I found this medieval murder mystery a bit hard to get into, but once I did I become absorbed and found it a compelling and thought-provoking read. Atmospheric, masterfully evocative of life in a small village in 1491, just pre-Reformation, and with a new-fangled “confessional” recently brought in by the parish priest, the sympathetic John Reve, the story evolves backwards gradually over 4 days. When the richest man in the area, Thomas Newman, drowns and his body is swept away, it falls to Reve to discover what really happened and who, if anyone is to blame. Or was it perhaps suicide? The pressure on him to unravel the mystery grows, not helped by the arrival of the rural dean who wants answers. Much of the novel takes place in the new confession box, a useful and effective literary device. As I became more and more involved in the characters’ lives, I naturally wanted some sort of resolution but unfortunately that never really came, and I found that rather frustrating. Nevertheless, I did enjoy it and particularly appreciated this glimpse, if only for a short time, into an alien world world of superstition, faith and ignorance of the wider world.

A large proportion of The Western Wind takes place within the dark confines of a makeshift priest's confessional in the small village of Oakham in Somerset in 1491. It's surprising the kind of minor infractions of thought and behaviour that the poor working people of the village consider grave enough to have to confess to the local priest, John Reve, but what is rather more worrying is how many of them, in the lead-up to Lent, are prepared to confess to the killing of Thomas Newman, one of the more prominent and wealthy men in the district.

Thomas Newman is or was a man of the world, educated, enlightened, well-travelled, steeped in other cultures and ideas, observant of Christian religion but aware of other ideas and belief systems, so it's a shock to the whole community when it is reported that he has been seen washed down the river that borders Oakham. The implications are enormous for the village, as Newman had long been an instrumental force in efforts to have a bridge built to reconnect them with the rest of the world. The need to find out what happened is even more pressing, as the dean for the region wants Reve to report anything important he hears in confession, so that the soul of anyone involved can be saved, even as they face burning at the stake. Or perhaps there are other reasons relating to the substantial land owned by Newman that some local monks are now interested in acquiring.

Surprisingly, even though it seems quite obvious that Newman leaped to his own death - although his body has not yet been recovered - there are quite a few villagers willing to confess to having a hand in his death. As unlikely as their confession sounds, Reve has to listen and caution, finding himself and his own position under threat by the event, but it is also apparent from his actions that the priest knows more about what happened to Newman than he is prepared to tell the dean. But the dean needs answers and knowledge of the truth - that it was a likely act of self-murder by an unshriven man - isn't going to make things any easier for John Reve.

In terms of establishing character and a wealth of detail that goes into understanding the lives and thought processes of the medieval mindset, Samantha Harvey's writing is terrific; it's observant of the daily drudgery of the existence of Reve and his parishioners, but it also conjures a great sense of mood, period and location. The villagers are recalcitrant but suggestible, superstitious but concerned about their souls, believing them threatened by ghosts and devils alike. Reve too has a troubled conscience, not just in his knowledge about Newman, but with other little human failings like greed, lust, as well as the responsibility for his parishioners that he is beginning to feel inadequate to lead.

The Western Wind is clearly more than a medieval murder-mystery however, and the observations made about the character of the people, their relationship to authority, class and social position, to landowners, businessmen, religious authorities and nobility is one that is still recognisable today. The question of whether to build a bridge that connects Oakham to the trading opportunities with the rest of the world or whether to remain in isolation, caught up in their own petty little concerns, clearly has contemporary resonance however. Even the name of the drowned man "Newman" is suggestive of suspicious foreign-influenced ideas that are regarded with mistrust and fear by the villagers.

As a murder-mystery however - even though that is clearly not the intended purpose of the work - or even a search for the truth amidst a community with things to hide and good reason to hide them, The Western Wind does lead you down a false path. Reve, we discover knows pretty much exactly what happened to Tom Newman, and the only reason the reader doesn't know this earlier is through a bit of a literary deceit with regard to timelines and holding back what the novel chooses to reveal. Or perhaps it's a case that Reve refuses to acknowledge the truth to himself, and it takes the full circle of the novel for you to appreciate the nature of fear, insularity and lack of rational thought that keeps Oakham and its inhabitants wrapped up within themselves.

