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Twenty Years A'Growing
Maurice O'Sullivan was born on the Great Blasket in 1904, and "Twenty Years A-Growing" tells the story of his youth and of a way of life which belonged to the Middle Ages. He wrote for his own pleasure and for the entertainment of his friends, without any thought of a wider public his style is derived from folk-tales which he heard from his grandfather and sharpened by his own lively imagination.
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First published January 1, 1933
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About the author
Maurice O'Sullivan
23 books9 followersNote: more than one author by this name; the information herein concerns Irish author Maurice O'Sullivan (Muiris Ó Súilleabháin) (1904-1950) who, in 1933, wrote 'Fiche Bliain ag Fás' which was translated the same year into English as 'Twenty Years a-Growing.'
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October 6, 2020I've spent the last couple of weeks on a little island off the south west coast of Ireland. It's a tiny island in world terms but the Great Blasket, as it is called, is by far the biggest of the group of rocky outcrops it belongs to. Seen from above they look like a shoal of huge fish breaking the surface of the Atlantic Ocean.
My adventure started when I got a present of five books written by Blasket islanders between the nineteen twenties and the nineteen fifties when the last of the island population moved to the mainland. I'd read sections of one of the books a long time ago, and had been curious about the others—from a distance. Now here they were, a little mountain of books at my elbow, waiting for me to pick through them.
I felt a little daunted at embarking on such a collection of what can only be described as oral histories, originally written in Irish. Two of them were transcribed from the spoken word and the others, though written down by their authors, follow the patterns of oral story telling.
I eyed my little mountain of oral history for a few days wondering where to begin, and then decided to jump in at the deep end and start with the longest book, Maurice O'Sullivan's Twenty Years A-Growing. It was a lucky beginning. From the first page, and although I was reading an English translation, his descriptions of his home place beguiled me, the island where the storms of the sky and the wild sea beat without ceasing from end to end of the year and from generation to generation against the wrinkled rocks which stand above the waves that wash in and out of the coves where the seals make their homes.
In contrast to the other four books, written when their authors were elderly, there's an energy and vitality in O'Sullivan's account—he was barely thirty when he put his memories of life growing up on the island on paper. Muiris, as he was called in Irish, was born on Great Blasket in 1904 but sent to the mainland because his mother died in childbirth. His father fetched him back to the island when he was six and it was then he heard his first words of Irish. We sat in to the table and they began conversing in Irish. I sat listening to them shyly, like a dog listening to music, but I could not make any sense out of it.
If Muiris grew to understand the language quickly, it was thanks to his grandfather with whom he spent his days while his father was out fishing. And if he learned to tell stories as well as he does in this book, it was also thanks to his grandfather who was one of the best storytellers or 'seannachai' on the island. There was a vibrant story-telling tradition in rural Irish communities in the nineteenth century, and poets capable of reciting their own and others's verses from memory were to be found in many districts. This was a legacy of the 'filí' (bards) who used to be attached to a chieftain's court but who had been dispersed among the people when the chieftains were ousted by English colonial policies in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. There was a poet called Shane Dunlevy on the Great Blasket in Muiris's grandfather's time, and the people of the island would gather in the evenings in one of the island houses to listen to his poetry as well as to stories, music and song, none of which was written down but simply handed on to the next generation via frequent repetition.
Growing up listening to all this oral history, it is no wonder that Muiris turns his memoir into a series of stories. There are stories about hunting for rabbits on the mountain that runs from the eastern tip of the three-by-one-mile island to the western end, stories about climbing down the cliffs on the sheer north side of the mountain in search of gull's eggs. There are stories of ship-wrecked sailors rescued from the waves. There are stories of fishing expeditions around the other Blasket islands when he was old enough to handle a set of oars. The islanders used light wooden boats covered with canvas called 'currachs'. Because there was no proper harbour on the island, the boats had to be lifted out of the water between trips to keep them safe from the wild sea.
But when they were out on that wild sea, there was little to keep the fishermen safe but their skill at reading the sky and handling their oars.
