This book got off to a slow start and was actually kind of boring with it's descriptions of the drudgery of farm life in western England in 1911. Until it wasn't. And then it was just so good.

The first in a trilogy it told the story of the coming of age of Leo Sercombe, who is bound and determined to be an expert on the care and training of horses, in the mold of his father. Quiet, thoughtful and determined as he is he falls for the estate owner's daughter and the resultant fiery ending of this first volume is totally out of whack with all the quiet preceding narrative. Therefore, I can't wait for volume two ( )

‘The Horseman’ by Tim Pears is an account of the slow, meandering life on an estate farm in rural Devon. It is 1911 when, for modern readers, the sinking of the Titanic is not far away and the Great War looms. Two children, born into very different worlds, grow up not far apart; both have a strong love of horses. This novel is billed as a coming-of-age tale but it is also a description of rural farming methods.
Told in a month-by-month format, the seasons unfold in a remote Devon valley where the passing of time is marked by the weather and the tasks undertaken on the farm. There is a long list of characters and at the beginning I confused who was who, but gradually they settled into their roles. Leopold Sercombe is the youngest son of the master carter working on the tenant farm of a large estate. He longs to escape school every day to run home and help his father with the horses; these are working animals, cart horses and cobs, they are almost characters. We are there as Noble gives birth; as Leo’s father shares one of the secrets of his trade, the use of dried tansy to give his horses a glossy coat; and the day Leo is given a chance to break Noble’s unnamed colt. “The boy watched the colt, his young lean muscular beauty in motion, then turned and walked towards the fence. There was but one spectator there, sitting on the top pole, feet resting on the lower, a youth in a Homburg hat, shirt, breeches, and riding boots of a sort worn by the master and his kind.” Lottie, daughter of the master, the owner of the estate, challenges the way Leo is handling the colt. And so begins their shared love of horses.
This is a 4* book for me. Why not 5*? Because the relationship between the two children takes a long time to start happening and then ends explosively which seems out of kilter with the spirit and pace of the story; because the slow, slow pace of the story and the passages of overly detailed description at times felt like sections for a ‘how to use farm machinery book’. But Leo is an entrancing character; his gentle authority with horses, his silences and thoughtful behaviour, make it essential to read ‘The Wanderers’, second in the trilogy.
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Hmm. Not sure about the ending. ( )

Seasons in Somerset circa 1911 with horse-loving, twelve-year-old Leo and his brothers and sister, the children of a carter who works the master's estate. Maybe more than anyone could possibly want to know about pre-WWI farming techniques, but at the same time, the story of "the boy" and his special affinity for horses is engaging. Part One of a trilogy. ( )

Set in 1911-1912 on the lands of Lord Prideaux in Somerset, Tim Pears’s The Horseman follows the daily rounds of Leopold Sercombe, son of Albert, the estate’s respected carter. For most of the book, the author does not refer to Leo by name; he is simply “the boy”, an almost archetypical figure of pastoral life, keenly observant of the ways of nature and intuitive in his communication with non-human creatures. A reluctant twelve-year-old schoolboy, whose hands feel the teacher’s switch more often than any other student, Leo is neither disobedient, nor simple; his interests just lie elsewhere. Peers taunt him for his oddness, for preferring the company of animals, especially horses, over humans. On the days that he does attend school, he daydreams, his attention absorbed by the swallows’ nest-building activities on the other side of the window glass or the sound of an owl scrabbling in the chimney. Afternoons, he inevitably drifts back to his father’s farm, one of six on the estate.

When we first meet Leo, he stands on the sidelines, observing his father, uncle, brothers and cousin as they go about their work in the fields. Increasingly, though, he joins in on the labour. His father, an exacting man, known to whip Leo’s older cousin, Herbert, for ploughing a less-than straight furrow, is surprisingly patient and forbearing with Leo, never berating the boy for his truancy. He recognizes and cultivates his son’s abilities and encourages his uncanny way with horses. Spongelike Leo absorbs his father’s techniques with the animals. No need for questions; he learns by osmosis. Albert would like to see Leo gain a place on the estate’s stud farm or in the master’s stables. His training of the boy causes resentment in others, however. It intensifies the rancour between Albert and his brother, Enoch, the under-carter on the estate, and it angers his nephew, Herbert, who believes he is the rightful recipient of the training.