The Year of Our Lord, 1491. The hundred-or-so villagers of Oakham, in rural Somerset, are celebrating the raucous days of Carnival. This year, however, a tragic occurrence has cast a pall over the revelry. Thomas Newman has disappeared, likely carried away by the churning waters of the river which cuts of the village from the rest of the world. Newman was a relative newcomer to Oakham, having settled there upon the death of his wife and daughter. However, thanks to his financial clout, he acquired much of the surrounding land, meaning that most of the villagers depend upon him for their living. Moreover, despite his unorthodox ideas, he is considered a person bearing moral authority. His sudden death – whether accidental, murder or suicide – can only bring bad tidings to Oakham. Especially since the rural dean has descended on the village to investigate, and there are rumblings of monks setting their sights on Oakham’s fields.

Reading a skeletal outline of the plot, you’d be forgiven for expecting “The Western Wind” to be another “medieval crime novel”. But this is s so much more than a “cozy historical mystery”. It is narrated by the village priest, John Reve, who as the repository of Oakham’s secrets, is the closest we get to a detective figure. Interestingly, Reve reveals more about himself than about the villagers – indeed, on one level, this novel could be read as a book-length character study of Reve. He comes across as a person with a mission, one who considers himself as chosen by God, but is torn by feelings of inadequacy. It seems that he is being continuously being weighed (including in a literal sense) and found wanting – whether by his flock, by his ecclesiastical superiors or by God himself. The 'western wind' becomes the metaphor for the deliverance for which Reve prays, to no avail.

A particular characteristic of the novel is the narrative timeline which, in a structure worthy of a Christopher Nolan movie, moves backwards from Shrove Tuesday to the Saturday before. It is a deliberately confusing ploy which leaves the reader feeling thrown into the deep end, much like Newman’s fatal dive into the river. But it’s a brilliant move – as it effectively evokes the feeling of loss and incomprehension shared by the villagers of Oakham.

Early readers have praised the novel’s historical accuracy. I do not have enough knowledge of the period to comment about this. However, I did find some aspects of the novel unconvincing. What disturbed me most is the fact that Reve, who otherwise comes across as quite a decent and dedicated priest, displays an uncharacteristically cavalier attitude towards the secret of confession. By the time the events in the novel take place, the gravity of a breach of the “seal of confession” had been established for centuries, with severe canonical and spiritual consequences for whoever went against this strict rule. Yet, Reve lightly discusses penitents’ confessions with his superiors without any feeling of compunction or fear of worldly or otherworldly punishment.

Another slightly puzzling point is that, apart from the “confessions” which are central to the plot, and apart from his ruminations about whether he is a “good enough” shepherd of the Oakham flock, Reve rarely seems to discuss theology, and religious rites, rituals and prayers. Indeed, despite the narrator being a priest and in spite of the fact that the novel touches upon subjects such as faith and superstition, I wouldn’t classify this as a “religious” novel, and it does not delve into the type of theological discourse you will find in novels such as The Diary of a Country Priest, Gilead or, for that matter, the recent Fire Sermon.

Then again, the feeling I got was that the primary concern of the novel is neither religious nor historical. What the Western Wind gives us instead is a complete immersion into the world conjured by the author. The novel creates an almost physical sense of oppression, of damp, of fetid air; of a sense of poverty and sickness; of helplessness the face of impending, catastrophic, change. What counts at the end of the day is not strict historical accuracy - just as the narrative style sounds convincingly “archaic”, without necessarily accurately mimicking 15th century parlance, the novel definitely delivers a sense of “authenticity”.

I am not sure I understand this book at the literal level. The idea of the reverse structure is clever but requires the reader to also work in reverse which, given the archaic style of writing and dating, is not easy.
At the metaphorical level it is clear what we are reading and the historical recreation of the period is skilful yet also quite depressing. Realistic, too, I imagine. All are flawed.
The fate of Oakham I think is as secure as anything in 15th century England could be, but the forces of change hover near like the wind itself.

A historical novel with a difference. Set in 15th Century England and narrated by Reve, a priest the story proceeds at a slow burn reflecting the time in which it is set.
We follow Reve's progress and are privy to his thoughts as he meanders through daily life trying to solve the mystery of Newman's death while ministering to his flock.
The reader shares his observations and hears confessions alongside him. Through him the medieval psyche is revealed with its mix of faith and superstition. We are shown human nature in all its manifestations. The frailties, the pettiness, the meanness of spirit but also the good and the thoughtful in the souls of men are exposed in this novel. Harvey is careful to depict the both pace and the hardships of life giving the novel a sense of authenticity.
For the lover of historical fiction this is a little gem. Harvey successfully weaves a good murder mystery with an insight into the ways of thinking and life of the time.

