H. V. Morton somewhat set the tone for travel writing in his day--this book was published in 1930. Though dark whispers decry his personality on internet sites, and though he offered a poeticized and othered rendition of the country and its people, nevertheless, there is some evocative writing in here, and some glimpses of a moment in Irish history that is long gone. And so I like the book, for all its faults, not least for its soft-edged black and white photographs of country roads and horse-carts, village fairs, traditionally divided fields, natural features, ancient ruins, and people in peasant clothes posing for the camera or at their daily tasks. In earlier editions these are on special paper, often folding out from the spine, but in later economies such things were dispensed with. Go for the earlier ones if the photos are important to you. Much easier on the eye.

Fascinating and often beautifully written. Morton doesn't tell all, and doesn't understand all, and brings his beliefs with him as we all do. Nevertheless it is a glimpse into a time and place that remains only in the slimmest living threads and the memories of its people. ( )

Evocative travel writing from a master. Starting in Dublin, Morton makes a roughly circular trip through Ireland. While Morton's writing and erudition charm the reader, the real fasination is Ireland as a new country. This was written shortly after independence and while Ireland had just become a Free State. Most of the country described here is now unrecognizable and Morton's books on Italy, particularly A Traveller in Italy, are better, but even a slight and dated Morton is better than a lot of contemporary travel writing. ( )

This is a true story of a love affair.

It is a love at first sight for Morton as he visits Saorstát Éireann and hears the mysterious “silent music of the land” as he visits Connemara, Glengariff and the Curragh and Eire’s troubled history. Fascination with the Gaelic tongue induces a longing to understand it more, to be able to sing back an answering verse to the real songs he hears from behind the stone walls.

The country wins Morton’s heart rapidly, as do the people and their intense sense of place. Even the animals enchant …including a curious cow who joins a wake…and the “ hens who are all over the world an excitable, suicidal people”.

By the end of his book H.V. is so in love with Ireland, and feels so desperately his need to communicate his ardor, and share it with the reader, that he becomes intensely lyrical and even starts to adds a Gaelic lilt to his prose!

To read it is to love it too!