A Month in the Country is so like a month in the country. Brief, warm, quiet, healing. Comfortable, but not quite what you expect. Someplace you want to go back to almost as soon as you leave, too.
It’s so slim I thought I would just post a brief review and that would be that. But I find myself drawn to so many different aspects of this novel. The relationship between Tom Birkin, the narrator, and Moon, the only other veteran in the village. He’s also another Londoner, another outsider brought in to investigate the past. The relationship between Birkin and the anonymous medieval painter whose work he is uncovering—and the painting itself. Village life: church, chapel, and so much delicious food.
And that doesn’t even get into the love story.
I will have to re-read this, sometime, to even begin to do it justice, I think. But even now I feel closer to Tom Birkin than to any other narrator or character in recent memory. I don’t think that’s recency bias. I’m going to have to stew a bit more and put up some further thoughts this week.