The Western Wind really is an extraordinary book. I was drawn into the story right from the start. Samantha Harvey’s writing brings to life the sights, smells and sounds of the daily life of the ordinary people living in Oakham, a small village in Somerset in 1491. So often in historical fiction it’s about the notable historical figures of the period that are the main characters – here there none (although there is a reference to their bishop who is in prison for trying to put a pretender on the throne (Perkin Warbeck had first claimed the English throne in 1490).

A man disappears, presumed drowned – but how and why did he die? Oakham, an impoverished village is isolated, cut off from the surrounding villages and from the monks at the abbey in Bruton by the river with its bends and oxbows, and the long woody ridge to the north-east edge of the village. There are no outsiders.

I thought the way Samantha Harvey reveals how Thomas Newman died telling the story moving back day by day to the day of his death was very effective, although at first I was a bit puzzled. By the end – that is – on the day Thomas Newman disappeared – we know so much about him and his neighbours, mainly through the confessions they made to the narrator, John Reve, the village priest. And the sequence of events, the why and the how are revealed.

The people are superstitious, living in fear of the whims and punishments of God and taking everything as a warning. Reve tries to reassure them that the creatures they fear, such as wolf-men and grotesque sea creatures don’t exist, but that there are ill spirits to test us and strengthen us; that what we call good or bad luck are spirits, that live in the air or in the water and that we can conquer them. Reve prays for a sign that Newman was on his way through purgatory safely to heaven. The wind is blowing from the east, a strong and bitter wind, so he prays for a wind from the west to blow the ill spirits away.

This is in some ways an allegorical tale, with the characters standing for symbolical figures, and events as symbols of change. Hence there is Newman, a relative newcomer to the village the bringer of change as he gradually bought land off Townshend, the lord of the manor, now impoverished. Does this make him a suspect for Newman’s death?

The monks, who it is said are keen to buy the village land, also foreshadow the changes that are to come in the next half century or so. Reve, the priest (my Local Historian’s Encyclopedia tells me a reeve was usually a man of villein status who organised the daily business of the manor) is concerned that people are no longer coming to him for confession but paying a travelling friar, who didn’t know them, for a confession incognito. The people are losing their faith in God.

I loved other details, setting the book in the 1490s – the techniques of bridge building, the traditional games such as ‘campball’ (the precursor of football) played by all the young men of the parish with a pig’s bladder up and down the village road, the cock-fighting, the food and drink – spiced beer and metheglin (a variety of mead), giving out the sweetness of honey, and the music – the tinkling of tambourines, pipes and drumming on goat-hide.

I came to the end of this book and immediately wanted to start it again. What seems at first to be a simple tale is actually a multi-layered and complex book. I really enjoyed reading it.

When I was in the early stages of the novel I was not sure whether I would like it but this is a complex and multi layered read and the longer you progress the more engaged and involved you become with the story and its profound themes. We are in the year 1491 ( at the end of the Middle Ages) and about to start Lent in the small isolated village of Oakham in Somerset, a village who's isolation is exacerbated by the absence of a bridge across the powerful river. The story begins with the apparent disappearance through drowning of the village's most wealthiest citizen Thomas Newman who not only owns most of the surrounding fields but is the main benefactor to the local church. With the absence of it's most important citizen how will the village react and indeed survive against the ravenous claims of a nearby monastery who will now most likely lay claim to Newman's land.

The narrator of the story is John Reve the village priest who through his confessional role knows many of his parishioners secrets. The story goes back a few days to unravel what the circumstances were that led up to the drowning. The world that we encounter is one where superstition and ritual rule supreme and where the church is an all powerful all seeing institution. There are many surprises as the story unwinds forwards and we see the ambiguities and moral dilemmas that John Reve has to struggle with and confront. This complex story is so well written that by the end you get a real sense of what life might have been like living in such a place at that time. All the time the reader has the knowledge that this world of confessions and indulgences would soon be swept away with the coming of the Reformation in a few years time and if a bridge is built then the village will be opened up to the changes taking place in the outside world for example reference is made here to sugar now being imported.

