And so, seemingly paradoxically, from the compression, from the crackle, a strange kind of lyricism is born. Just moments, it suggested the most unexpected of comparisons, as with this description as Dewi Joshua looks down at the village from a hillside:

'Four switchback miles below the high, disappearing Roman road was the August Monday town without tramcars, shops, three Council libraries, three institutes, and the mean (mostly) who caroused or quietly enjoyed Bank Holiday in clubs and pubs'. Is it just my fancy or are there echoes here of Dylan Thomas and his 'ugly, lovely town'?

Like Thomas, Berry can be intensely lyrical (his writing being on times deeply moving), but comparisons are unhelpful. He is very much his own man, a distinctive, un-ignorable voice and presence. We in Wales should make much of him, and Gomer should be congratulated on bringing out this excellent novel.

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