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A review by kimbofo
The Western Wind by Samantha Harvey
3.0
The Western Wind by Samantha Harvey is billed as a medieval detective story, but it’s also a deeply atmospheric exploration of a small community grappling with secrets and moral dilemmas.
Set in an impoverished and isolated Somerset village in the mid-15th century, it charts the impact on the residents, and the religious leader who presides over them, when a wealthy landowner drowns. Was it an accident, was it suicide or was he murdered?
And what happened to his body after it was first spotted snagged in the crook of a tree in a river bend but is now nowhere to be seen? And why is his shirt found just beyond him in some rushes? How did it come off?
Enter John Reve, a dedicated young priest, who acts as the eyes and ears of the village and knows the intimate details of all who call Oakham home.
He narrates the tale in a confiding tone of voice, providing us with personal insights into potential suspects and their motivations, mostly gathered from the things he hears in the confessional box — “the only confession box in England–at least as far as we know” — and trusted conversations he has when out and about meeting parishioners.
But his investigation is dogged by his supervisor, the rural dean, who demands quick answers and doesn’t understand the need to tread carefully when you live amongst the suspects.
The narrative is told backwards, so when the book opens the man has been dead for several days. Unravelling the mystery in reverse gives the reader a fresh perspective on character development and plot, but it also reveals Reve’s uncanny ability to spin a multi-layered and richly detailed story in a frustratingly indirect way.
Harvey’s world-building is impressive, although I suspect it’s not always entirely historically accurate. I got a real feel for the hardship experienced by the villagers, their focus on rituals and routines, and the hypocrisy at the heart of the most devoutly religious. The dank weather and the isolation only add to the vivid picture the author paints of another time and place.
I also appreciated the focus on morality and Reve’s struggle to balance reason with superstition.
It’s also an excellent examination of the need for economic progress — the village wants to build a bridge to trade with neighbouring villages, for instance — without sacrificing the peace and solitude that protects them from outside threats.
But the narrative, for me, was uneven. I was completely suckered in by the first third, which I found entirely gripping and full of atmosphere, but the middle third dragged, probably because I was itching to “solve” the crime and was growing weary of Reve’s wanderings into subjects seemingly unrelated to the mystery.
I considered abandoning the book at this stage, but I am glad I persisted because the last third issues up a flurry of revelations and new information that changed my perspective on the story.
For a more detailed review, please see my blog.
Set in an impoverished and isolated Somerset village in the mid-15th century, it charts the impact on the residents, and the religious leader who presides over them, when a wealthy landowner drowns. Was it an accident, was it suicide or was he murdered?
And what happened to his body after it was first spotted snagged in the crook of a tree in a river bend but is now nowhere to be seen? And why is his shirt found just beyond him in some rushes? How did it come off?
Enter John Reve, a dedicated young priest, who acts as the eyes and ears of the village and knows the intimate details of all who call Oakham home.
He narrates the tale in a confiding tone of voice, providing us with personal insights into potential suspects and their motivations, mostly gathered from the things he hears in the confessional box — “the only confession box in England–at least as far as we know” — and trusted conversations he has when out and about meeting parishioners.
But his investigation is dogged by his supervisor, the rural dean, who demands quick answers and doesn’t understand the need to tread carefully when you live amongst the suspects.
The narrative is told backwards, so when the book opens the man has been dead for several days. Unravelling the mystery in reverse gives the reader a fresh perspective on character development and plot, but it also reveals Reve’s uncanny ability to spin a multi-layered and richly detailed story in a frustratingly indirect way.
Harvey’s world-building is impressive, although I suspect it’s not always entirely historically accurate. I got a real feel for the hardship experienced by the villagers, their focus on rituals and routines, and the hypocrisy at the heart of the most devoutly religious. The dank weather and the isolation only add to the vivid picture the author paints of another time and place.
I also appreciated the focus on morality and Reve’s struggle to balance reason with superstition.
It’s also an excellent examination of the need for economic progress — the village wants to build a bridge to trade with neighbouring villages, for instance — without sacrificing the peace and solitude that protects them from outside threats.
But the narrative, for me, was uneven. I was completely suckered in by the first third, which I found entirely gripping and full of atmosphere, but the middle third dragged, probably because I was itching to “solve” the crime and was growing weary of Reve’s wanderings into subjects seemingly unrelated to the mystery.
I considered abandoning the book at this stage, but I am glad I persisted because the last third issues up a flurry of revelations and new information that changed my perspective on the story.
For a more detailed review, please see my blog.