Berger spent the last four decades of his life in Quincy, a peasant village in the French Alps. The peasant's eye, as he described it, was attuned to what was particular. It saw the difference between this field and that field — not as an abstraction but as practical knowledge with immediate consequences. It saw the difference between this cow and her mother, between this season's grass and last season's. This knowledge was not primitive. It was extraordinarily sophisticated, refined over generations of direct engagement with a specific landscape. But it was not portable. It could not be extracted from the context that produced it and applied elsewhere. It was local knowledge, and its locality was both its power and its vulnerability.
Berger was not a romantic about peasant life. He documented its brutality — the physical exhaustion, the economic precarity, the isolation, the subordination of