Its title is both literal, referring to the March days in 1913 when “there was the smell of green grass and leaves, inconceivable for the last five months” and the expatriate Reid family can go to their dacha once again, and metaphorical. Its pre-war Moscow setting seemed to take on extra significance as I read it during the early weeks of the Russian occupation of Ukraine. One of her later novels, this was shortlisted for the Booker Prize. The Beginning of Spring by Penelope Fitzgerald (1988) The daffodils have already gone over bluebells and peonies are coming out and all the trees, including the two wee apple trees we’ve planted at our new house, are sprouting hopeful buds. This is the first of two, or maybe three, batches of spring reading for me this year. Reading with the seasons is one way I mark time. (From To Star the Dark by Doireann Ní Ghríofa)
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