Sea Room

Nicolson begins by describing how, inheriting the islands from his father as a young man, the islands have come to have an unusually deep meaning for him. This comes out in his painstaking reconstruction of the geological formation of the islands, of their ancient bronze and iron age settlements, and of the harsh lives of the families that lived here until large-scale economies destroyed traditional Hebridean life.

There is much sadness and anger in Nicolson's account of these changes, but also joy--joy at the richness of life in such a place, and joy that these changes have allowed Nicolson himself to experience the Shiants' beauty. The precision with which almost every inch of the islands' physical and historical identities are described is, literally, marvellous; Nicolson eschews generalities, and writes with a love of detail that is increasingly rare. Although the book is a little maudlin at times, this is only the reflection of Nicolson's own sensitivity to the place. The Shiants are anthropomorphised, becoming a character in their own right, proof that the tiniest place can reflect the passage of time. --Toby Green

Such is the enthusiasm for the Shiant Isles exhibited by the wife of Adam Nicolson, author of SEA ROOM. Adam is owner of these roughly six hundred acres distributed over three wave and wind ravaged islands in the Minch, that stretch of ocean lying between the Scottish island of Skye and the Outer Hebrides. Adam had inherited them from his father, who purchased them in 1937.

The author does indeed examine every fact and detail that can be known or surmised about this edge on civilization's margin: the art of getting there by small boat, the migratory bird life, its human history as revealed by archeology and public records, its geology, its successive native industries over the centuries (farming, fishing, kelping, sheepherding), and its weather. Occasionally, there's unintended humor, as when he describes the labors involved in transferring some cattle off the island by coastal steamer:

"The men waited below (the steamer) in the dinghy as the poor beast was lifted by its horns high into the air, bellowing at the indignity and with fear. Just as the animal was high above the gunwale, the men in the dinghy guiding it in by the tail, the bullock emptied the entire contents of its four stomachs over the men below. That was the last time any cattle were seen on the Shiants." Or, when he describes the equally valiant efforts of the rams (tups) sent to the islands to impregnate the resident ewes:

"The tups are put on in November, about eight or nine of them for the three hundred-odd ewes, and are taken off in February, knackered (exhausted)." Yes, well, that's the plight of us males everywhere regardless of species. It's a tough and thankless but necessary job.

Most of SEA ROOM is a sober narrative about ordinary life on, and the ecosystem of, the Shiants - ordinary with a capital "O". After all, through the centuries no more than perhaps thirty people have called the islands home at any one time. It was never the site of a great city, or the center of an empire, or the scene of heroic accomplishment beyond just making a life in a remote and inhospitable place. Indeed, the Shiants have lacked permanent human residents for the past hundred years. Thus, while Nicolson's magnificent prose makes the story reasonably interesting, it wasn't enough to earn more than four stars in my opinion ... that is, until the concluding chapter. It's because of these last pages, a heartfelt and poignant manifesto of the author's great and consuming love for this far-flung spot, a legacy for his son Tom, that I finally awarded five stars for the whole.

"I was left alone in the silence, with the pale sun on my face, and, as the dogs nosed for nothing in the grasses, I started to fall asleep there to the long, asthmatic rhythm of the surf. The islands embraced and enveloped me. Twenty yards to my left the Viking was asleep in his grave ..."


Magic   March 30, 2005
 6 out of 6 found this review helpful

Let me make my position clear. I'm a city person. I thrive on concrete and diesel fumes and multi-storey car parks. I would no more go and live on some rocky Hebridean island and take an interest in BIRDLIFE than row across the Atlantic in a tin bath. However... such is Nicolson's way with words, such is the quality of his writing and the sheer infectiousness of his enthusiasm that I not only read the book cover to cover, I actually considered taking a trip north. Maybe not yet. But one day. I want to check out those puffins.

Sea Room provides the reader with an entire magical world called the Shiant Islands. Their history is fascinating, out there among the Vikings, in among the lairds and feuds. Even the derivation of the various names is fascinating. Then comes Nicolson's own family involvement,(and the family we're talking about is that of Harold Nicolson and Vita Sackville-West). Naturally, the Hebridean locals don't welcome him with open arms, this foreigner, this city-dweller. Not initially. But Nicolson the writer isn't telling patronizing yarns about local yokels; this is a serious portrait of the frustrations and triumphs that attend any project involving people and ownership.

But most of all, Sea Room is poetry. It's beautifully written. Nicolson's language effortlessly evokes rocky coasts and crashing seas and air thickly textured with the calls of half a million puffins. I fell in love with those puffins. And the Hebrides aren't that far away, are they? Not too far to nip up one day and have a look before settling back in my own asphalt paradise?