As I return to my childhood bookshelf after many wanderings abroad, I am struck by how well these books have weathered my changes. Much of my childhood reading now feels trite, cliche-ridden, or downright boring. These books, by contrast, are now wildly funny. When I first read these in my teens, I cringed through all the veterinary-protagonist's awkward moments, felt more embarrassed than amused by his stories of learning to be a vet in rural England. Now I can laugh and even feel a strange kinship with this city man falling in love with rural farming England. Stories of birthing cows, injecting sows, and operating upon dogs are told with a light touch, never slipping into too much gory detail and never losing a sense of humour about his predicaments. The beauty of the Yorkshire landscape he inhabits is a supporting character throughout the narrative, never more vivid than when he tells the story of his enlisting in the war effort but remaining nostalgic for his beautiful home and wife. This is light reading, gentle on the spirit. It doesn't ask for much from the reader except some compassion and, perhaps, many giggles. The one thing that grates on my new eyes(I am reading this after postcolonial theory after all) is the presence of empire - the ease with which characters leave for Burma, Canada, and Madagascar is a bit disconcerting. India features briefly as a cuisine that he looks forward to but does not get to taste. All of which leaves me wondering how this gentle, relatable storyteller would relate to his postcolonial readers.
No comments:
Post a Comment