There are some wonderful characters here that are expertly described together with the nature and landscape of the area. Although ostensibly a historical mystery this is something much more and would certainly be worth a second reading later as one meditates on the various themes. Complex but rewarding I would certainly recommend this if you are looking for something a bit more challenging.

What a quietly compelling book this is - a book where, on the surface, not much seems to happen, but in fact, when you take a closer look, everything is happening; a world on the brink of change.

Set in 15th century rural Somerset, the narrative, told in slow reverse, centres on the disappearance of a villager: wealthy, free-thinking Thomas Newman - something of an outsider amidst the other parishioners, who is believed to have drowned. But were the circumstances suspicious?. John Reve, the priest, who narrates the story, sends for the local dean who begins to investigate, and the mystery is gradually revealed, piece by delicate piece.

There is so much to praise about this book, not least Harvey's subtle, lyrical storytelling. The world of Oakham comes completely to life with its earthy ways, its poverty and frustrations, through the scraps of confession listened to by John. (I loved the humour and repetition of these confessions, and John's wisdom in dispensing pardons.) As their parish priest, John loves his wayward flock and tends to them humanely, forgiving and helping them, in contrast to the suspicious, proper dean who is out for a scapegoat, desperate to pin down the 'murderer' of Newman. John dwells on big questions such as faith in God, technology and progress, forgiveness and the testing of one's resolve - as well as revealing his own perceived failings and weaknesses.

Rich, beautiful and vivid, this is the sort of book that you finish reading and want to turn back to the beginning and start again. I really enjoyed it - thank you for letting me read it.

Samantha Harvey’s The Western Wind is set a hundred and fifty years before the boisterous wonder of the Renaissance settled on England. Harvey puts us down in Oakham, a small and isolated village in Somerset (travellers who get lost in the area tend to end up in Wales). Oakham is dying: it has a river, but lacks a bridge, and therefore a port or wharf, and therefore trade. The local lord, Townshend, is under the deluded belief that cheese will make Oakham’s fortune, though there is no market for the products (anyone with a cow can make cheese, so why pay your neighbours for it?) Townshend has been losing his land, slowly but steadily, to Thomas Newman—an incomer to the area, but, we’re given to understand, a good man. As the book opens, Newman has drowned in the river, and the village priest, John Reve, is under pressure from the rural dean to find his killer.

The Western Wind is complicated in a way that most historical novels are not. Those allegorical names, for instance: Townshend (town’s end), Newman (…come on), Reve (reeve; an archaic position in local government that involved law enforcement duties). Then there’s Reve himself, a man curiously slow to offer the things a priest must offer in fifteenth-century England, pre-eminently earthly judgment. Reve is passive, and not especially convinced of the sinfulness of his flock, and—relatedly—not especially convinced of his fitness to serve as their channel to God, though he never quite admits his doubts to himself. Then there is the sub-theme about technology and development; about building a bridge, and the money it’ll take to do it; about stewarding your land, and what that involves; about stewarding a people, and how ill-equipped those designated as leaders can be. It’s a very slow-rolling book, like a river after a flood but before the waters have gone back down, with a lot of unobvious things churning about in its depths. The more I think about it, the happier I’d be to see it on the Women’s Prize longlist.

There is a lot to appreciate here but similarly, there is much that left me feeling a bit frustrated. It tells the story of a death by drowning in a small village in 16th century England and the investigation that follows. The story is told over four days and the narrative goes in reverse, which is both interesting and irritating at the same time. I like the character of John Reve, the parish priest who narrates the action, and yet he makes choices and decisions that only seem relevant in terms of plotting and don't really ring true for his characterisation. Similarly, I loved a lot of the details of village life that emerge from the narrative and yet I felt that there were plenty of occasions where the observations were repetitive and kind of unnecessary. All in all, this is a pretty middle of the road book, in my opinion.
I received a free copy of this book from NetGalley in exchange for a fair and honest review.

