My friend Justine passed me this little portal to winds, waves and seabird calls. As I recall, she simply said, “charming”. It was held together by a thick rubber band, having fallen apart in the middle: at the pages of black and white photographs. So, perhaps appropriately as the book is about ten islands, I read it in slices. The first island felt a bit like a travel guide, but it’s so well written that there is a magic about it and, by the time I picked up the second half I felt as though Leslie Thomas, a seeker of remote places, could take me anywhere.

We seemed to fix on the exact seam where the Atlantic and the North Sea meet and don't take to each other. One ocean buffeted us, the other rolled us and threw us back on the first. It was July. p. 36.

Each of the ten islands is a journey (a world) in itself and the stories gather, like gulls over fish, to create a sense of presence, even familiarity, with the hard lives and resolve of the island people. These lives, interrupted by modern times and comforts, tend towards a sense of loss or nostalgia without a whiff of complaint. Most of the islands are introduced at a distance before we arrive on some craft, most notable being the currach before the vertiginous climb up Skellig Michael. The understated title of this book is an apt preparation for this warm-fire-with-Guinness treat. Thanks Justine. ( )