Ratings9
Average rating3.7
As late summer steals in and the final pearls of barley are gleaned, a village comes under threat. A trio of outsiders - two men and a dangerously magnetic woman - arrives on the woodland borders triggering a series of events that will see Walter Thirsk's village unmade in just seven days: the harvest blackened by smoke and fear, cruel punishment meted out to the innocent, and allegations of witchcraft. But something even darker is at the heart of Walter's story, and he will be the only man left to tell it ...
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It is months since I read this book and yet it still keeps popping up in my thoughts. For me, a near perfect gem.
The action in this book takes place over the course of a week. The story starts with two fires: one is the master's dovecote, set on fire by a few discontented villagers. The other is a small fire set by newcomers on the outskirts of the village to alert others that they were there. The two fires indicate a transition from the customary ways into a week of violent upheaval.
The narrator of these events is Walter Thirsk, the master's former servant, who came to the village and fell in love with the land and with a young woman of the village. He has tried to integrate himself into the life of the villagers, but especially since his wife died he feels himself to still be an outsider.
There is a lot of shifted blame in this story. The villagers point the finger at the newcomers on the outskirts of the village to blame them for burning the master's dovecote, instead of their fellow villagers. A couple of women and a young child are accused of witchcraft after another act of violence clearly done by someone else. Meanwhile, the master's authority is shifted onto his dead wife's cousin, who shows up to take control of the land.
All of this takes place at harvest time in an unspecified year. The atmosphere of ancient tradition that the villagers inhabit makes it feel like it could be 13th or 14th century, but other aspects of the story make it seem like 17th century or a bit later. The vagueness on this point serves to make the story feel more allegorical or mythical, but at the same time I don't stop trying to pin it down.
There's a strong vein of melancholy in this book. Early in the story, Walter tells an itinerant map maker that they don't have names for the different places of their land, and the sense is that everyone feels themselves so deeply part of the land that there is no need to name it. The disruption that occurs changes that forever. I think this is everyone's story.