England, and follows the story of Edie, who is 14. I don’t want to ruin it by putting any spoilers in, but there have been comparisons to Thomas Hardy’s writing, and I can see why as fate plays a big part in the novel. It’s well worth reading. Let me know if you read it and if you’ve enjoyed it as much as I have.
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