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The Sherrods

af George Barr McCutcheon

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Through the soft summer night came the sounds of the silence that is heard only when nature sleeps, imperceptible except as one feels it behind the breath he draws or perhaps realizes it in the touch of an unexpected branch or flower. The stillness of a silence that is not silent; a stillness so dead that the croaking of frogs, the chirping of crickets, the barking of dogs, the hooting of owls, the rustling of leaves are not heard, although the air is heavy with those voices of the night-the stillness of a night in the country. All human activity apparently at an end, all sign of life lost in somber shadows. The ceaseless croaking, the chirping, the hooting, the rustling themselves make up this unspeakable silence-this sweet, unconscious solitude. A country lane, dark and gloomy, awaited the moon from the clouded east. Lighted only here and there by the twinkling windows in roadside homes, it lay asleep in its bed of dust. Far off it straggled into a village, but out there in the country it was lost to the world with the setting of the sun.… (mere)
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“The Sherrods” are a young couple who live in Glenville; a little spot in the country in Indiana. What starts off as a domestic situation, with two lovers and a man jealous of Jud Sherrod for claiming the best-looking woman for miles around as his bride, develops into more serious themes, gradually becoming a tragic tale.

Essentially this is a tragedy with a touch of humour, reminding me of some of Thomas Hardy’s famous works. I don’t know if George Barr McCutcheon was influenced by Hardy, but this novel does incorporate similar traits to Hardy’s great fiction.

In fact, amidst all the misery taking place for the heroine, there’s a humorous chapter featuring all the country locals having a discussion, similar to the way Hardy presents the “common folk” of Cornwell, writing characters’ speech in Cornish dialect. Here McCutcheon uses an Indianan dialect to great effect.

There are several twists and surprises in this tale with an unpredictable ending. ( )
  PhilSyphe | Jul 21, 2014 |
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Forfatter navnRolleHvilken slags forfatterVærk?Status
George Barr McCutcheonprimær forfatteralle udgaverberegnet
Armstrong, MargaretOmslagsdesignermedforfatternogle udgaverbekræftet
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Through the soft summer night came the sounds of the silence that is heard only when nature sleeps, imperceptible except as one feels it behind the breath he draws or perhaps realizes it in the touch of an unexpected branch or flower. The stillness of a silence that is not silent; a stillness so dead that the croaking of frogs, the chirping of crickets, the barking of dogs, the hooting of owls, the rustling of leaves are not heard, although the air is heavy with those voices of the night-the stillness of a night in the country. All human activity apparently at an end, all sign of life lost in somber shadows. The ceaseless croaking, the chirping, the hooting, the rustling themselves make up this unspeakable silence-this sweet, unconscious solitude. A country lane, dark and gloomy, awaited the moon from the clouded east. Lighted only here and there by the twinkling windows in roadside homes, it lay asleep in its bed of dust. Far off it straggled into a village, but out there in the country it was lost to the world with the setting of the sun.

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