In Norfolk, about two and a half hours northeast of London by train, I spent more than a year huddled in a brick house and concrete university working on my writing. Also in Norfolk, among many other talented writers, lives the novelist Rose Tremain. Here’s a peek at her award-winning new novel The Road Home, just out in August:

“On the coach, Lev chose a seat near the back and he sat huddled against the window, staring out at the land he was leaving: at the fields of sunflowers scorched by the dry wind, at the pig farms, at the quarries and rivers and at the wild garlic growing green at the edge of the road.

“Lev wore a leather jacket and jeans and a leather cap pulled low over his eyes, and his handsome face was gray-toned from his smoking, and in his hands he clutched and old red cotton handkerchief and a dented pack of Russian cigarettes. He would soon be forty three.”

–From The Road Home by Rose Tremain

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