The sound of the sea pervades all of the stories, and while I was reading them, I found it easy to imagine that I too was living on that rocky island with the thunder of the waves constantly in my ears and the silver of the sea before my eyes. When I finished the book, I was glad to have four more Blasket books still to read. The next three, though not as elemental as Muiris's, deepened my motivation to read on, and the last of all, Tomás O'Crohan's Islandman was the perfect way to finish my adventure. Tomás, born in 1856, took me back to the time of Muiris's grandfather's youth, a time I'd been curious to hear more about. I was sorry when I reached the last page of the last Blasket book, sad to no longer have the Island and the wild seas and skies in my mind's eye.
This reading adventure will stay with me for a long long time.
My adventure started when I got a present of five books written by Blasket islanders between the nineteen twenties and the nineteen fifties when the last of the island population moved to the mainland. I'd read sections of one of the books a long time ago, and had been curious about the others—from a distance. Now here they were, a little mountain of books at my elbow, waiting for me to pick through them.
I felt a little daunted at embarking on such a collection of what can only be described as oral histories, originally written in Irish. Two of them were transcribed from the spoken word and the others, though written down by their authors, follow the patterns of oral story telling.
I eyed my little mountain of oral history for a few days wondering where to begin, and then decided to jump in at the deep end and start with the longest book, Maurice O'Sullivan's Twenty Years A-Growing. It was a lucky beginning. From the first page, and although I was reading an English translation, his descriptions of his home place beguiled me, the island where the storms of the sky and the wild sea beat without ceasing from end to end of the year and from generation to generation against the wrinkled rocks which stand above the waves that wash in and out of the coves where the seals make their homes.
In contrast to the other four books, written when their authors were elderly, there's an energy and vitality in O'Sullivan's account—he was barely thirty when he put his memories of life growing up on the island on paper. Muiris, as he was called in Irish, was born on Great Blasket in 1904 but sent to the mainland because his mother died in childbirth. His father fetched him back to the island when he was six and it was then he heard his first words of Irish. We sat in to the table and they began conversing in Irish. I sat listening to them shyly, like a dog listening to music, but I could not make any sense out of it.
If Muiris grew to understand the language quickly, it was thanks to his grandfather with whom he spent his days while his father was out fishing. And if he learned to tell stories as well as he does in this book, it was also thanks to his grandfather who was one of the best storytellers or 'seannachai' on the island. There was a vibrant story-telling tradition in rural Irish communities in the nineteenth century, and poets capable of reciting their own and others's verses from memory were to be found in many districts. This was a legacy of the 'filí' (bards) who used to be attached to a chieftain's court but who had been dispersed among the people when the chieftains were ousted by English colonial policies in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. There was a poet called Shane Dunlevy on the Great Blasket in Muiris's grandfather's time, and the people of the island would gather in the evenings in one of the island houses to listen to his poetry as well as to stories, music and song, none of which was written down but simply handed on to the next generation via frequent repetition.
Growing up listening to all this oral history, it is no wonder that Muiris turns his memoir into a series of stories. There are stories about hunting for rabbits on the mountain that runs from the eastern tip of the three-by-one-mile island to the western end, stories about climbing down the cliffs on the sheer north side of the mountain in search of gull's eggs. There are stories of ship-wrecked sailors rescued from the waves. There are stories of fishing expeditions around the other Blasket islands when he was old enough to handle a set of oars. The islanders used light wooden boats covered with canvas called 'currachs'. Because there was no proper harbour on the island, the boats had to be lifted out of the water between trips to keep them safe from the wild sea.
But when they were out on that wild sea, there was little to keep the fishermen safe but their skill at reading the sky and handling their oars.
