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A review by cat_book_lady
Andy Catlett: Early Travels : a Novel by Wendell Berry
4.0
4***
What an incredible, wholesome story recounted by an old man reminiscing about his time as a 9-year-old boy spending weeks with his grandparents on their farms during 1943. This nostalgic story is chock full of wisdom, nature (as only Wendell Berry can do), memories, meaning, and family. Looking back, Catlett peers into the future of technology with trepidation, wishing that the slowness of time could persist so that future generations could savor the value of friendships and the subtle hum of the refreshing, healing countryside.
This book, while deeply sentimental, I think may only be appreciated by the older generation of folks looking back to a simpler time. I can hear the crickets chirping, see the blanket of moonlit stars, taste the freshly baked pies, and smell the lofty bales of hay. I imagined hearing Andy’s mother reading Huckleberry Finn and King Arthur next to a fire, a voice that Berry still fondly imagines as he writes his own novels.
While I fervently wish that younger people could experience the beauty of this fading generation, it is in these gems of stories that the true atmosphere can be treasured and brought at least to their imaginations, and possibly persuade them of the value of being totally unplugged. Sit back and allow the time to slowly envelope you as you read, and immerse yourself in the beauty of ages past that will likely, if it hasn’t already, disappear. At the very least, Berry reminds us of the need for each other and the need for rich connection both with family and with nature.
What an incredible, wholesome story recounted by an old man reminiscing about his time as a 9-year-old boy spending weeks with his grandparents on their farms during 1943. This nostalgic story is chock full of wisdom, nature (as only Wendell Berry can do), memories, meaning, and family. Looking back, Catlett peers into the future of technology with trepidation, wishing that the slowness of time could persist so that future generations could savor the value of friendships and the subtle hum of the refreshing, healing countryside.
This book, while deeply sentimental, I think may only be appreciated by the older generation of folks looking back to a simpler time. I can hear the crickets chirping, see the blanket of moonlit stars, taste the freshly baked pies, and smell the lofty bales of hay. I imagined hearing Andy’s mother reading Huckleberry Finn and King Arthur next to a fire, a voice that Berry still fondly imagines as he writes his own novels.
While I fervently wish that younger people could experience the beauty of this fading generation, it is in these gems of stories that the true atmosphere can be treasured and brought at least to their imaginations, and possibly persuade them of the value of being totally unplugged. Sit back and allow the time to slowly envelope you as you read, and immerse yourself in the beauty of ages past that will likely, if it hasn’t already, disappear. At the very least, Berry reminds us of the need for each other and the need for rich connection both with family and with nature.