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Jag minns min gröna dal (1939)

av Richard Llewellyn

MedlemmarRecensionerPopularitetGenomsnittligt betygOmnämnanden
1,850476,445 (4.14)152
A young man comes of age in a quaint Welsh town.
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engelska (46)  franska (1)  Alla språk (47)
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There is lovely to read. Richard Llewellyn crafts a lyrical, yearning memoir (one assumes it must be rooted in his experience) of growing up in the Welsh mining valleys around the end of the19th century. The telling can be nostalgic but always seem authentic: the characters in his large family; the strikes and disputes with the mine owners; emigration to the New World as an outlet; solidarity and factionalism in chapelgoing and preaching; the strength and support, the camaraderie in the Valleys community, but also often its narrow-minded rebukes and exclusion; presentiments, sadly, of the Aberfan disaster (slag heaps towering above the village houses). Just as memorable are Llewellyn’s deep, sensual, enveloping descriptions of the touch and feel of things - of one’s pride and solemnity at putting on the first pair of long “trews”, of the vegetables “mixing in warm comfort together” to make a “potch”, of the feel of a kiss, and of why it’s the mouth we use for kissing, not the nose or eyes (still lyrically described, despite the absurdity). ( )
1 rösta eglinton | Jun 27, 2020 |
A beautiful read. I loved the diction. It was distracting at first, but I became used to it after a bit and then it felt like poetry.

I think that anyone who has had any ties to union disputes and the terrible chaos they cause can understand this story. Particularly anyone who has had family working in manual labor jobs that war somewhat with the environment (such as mining).

I cried at the end for the beauty and the sorrow and the wonder of the story. I don't cry often at books or movies, so this was not a usual thing for me. ( )
1 rösta slmr4242 | Oct 16, 2019 |
One of the first adult books I read when I was growing up. Although I can't recall all the details, I remember it fondly as a warm human story set in a poor coal mining town, and I loved it. ( )
  steller0707 | Aug 25, 2019 |
This coming-of-age novel narrated by Huw Morgan, youngest son of a family of Welsh miners, paints of picture of Wales in the age of industrialization. The mines, now owned by outsiders who care more about profit than about the lives and welfare of their employees or about the integrity of the land, become less attractive, particularly when strikes yield little or no concessions by those in charge. Most of Huw's siblings move off during the course of the book. One brother dies, and Huw, although attracted to his widow, cannot wed her because of marriage laws. The book tells the story of Huw's education and of his first love as well. The book ends on a sad note. I listened to the audiobook narrated by Ralph Cosham. ( )
  thornton37814 | Feb 4, 2019 |
Excerpts from my original GR review (Apr 2009):
- This was a solidly good story of the incredibly hard and bleak conditions of a nasty coal mining community in Wales at the turn of the 20th century. His intimate telling of family and home tells me this author grew up in a similar environment.
- Watching the movie by the same name helped paint a deeper picture, but cuts out much of the context.
- Some of the relationships are intriguing, such as between Huw Morgan and his (eventually) widowed sister-in-law, as well as the push and pull between his older brothers and father... This story strikes me as an anthem to the vulgar march of industrialization and its degradation of both human communities and nature. ( )
  ThoughtPolice | Sep 3, 2018 |
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To my father and the land of my fathers
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I am going to pack my two shirts with my other socks and my best suit in the little blue cloth my mother used to tie round her hair when she did the house, and I am going from the Valley.
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It is very strange to think back like this, although come to think of it, there is no fence or hedge round Time that has gone. You can go back and have what you like if you remember it well enough.
Singing was in my father as sight is in the eye.
Along the river it was, outside the village, and in that day a little paradise, with the river so clear and broadly green, and silver about the rocks, and willows bending to wash, and reeds in plenty for the frogs, and fish for the herons, and quiet for the ducks and little water-hens.
Dear little house that I have lived in, there is happiness you have seen, even before I was born. In you is my life, and all the people I have loved are a part of you, so to go out of you, and leave you, is to leave myself.
Beautiful were the days that are gone, and O, for them to be back. The mountain was green, and proud with a good covering of oak and ash, and washing his feet in a streaming river clear as the eyes of God. The winds came down with the scents of the grass and wild flowers, putting a sweetness to our noses, and taking away so that nobody could tell what beauty had been stolen, only that the winds were old robbers who took something from each grass and flower and gave it back again, and gave a little to each of us, and took it away again.
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A young man comes of age in a quaint Welsh town.

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