The sound of the sea pervades all of the stories, and while I was reading them, I found it easy to imagine that I too was living on that rocky island with the thunder of the waves constantly in my ears and the silver of the sea before my eyes. When I finished the book, I was glad to have four more Blasket books still to read. The next three, though not as elemental as Muiris's, deepened my motivation to read on, and the last of all, Tomás O'Crohan's Islandman was the perfect way to finish my adventure. Tomás, born in 1856, took me back to the time of Muiris's grandfather's youth, a time I'd been curious to hear more about. I was sorry when I reached the last page of the last Blasket book, sad to no longer have the Island and the wild seas and skies in my mind's eye.
This reading adventure will stay with me for a long long time.
December 9, 2019
This wasn’t my favorite book of the year by any means but it was an interesting read as I have an interest in Island life and the history of the life on the islands of the Coast of Ireland . While it was entertaining at times it did become repetitive and dragged and perhaps the translation from Irish to English takes away from the flow of the story. It has to be noted “ It is the first translation into English of a genuine account of the life of the Irish peasants written by one of themselves, as distinct from what has been written about them by the poets and dramatists of the Anglo Irish School” (taken directly from Preface)
Maurice O Sullivan was born in 1904 on a remote Island of the Atlantic coast of Ireland called the Great Blasket. He wrote this story for his own pleasure and for the entertainment of his friends without any thought for readers outside of his own group of friends and this is reflected in the honest and plain language of the time. It is a wonderful insight into the customs and traditions and everyday life on the Island and the reader is transported back to past through the eyes of the author who recounts the story of his childhood.
A book that has wonderful historical value and while its not one for my favorites list I certainly don't regret reading it.
Maurice O Sullivan was born in 1904 on a remote Island of the Atlantic coast of Ireland called the Great Blasket. He wrote this story for his own pleasure and for the entertainment of his friends without any thought for readers outside of his own group of friends and this is reflected in the honest and plain language of the time. It is a wonderful insight into the customs and traditions and everyday life on the Island and the reader is transported back to past through the eyes of the author who recounts the story of his childhood.
A book that has wonderful historical value and while its not one for my favorites list I certainly don't regret reading it.
October 26, 2020
What a lovely book this is. Gave me that warm feeling of being sat beside a log fire while the wind roars outside and the evening darkens. Tinged with sorrow, in that this world is long lost and those islanders would have a rough time of it before the place became pretty much abandoned as it is now, but still put a smile on my face.
January 17, 2013
My favorite book. A gift from my father. Paints a picture of life on the Blasket Island as it was dying away. Beautiful landscape descriptions, images of childhood on an island rich with cultural traditions and adventures.
March 30, 2024
Embarking on Maurice O’Sullivan’s Twenty Years a Growing feels akin to setting sail on a crystalline morning, where the ocean whispers of ancient tales and the horizon promises undiscovered lands. This memoir, a tapestry of youthful exuberance set against the rugged backdrop of the Great Blasket Island, resonates with a purity of voice that transcends the mere recounting of a childhood.
O’Sullivan, with the deftness of a seanchaí (storyteller), immerses us in the elemental beauty of his island home, where the land and sea are not just settings but vibrant characters in their own right. His narrative, rich with the cadences of a life deeply interwoven with the natural world, carries us through his formative years with a lyrical grace that echoes the undulating waves surrounding his island existence.
What is profoundly striking about O’Sullivan’s journey is the seamless blend of simplicity and depth, a trait that mirrors the elemental beauty of Blasket. Through his eyes, we witness the joyous freedom of childhood adventures, the poignant rites of passage, and the community’s timeless wisdom, all set against the ever-present, majestic backdrop of the Atlantic.
This is ode to the innocence of youth and the raw, untamed beauty of nature. O’Sullivan’s narrative style—imbued with a sense of wonder and an innate connection to his surroundings—offers a refreshing purity that is as invigorating as the sea air of Blasket itself.
For those who yearn for stories that bridge the personal with the universal, where the spirit of a place is indelibly linked to the formation of a soul, Maurice O’Sullivan’s masterpiece is a beacon. It reminds us of the beauty in simplicity, the depth of childhood, and the timeless tales that grow from the very soil we walk upon.