Pears’s book is arranged in unnumbered chapters named for the months of the year. There may be as many as five chapters in a row about the busiest month—all called “August” and as few as one chapter each for the months of late fall and winter, when there’s less to be done on the farm. Beginning in January, 1911 and continuing into June, 1912, each chapter presents a seasonal activity on the farm or wider estate. In January, 1911, Lord Prideaux’s partridge and pheasant shoot, in which Leo serves as a cartridge boy, is the focus. Subsequent chapters take the reader through manure spreading, turnip sowing, Mrs. Sercombe’s spring cleaning, the birth of a foal, the giddy spring turning out of the horses to pasture, and so on. Leo sees cart wheels being fashioned and horses being shod. He leads horses to and from the mowing, rakes the mown barley fields, and begins to break and train horses. One day while on an errand, he meets the head groom of the estate’s stables. Herb Shattock takes a shine to Leo and sometimes has him assist with the master’s horses.

Throughout the novel, Pears’s writing is unvarnished but fine. North Devon dialect is used, and biblical allusions are frequent. Considerable attention is paid to the workings of such new farm machines as mowers and binders. It is not uncommon for the author to linger over the intricate workings of cogs and rollers. Implements used by the smith, games keeper, and carter are precisely named.

The Horseman sets the reader down in the now-vanished world of rural England of more than a hundred years ago, where the rhythm and pace of working life were slower and dictated by the changing seasons, and where the harshness and physicality of existence were more directly experienced, too. Pears is especially strong at showing the complexity of the relationships between humans and domesticated animals. Unlike most of us, rural people then had daily contact with, even deep attachments to, the animals they would eventually eat. Leo has difficulty with this. It is “a mystery”, his mother says, that cared-for animals should come to such an end, but the Lord decreed it. Still, she adds, Leo is right to ponder this strange and puzzling thing. In a similar vein, Leo’s father confesses he had to make a case to the gaffer (boss) about not being responsible for selling those horses he had watched being born and had personally worked with.

In its attention to the cycle of the seasons and with its rustic characters (not to mention a distressing scene involving a pig that rivals the one in Jude the Obscure), The Horseman recalls the works of Hardy, but it lacks the intricate plotting of the great Victorian novelist. The narrative becomes most lively in the scenes where the master’s motherless, headstrong daughter, Charlotte, appears. Like Leo, “Lottie” was born in the last year of the last century. Spirited, emotional, and an expert horsewoman herself, she is one of the few humans to actually pique his interest. Though only a young girl with a small gun, she performs admirably in the shoot described at the beginning of the book. A little later, she dresses in boy’s clothes and watches Leo from atop a fence as he trains a colt. Lottie and Leo’s attraction to each other is natural, sympathetic, and uncomplicated by talk.

The first two-thirds of Pears’s book move at a very slow pace—with nothing much of consequence happening, but that all changes very suddenly as the novel draws to a close. In the final chapters, quiet, guileless Leo unwittingly provokes unanticipated, dramatic upheaval in the Sercombe family. No doubt the fall-out from this event—the change it brings to Leo’s and his family’s fortunes—is to be explored in the next installment of a planned trilogy.

Some years ago I was captivated by Pears’s debut, In the Place of Fallen Leaves. I later attempted his In a Land of Plenty, but it didn't engage me. A few months ago, though, my hopes were renewed when I learned that with The Horseman Pears would be returning to the pastoral setting of his first novel. As it turns out, this new book still couldn't quite take me back to the place of his first one. I was occasionally frustrated with the slow pace, the lengthy (and sometimes tedious) descriptions of farm work and equipment. However, once I recognized that the book was going to demand an adjustment in reading pace and more mental effort than I’m used to applying to fiction, I came to appreciate the book. It grew on me, and I find myself looking forward to discovering Leo’s fate in Pears’s next book.

I’d recommend The Horseman to patient readers with an interest in rural life and England’s agricultural past. Rating 3.5 (rounded down to 3).

Many thanks to the publisher, Bloomsbury USA, and NetGalley for providing me with a digital text for review. ( )