I had a feeling of immense content and, if I thought at all, it was that I'd like this to go on and on, no-one going, no-one coming, autumn and winter always loitering around the corner, the summer's ripeness lasting forever, nothing disturbing the even tenor of my way.

Gifted with excessive self-awareness, uncommon lucidity and a rare sense of humor, he speaks from the intimacy of a first-person narrator and makes the reader a sensory participant of the impact a few weeks spent among strangers in self-effacing examination, of how a tiny parcel of his history, infused him with a renewed zest for life.The copy I obtained has a compelling Introduction from Penelope Fitzgerald, who, during her lifetime, was one of the most distinctive and eloquent voices in contemporary British fiction.

L. Carr’s widely admired 1980 novel after continually coming across rhapsodic reviews on the Internet. The grave outside the churchyard wall was suggested by Tintagel, where a number of early graves were encountered at Trecarne Lands and excavated. He failed the scholarship exam, which denied him a grammar school education, and on finishing his school career he also failed to gain admission to teacher training college. Reading this, I’d be immersed in simple wonder at the beauty of birdsong, landscape, or architectural stone, and then a deftly-planted question would poke up, but without the promise of flowering, and indeed, only some did. I've waited for a week before writing a review because I did not have much to say and, as I am typing, I realize I still don't.

At the end of his year in the USA Carr continued his journey westward and found himself travelling through the Middle East and the Mediterranean as the Second World War loomed. Be they happy, sad, public, private, we all have them; very very few of us talk much about them; and almost no one makes art from them. We are 1920, and Tom turns out to be another traumatized victim from the trenches in the First World War, wounded at Passchendaele.

At the end of the day it was much more a novella about a missed romantic opportunity than the psychological consequences of war or the healing potential of art.

It's 1920 and veteran Tom Birkin finds refuge in a quiet village where he spends his time uncovering a medieval wall-painting. The hospitality of the village folks, Birkin's reluctant involvement in church life, often recounted with hilarity, made for delightful reading. And what a masterful performance of Carr, especially because of the parallel between Tom's meticulous work, exposing layer upon layer of the masterpiece in the church, and his slow discovery of what is valuable in his life, also exposed layer upon layer. Is it better that the memories remain totally untainted, a glimmering reminder that life can be hopeful, warm and gentle?

And now, one hundred years after the Great War started, perhaps another chance to think about this time, in the early 20s, in which a survivor like Birkin finds meaning again in his life; unlike many, who either didn't make it through to the other side, or did, but lived a life ruined forever by the experience. When we pick up a book by an author we haven’t read before, we have only the vaguest notion of what themes it will contain. He produced and published from his own Quince Tree Press a series of 'small books' designed to fit into a pocket: some of them selections from English poets, others brief monographs about historical events, or works of reference. In 1938 he took a year out from his teaching career to work as an exchange teacher in Huron, South Dakota in the Great Plains. A modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides that feature detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, quotes, and essay topics.

Tom Birkin, a penurious Londoner in his early twenties, battered by war and a failed marriage, sought a fresh start for himself in the remote Yorkshire village of Oxgodby. Tags: 20th Century Literature, Art, Book Review, British Fiction, Classics, English Literature, First World War, J. A nice little novel to fill an afternoon tucked cozily in an armchair, watching out the window how the flower blossom. Most of us come back from the vault with tatters and shreds; Carr, and others like him, come back with precious parures that flash a dazzle upon us commoners. Like Fitzgerald, I believe that A Month in the Country is a nostalgia for something we never had and agree when she suggests the tone “isn’t one of straightforward remembering,” but more about Birkin’s state of mind when he thinks of the people who will “visit Oxgodby church in its meadows and regret that they missed seeing the master painter himself” – the nameless creator of the outstanding artistry concealed beneath centuries of grime.