As I turned the final page, I couldn't help but feel that O’Sullivan had not just shared his youth with me but had also invited me to view the world through his eyes—to see the grandeur in the everyday and the epic narrative woven into the fabric of a life lived in harmony with nature—a testament to the enduring power of place and the formative tales that emerge from the landscapes we call home.
O’Sullivan, with the deftness of a seanchaí (storyteller), immerses us in the elemental beauty of his island home, where the land and sea are not just settings but vibrant characters in their own right. His narrative, rich with the cadences of a life deeply interwoven with the natural world, carries us through his formative years with a lyrical grace that echoes the undulating waves surrounding his island existence.
What is profoundly striking about O’Sullivan’s journey is the seamless blend of simplicity and depth, a trait that mirrors the elemental beauty of Blasket. Through his eyes, we witness the joyous freedom of childhood adventures, the poignant rites of passage, and the community’s timeless wisdom, all set against the ever-present, majestic backdrop of the Atlantic.
This is ode to the innocence of youth and the raw, untamed beauty of nature. O’Sullivan’s narrative style—imbued with a sense of wonder and an innate connection to his surroundings—offers a refreshing purity that is as invigorating as the sea air of Blasket itself.
For those who yearn for stories that bridge the personal with the universal, where the spirit of a place is indelibly linked to the formation of a soul, Maurice O’Sullivan’s masterpiece is a beacon. It reminds us of the beauty in simplicity, the depth of childhood, and the timeless tales that grow from the very soil we walk upon.
As I turned the final page, I couldn't help but feel that O’Sullivan had not just shared his youth with me but had also invited me to view the world through his eyes—to see the grandeur in the everyday and the epic narrative woven into the fabric of a life lived in harmony with nature—a testament to the enduring power of place and the formative tales that emerge from the landscapes we call home.
April 16, 2019
"I am a boy who was born and bred in the Great Blasket, a truly small Gaelic island which lies north west of the coast of Kerry, where the storm of the sky and the wild sea beat without ceasing from end to end of the year and from generation to generation against the wrinkled rocks which stand above the waves that was in and out of the coves where the seals make their homes.”
A lovely book.
A lovely book.
July 3, 2018
A pleasant view into a life which has disappeared, growing up in an isolated community on Great Blasket, an island off the Atlantic coast of Ireland, at the beginning of the 20th century in the days before television, radio, computers and telephones. Even news is infrequently brought from the mainland, and not at all in rough weather. Surrounded by nature, fishing for a living and hunting rabbits for food in an island teeming with them, the people live a simple life, the old helping the young, and the women keeping up a running commentary on everything the men do. Occasionally there is some excitement, including scavenging after shipwrecks, caring for a boatload of shipwrecked sailors from the Lusitania, and trips to the mainland for wedding celebrations. Originally written in the Irish language, it's clear where the lilt of present-day English-speaking Irish originates, including the turn of phrase and tendency to use curses as part of normal conversation. In the first part of the 20th century, this tended to be various phrases invoking the devil. Nowadays, it usually takes the form of various words beginning with the letter F. Back then a greeting was the formulaic "God save all here" with the answer "God and Mary save you". A gentler time, which was already disappearing, with the shadow of young people leaving for America in search of their fortune, and even Maurice O'Sullivan himself leaving to become a policeman on the mainland.
Interesting and gently told, in the form of disconnected episodes of recollection, in a storytelling style. Not very exciting, and yet I read it to the end. It's a shame I didn't manage to take this to the BookCrossing Convention in Dublin, but perhaps that would be taking coals to Newcastle, and it's better to release it so Ireland-enthusiasts here can enjoy it.
BookCrossing book: http://www.bookcrossing.com/journal/7...
Interesting and gently told, in the form of disconnected episodes of recollection, in a storytelling style. Not very exciting, and yet I read it to the end. It's a shame I didn't manage to take this to the BookCrossing Convention in Dublin, but perhaps that would be taking coals to Newcastle, and it's better to release it so Ireland-enthusiasts here can enjoy it.