Another murder mystery with a hint of Cadfael I thought as I began this tale set in 15th century Oakham in Somerset. When a body is washed up and reported to the parish priest John Reve by local man Herry Carter who seems to feel it was his fault the intricacies of lives in a church dominated world set us in a whole new perspective viewing the characters wonderfully portrayed by the author.
We begin on Shrove Tuesday in 1491 but as the plot progresses we travel back a few days to understand more of Thomas Newman who not only died, but then whose body mysteriously disappears leaving only a green shirt as evidence. That he seemingly drowned in the river over which he was determined to build a bridge is a great image especially when the Dean arrives who 'has a nose for the nasty' to question the villagers and interrogate John.
Around Oakham the monks of a nearby estate are circling and as Newman owned most of the land his death and inheritance prove a vital link to why this death strikes at the heart of a suspicious community.
The writing evokes the sense of Church as dominant and villagers who travel no further than their own fields seeking penance in John's tiny confessional as more victims than the dead man himself.
The actions are pared down to show the limits of medieval life. The meagre food, the pestilence and threat of death by sin and the imagery that signifies guilt for ever being mixed with religious beliefs. Those who rule in the church of course, as is pertinent even in the 21st century are not themselves without sin, so John and the church he represents are themselves under scrutiny and not just from God.
I like the style of this writer and thoroughly enjoyed the novel. I believe she has written others which I will seek out.

A fabulous mystery and historical novel, most readers will want to read twice. Harvey's lyrical writing about the natural world is married to a strong reverse chronology and the pace of a murder mystery, to excellent effect. Set during the days before Lent in an unspecified year of the 15th century, a disappearance in a small village is explored by the priest and his regional superior. Layers upon layers unfold as the days peel back. The Western Wind is beautifully written and attention holding, a thriller about mortality, love and religion. My first thoughts of of Harvest by Crace and The Name of the Rose by Eco were pushed back, this novel is by original, vital and strong.

Easter is drawing close in the rural village of Oakham in the fifteenth-century. The settlement is isolated by the river and attempts to increase prosperity by connecting it to the outside world have faltered after plans to build a bridge fall through. And in the aftermath of the collapse Thomas Newman, the wealthiest man in the village, is swept away and drowned. But how did Newman end in the river? The local Dean is suspicious and determined to put someone to the flame for murder while John Reve, the parish priest, discovers pieces of the truth through conversation and confession and is equally desperate to see an accident and to protect his parishioners from his superior’s zeal.

The wonderfully complex and original structure definitely contributes so much to the enjoyment of reading and the freshness of the narrative. The backwards flow creates something utterly compelling. The puzzle of characters and relationships are deftly unravelled as the story draws slowly full circle, constantly changing as new revelations and earlier events shed surprising lights on things that had gone before. It is quite a feat to keep everything so firmly connected and stable and to build such anticipation in a backwards-told story and Harvey manages to maintain the tension and anticipation while perfectly preserving the internal logic of the story.

The lynchpin of the story and the community is Reve himself, it is through him that the different facets of the narrative are revealed and his confessional (possibly the first in England) is the place that secrets are unearthed and lies told and uncovered. Reve’s commitment to his flock is paramount and while he struggles to protect them he also wrestles with a personal crisis of faith, with Harvey subtly probing the relationship between the social and the religious role of the clergy at a time when they were often the spoke around which their communities revolved. The dead man Newman is equally crucial though we only meet him through recollection and the nature of his character is as important a mystery as his death. It is revealed slowly and piecemeal and as it changes, constructed by the memories and confessions of his neighbours, it moulds the story around it in quite unexpected ways.

The Western Wind is an evocative tale of conscience, guilt, desire, and the struggles between religion and superstition, the body and flesh. Harvey builds her characters around these universal pressures which continue to shape lives even today. As much as things change, so much they stay the same. Her people may be struggling with a reality quite different from our own (or at least from my own) but their thoughts, loves and fears are a recognisable and prescient today as they were five hundred years ago.

Fashionable and finely written, by a talented and original voice. Should do well.

A quiet, serious story set in 1491, the year Henry VIII was born, of conscience, guilt, desire, and the struggles between religion and superstition, the body and flesh. Harvey sets her tale in the run-up to Lent, and tells it through the voice of a village priest and confessor, privy to the secrets of his congregation but keeping his own to the last. With the machinations of church men and the shade of the nearby monastery foreshadowing events we know will come in the next 40 or so years, this is aware of history in a subtle way.

Controlled, careful writing keeps this restrained and internally-focused.