Vadim O Kadar Yeşildi Ki, bir grup maden işçisinin hikayesini anlatmıyor yalnızca, onlar bütün insanlık.

I found the book absorbing as well, and thought it did both the personal/family aspects and the broader social issues well. Huw had earlier remarked on how Dada had a hard time accepting the new ways things are done, even though he understood that the fundamentals of the old and the new are not necessarily different. What I liked most about it all was while it dealt with all manner of grave issues from unrequited love (or rather in most cases, love stories doomed for one reason or another) to bullying and violence in school and the conditions and troubles in the mining industry, much of it is done fairly subtly—be it the conflicts or tensions, griefs or heartbreak, or even the moments of joy.You can change your choices at any time by visiting Cookie preferences, as described in the Cookie notice. Although as an older and more critical reader I do somewhat understand those reviewers who have found Richard Llewellyn's How Green Was My Valley perhaps not quite nitty gritty and harshly descriptive enough with regard to showing and presenting what life used to be like in the mining towns of Wales, personally, I still have to admit that rereading How Green Was My Valley for the first time since I totally devoured this novel when we read it for school in 1982 has been in every way as much of a pleasure now as it had been then. It's a bitter sweet little story which I can already tell isn't going to end especially happily, but I've fallen in love with the characters and the setting so that doesn't matter. It was in this mood that I began to browse for novels that deal with the theme of remembrance and the inevitable sense of loss that comes with it.

Huw’s father is the centre of his life, even though he fundamentally disagrees with the actions of his own sons towards unionising, and, appropriate for a review published on Mother’s Day, you can only feel sorry for his poor mother, though she has her own flashes of temper and giddiness, as she is forced to watch her children leave, not able to understand the map of their travels she’s shown. It is hard not to at least see where Dada was coming from when Llewellyn took pains to portray the owners as being among the people. We meet Huw Morgan as a small boy, the youngest in his family, his brothers and sisters settling (or not) into their roles, and we follow him into his late teens; however, his story is being written from much later life, with the horror of a pit slag heap that’s slipped pressing and pressing onto the little house where he was raised and lives now.I joke (but, of course, I'm not really joking at all) that I can only read it once every decade, because the contents are too beautiful and too painful for everyday wear. Llewellyn explored the dark side of a small community whose moral tenets are largely shaped by the fire and brimstone understanding of Christianity. I still stubbornly would hype myself up about getting another couple chapters in, but inevitably would have to admit. It tells the story of the Morgans, a respectable mining family of the South Wales Valleys, through the eyes of one of the sons, Huw Morgan.