BookCrossing book: http://www.bookcrossing.com/journal/7...
August 20, 2016
I read this after the opportunity to visit the Blasket Island center in Dunquin, and gaze out at the Great Blasket. Amazing stories of growing up on the island, taking the currach to discover the main land. I'm sure my visit made the descriptions even more vivid.
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September 12, 2008A powerful, rich, and funny book about a young man's childhood on the Great Blasket island off the west coast of Ireland. I enjoy visualizing the magical scenery where his stories are set. His humor is so understated that it sometimes takes a second read to catch it -- his wit is dry, but his characters are real, true, and human -- probably because they are the real people with whom he grew up on the island.
The Blaskets are abandoned now, and have become a nature preserve. This is a wonderful way to connect with a past vibrant culture.
The Blaskets are abandoned now, and have become a nature preserve. This is a wonderful way to connect with a past vibrant culture.
November 17, 2010
One of the fine “Blasket” books, which are great for providing a link to the Irish peasant storytelling tradition--a tradition that, for the most part, was all oratory prior to the books being translated. And even though it’s a translation from Irish, you can still hear the author’s brogue when he says things like “On the way back we shortened the road with great talk…”
August 9, 2022
Very charming stories, and a witty translation.
May 26, 2017
If you love the Irish, or poetry, or language, then this book is for you. Maurice O'Sullivan writes of his life in the Blasket islands off the western coast of Ireland in the early 1900's. Reading the book, you can hear his brogue and that wonderful way of Irish storytelling -- slow and wandering and soft. Here is how the book begins: "I am a boy who was born and bred in the Great Blasket, a small truly Gaelic island which lies north-west of the coast of Kerry, where the storms of the sky and the wild sea beat without ceasing from end to end of the year and from generation to generation against the wrinkled rocks which stand above the waves that wash in and out of the coves where the seals make their homes." He goes on to tell of his life on the islands, of fishing and hunting and dances and folktales and laughter. The Blaskets are abandoned now, but with this book O'Sullivan keeps them alive. What a treasure!
The title comes from an old Irish saying:
Twenty years a-growing,
twenty years a-blooming,
twenty years a-toiling,
and twenty years in decline.
The title comes from an old Irish saying:
Twenty years a-growing,
twenty years a-blooming,
twenty years a-toiling,
and twenty years in decline.
February 8, 2009
Interesting look at what life was like in such an isolated place. Lots of killing birds (including Puffins!), overfishing, drinking, smoking, etc. It sounded like a very hard life, although the author loved it. The descriptions of the land took me back there. The author hated school and here's a sentence from the first page: "The schoolmistress teaching us was a woman who was as grey as a badger with two tusks of teeth hanging down over her lip, and, if she wasn't cross, it isn't day yet."
October 20, 2019
Maurice O'Sullivan's memoir was first published in 1933 in Irish under the original name ,Fiche Bilan af Fás' and in English known as 'Twenty years A-Growing'. Only one year later in 1934 it had been translated into French and published by Gallimard: 'Vingt ans de jeunesse' - 1934.
The author was born in 1904 and thus 29 years of age when his book was first published.
It was an utterly enjoyable read and I was somewhat sad when I reached the end and knew that I would not get to know more about the author's life and tales.
The title of O'Sullivan's memoir was based on a saying he had heard in early years from his grand-father: 'A man's life consists of twenty year A-Growing, twenty years in bloom, twenty years A-Stooping and twenty years declining.'
It's said that O'Sullivan had seen this memoir a first book of an autobiographical trilogy. A second book had been written and named 'Twenty yeas A-Flowering' but it has unfortunately never been published due to the lack of interest by publishers.
Maurice O'Sullivan tragically died by drowning in 1950 when swimming off Knocknacarra / Salthill close to Galway in Connemara.
The book itself is a delightful memoir of nearly forgotten times and most enjoyable to read
After the death of his mother, baby Maurice is brought to Dingle and raised and educated in an institution before returning to the Blaskets aged 7, to live again with his his father, grand-father and siblings.
