Here is where we meet  Reviewer Barry Hill June 18, 2005  Here
is where we meet By John Berger Bloomsbury, $45  John Berger,
now 80, a venerable olive tree, has been abundantly fruitful,
producing novels, stories, essays and poems for the past 50
years. His fans love his open heart, his metaphysical leaps, his
enduring, original intelligence, especially when he writes about
painting - as he did unsurpassably as a critic in London during
the 1950s and 1960s. Later he went to live in rural Savoy, from
where he wrote Into Their Labours, those classic novels of
French rural life in the shadow of corporate Europe.  Even in
exile, Berger has never failed his commitment to the ideas of
freedom and dignity in work. He no longer writes quite like a
Red but behind everything he writes is an insistence on hope, on
what might be if we talk with each other in a certain way, and
meet with each other at the right time in the right place. Which
is to say, hope also depends, to some extent, on a little luck,
in a world where