After a few clunkers, I wanted to end 2012 on a high note, so I turned to a reliable source: James Herriot. Every Living Thing is the fifth and final story collection the vet/author produced about his life working with animals (and their eccentric owners) in the Yorkshire Dales. This time, we're in the 1950s- television has just become a common household item, Herriot's kids are growing, and there are plenty of medical advances in the field- but it's the same old Yorkshire.
Like the other collections, this one is full of heartwarming and amusing tales. Herriot's contentment and enjoyment of his life is contagious- he's one of those authors that just makes you feel blessed to live on this good earth, even when (as was frequently the case with him) you have your arm in a cow's rectum. I'd recommend any of his works, especially to animal lovers or those fortunate enough to live in Yorkshire.
If you've read any of Herriot's works and do live in northern England, I'd recommend checking out Skeldale House, the home where Herriot worked and lived for a time. Located in Thirsk (Herriot's "Darrowby"- he always changed the names of the towns in his works), it helps you visualize a variety of scenes put forth in James' literature. Oh, and regarding changing the names of towns- his oft-mentioned "Brawton" is none other than Harrogate, so keep that in mind when you read.
My only disappointment here was that it ended. I thought, as his final collection, that it would conclude with an overall look back on his life, but it appears to end right in the '50s or '60s, which means memorable deeds of the last few decades of his practice was never committed to paper (or, at least, published). Or, perhaps, some of the tales do cover the later period, and he just never makes mention of it. It was written in 1992; Herriot died just three years later. He lived 78 years, and appeared thankful for each moment. I wish we all lived like that.
Rating: A
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