On the Blaskets Maurice learnt the native Irish language and spend many hours with his grand-father, listening to tales of the Islands and its people. This made the book become a great compilation of many lively stories experiences by the author from his early years to his entry at the Civil Guard Services and those above mentioned tales of former times.
I absolutely loved the book, the content and the narratives as well as the writing style of the author. Definitely a book to recommend !
The author was born in 1904 and thus 29 years of age when his book was first published.
It was an utterly enjoyable read and I was somewhat sad when I reached the end and knew that I would not get to know more about the author's life and tales.
The title of O'Sullivan's memoir was based on a saying he had heard in early years from his grand-father: 'A man's life consists of twenty year A-Growing, twenty years in bloom, twenty years A-Stooping and twenty years declining.'
It's said that O'Sullivan had seen this memoir a first book of an autobiographical trilogy. A second book had been written and named 'Twenty yeas A-Flowering' but it has unfortunately never been published due to the lack of interest by publishers.
Maurice O'Sullivan tragically died by drowning in 1950 when swimming off Knocknacarra / Salthill close to Galway in Connemara.
The book itself is a delightful memoir of nearly forgotten times and most enjoyable to read
After the death of his mother, baby Maurice is brought to Dingle and raised and educated in an institution before returning to the Blaskets aged 7, to live again with his his father, grand-father and siblings.
On the Blaskets Maurice learnt the native Irish language and spend many hours with his grand-father, listening to tales of the Islands and its people. This made the book become a great compilation of many lively stories experiences by the author from his early years to his entry at the Civil Guard Services and those above mentioned tales of former times.
I absolutely loved the book, the content and the narratives as well as the writing style of the author. Definitely a book to recommend !
June 9, 2025
A beautiful memoir of a lost world.
The saddest thing about modernity is how communities like this not only have broken apart, but are fundamentally unviable. In many ways are we poorer for it. Great Blasket is now firmly on the list of remote islands to visit!
The saddest thing about modernity is how communities like this not only have broken apart, but are fundamentally unviable. In many ways are we poorer for it. Great Blasket is now firmly on the list of remote islands to visit!
January 31, 2025
I loved this book! I wasn’t sure about it when I read the description. The author recalls his childhood on a tiny island in Ireland. The time frame was early to mid nineteen hundreds. So interesting! I tried to picture my Irish relatives in the stories!
March 5, 2025
Tá Gaeilge shaibhir á úsáid sa leabhar seo.
July 28, 2018
A great read for anyone that has visited the Blaskets or going to. I wish we had more time to explore this amazing place. Next visit...
July 5, 2024
A lovely read about what might seem like a bygone world but really isn't that long ago. The book is tinged with sadness for an island community that went through great change and ultimately was no longer sustainable. Some great yarns told with wit, warmth and love of people, home and the natural world. The Dingle Peninsula has long been on my travel wishlist, this makes me wish to see the Blaskets all the more.
June 9, 2011
Twenty Years A-Growing was published in 1933, four years after Tomas O'Crohan's The Islandman, which was the first of the books about the Blasket Island lifeway written in Irish and republished in English at a moment when "pre-modern" communities of the newly-free Ireland became subjects of fascination to some members of the former colonial ruling class. This volume includes a forward by E. M. Forster describing the Blasketers as "neolithic," a period which began 9500 years ago and was characterized by humans wearing animal skins and using bone tools. It's hard to believe he actually read the book since it is the life story of Maurice O'Sullivan, who spoke and read only English until he moved back to the island of his birth as a youth, an island which had mail delivery -- they could read and write!?! -- and a school for their children -- they endorsed universal literacy!?! -- and young O'Sullivan had no trouble passing the civil service exam to become a policeman -- they measured up to "modern" humans!?! This book stands out from the other Blasket classics as a more personal story that's less concerned with capturing the island lifeway than in describing the incidents and emotions of a young islander. Because of the personal focus and because I'd already read O'Crohan's Islandman, Peig Sayer's Reflections (1962) and Eibhlis Ni Shuilleabhain's Letters (1978), I found this book less interesting than the others. As a coming of age story it works very well, and it paints of vivid picture of the extraordinary setting. Two things really stood out for me in this book. First, the fact that the German attacks on shipping in World War I were a boon to the islanders who would wake up some mornings to discover their island surrounded by the floating cargo of doomed ships, including the Lusitania, and built special storerooms to hold all their booty. Second, the heartache and regret with which O'Sullivan departed the Great Blasket, one of the last holdouts of a young generation which concluded that the special magic of their homeplace no longer outweighed the physical isolation and extreme hardship of living there. The boom of the Great War proved to be a brief reprieve. By the mid-twenties, O'Sullivan was gone, and by 1953, the island was finally abandoned by its last inhabitants.
