An old couple leads a kind of miserable life and starts on a journey to find their long-lost son. It's England, a few hundred years back, and it's a kind of fantasy-ish version of England.
Well, what can I say. This was an odd read. I'm not quite sure what to make of it.
The writing was calm and slow, yet somehow with a depressing undertone. The dialogs sometimes intrigued me, sometimes annoyed me - there was a lot of back and forth. I did not understand all of the characters' development and changes.
The book left me with more questions than answers, yet somehow it felt I read something of value (sips at teacup). It made me think about peace and war, in personal manners and on the large scale. Are some things in life only good because conflicts have been forgotten or ignored? Should they be left forgotten? And more generally: Does this draw a parallel to our world? I don't know.