November 8, 2011
This won't be an easy one to find, but it has its appeal. The setting is a few hundred souls living on the Blasket Islands, off the westernmost peninsula of Ireland - the Dingle Peninsula.
The writer - Maurice O'Sullivan born in 1904 - tells the story of his youth, and a way of life that is now past. His life was fishing and shepherding among a small group of rugged Irish citizens. With no TV or modern appliances, and a limited circle of humans who depended on one another whether they might have a preference to or not, his reminiscences of village life, quarrels, crushes, hard work, conversation, and hopes and dreams are truly from "another time."
Much of the appeal in this set of tales lies in the Irish sayings, and phrases. Those who died "have gone on in the Way of Truth." And as stated in the title, Maurice remembers clearly his dear grandfather remarking on the passing of our lives, "Twenty years a-growing, twenty years a-blooming, twenty years a-stooping, and twenty years declining."
The writer - Maurice O'Sullivan born in 1904 - tells the story of his youth, and a way of life that is now past. His life was fishing and shepherding among a small group of rugged Irish citizens. With no TV or modern appliances, and a limited circle of humans who depended on one another whether they might have a preference to or not, his reminiscences of village life, quarrels, crushes, hard work, conversation, and hopes and dreams are truly from "another time."
Much of the appeal in this set of tales lies in the Irish sayings, and phrases. Those who died "have gone on in the Way of Truth." And as stated in the title, Maurice remembers clearly his dear grandfather remarking on the passing of our lives, "Twenty years a-growing, twenty years a-blooming, twenty years a-stooping, and twenty years declining."
June 14, 2011
I visited the Blasket Island Center on my trip to Ireland - May 2011 - and this book was recommended by our tour director and quoted in the visitor center. You really really need to go to the visitor center high on the cliffs outside of Dingle. It is a wonderous place of views, sea birds and an old way of life. This book is written in the first person of one of the last people to live on the island before it closed in 1953. The language is lyrical as well as poetic way of telling the story. The characters and the place come alive and you can hear the Irish voice as you read.
September 6, 2013
A beautiful, funny, and ultimately melancholy book about a boy growing up on an island where nothing has changed for hundreds of years, until suddenly, everything is changing. I visited a museum in Ireland about the Blasket Islands, where the majority of this book takes place, and it made me sad that the islanders culture and and community is gone forever. Now that I've read this book, it's even sadder, because it was fascinating place with fascinating people. I'm glad they wrote books about it.
December 9, 2016
So cool to read after staying in Dunquin and looking right across at the Blaskets last summer! I especially loved the beginning, when he goes back to the island from Dingle at age six with no Irish, and the last several chapters when he leaves the island for the mainland. The bits about his astonishment at trains and at Dublin are priceless. Translated beautifully from the Irish into a musical Irish English.
August 25, 2023
Basically each chapter is a new anecdote that isn't linear, which I quite liked. However, the language is very hard to invest yourself in due to it being directly translated from Irish. Id say they said devil more times in this book than in the bible. It’s very slow and I’ve tired of it, found it hard to finish.
September 20, 2012
A sweet acount of a boy growing up in a time long past. A lovely and easy read.
June 16, 2012
This is a beautiful book , to be read over and over, it tells of times gone by and a simple but harsh way of life.
March 2, 2023
Twenty years a growing
Twenty years in blooms
Twenty years a-stooping and
Twenty years declining
Just one lyrical example of the aphorisms that enchant the simple living of the inhabitants of Blasket island. Through this autobiographical account of a young boy growing up on the island the reader is immersed in a land that time has not touched, where the troubles of a daily schedule cannot even be imagined, and the innocents that inhabit the island welcome strangers and beggars in their midst without guile.
There is no prepared food, no electricity, lives are lit by fires, the sun, the moon and stars. A shipwreck during the first Great War brings flotsam to the island in the form of drowned cargo, the island shuts down and everyone makes it their business to gather as much of the shipwrecked floating treasure as they can. Crates of watches and fine cloth, barrels of apples and milled flour bring a new level of luxury that the island has not seen. Even the boards that made up the ship are salvaged so that people can add lean-tos and storage rooms to their humble abodes.
The story can be hard to follow at times with the unfamiliar jargon and dialect, which helps to accentuate the sense of the foreign. There is a very strong close at the end when an Englishman arrives on the island and the reader is graced with the contrast to the modern world as it existed in the early 1900s. I appreciated the Englishman’s perspective and warning he gives to Maurice, to not be swayed by the treasure tales and dreams of the new country in America, pointing out the simple joys that would have to be forsaken to dedicate one’s life to that unknown land and an unknown way of life, in most cases a one way journey.
All in all a beautiful description of a simpler time.
Twenty years in blooms
Twenty years a-stooping and
Twenty years declining
Just one lyrical example of the aphorisms that enchant the simple living of the inhabitants of Blasket island. Through this autobiographical account of a young boy growing up on the island the reader is immersed in a land that time has not touched, where the troubles of a daily schedule cannot even be imagined, and the innocents that inhabit the island welcome strangers and beggars in their midst without guile.
There is no prepared food, no electricity, lives are lit by fires, the sun, the moon and stars. A shipwreck during the first Great War brings flotsam to the island in the form of drowned cargo, the island shuts down and everyone makes it their business to gather as much of the shipwrecked floating treasure as they can. Crates of watches and fine cloth, barrels of apples and milled flour bring a new level of luxury that the island has not seen. Even the boards that made up the ship are salvaged so that people can add lean-tos and storage rooms to their humble abodes.
The story can be hard to follow at times with the unfamiliar jargon and dialect, which helps to accentuate the sense of the foreign. There is a very strong close at the end when an Englishman arrives on the island and the reader is graced with the contrast to the modern world as it existed in the early 1900s. I appreciated the Englishman’s perspective and warning he gives to Maurice, to not be swayed by the treasure tales and dreams of the new country in America, pointing out the simple joys that would have to be forsaken to dedicate one’s life to that unknown land and an unknown way of life, in most cases a one way journey.
All in all a beautiful description of a simpler time.
October 3, 2019
This is a lyrical account, translated from Irish, about life on the Blasket Island, now uninhabited, off the West Coast of Ireland not far from Dingle. My wife and I were in the museum about life on Blasket (we missed the boat to the island) and found this fascinating memoir in the bookshop.
Maybe you have to have been on the West Coast of Ireland to appreciate this book properly, but, if you haven't been there, and you read the book, you'll want to go!
O'Sullivan describes his largely unsupervised childhood, hunting rabbits and birds, fishing, hearing folktales and poetry from his grandfather, and enjoying the sights and sounds of nature. Toward the end, as he becomes a young man, we also learn of the decline of the island, how so many of the young people leave for the Irish mainland and for Springfield, Massachusetts.
Blasket, as he describes it, was almost a nature preserve for the Irish language and for the ancient subsistence farming and fishing way of life. You had to be very hardy to survive there, though it also took a lot of courage to leave the circumscribed environment.
O'Sullivan was a gifted, poetical writer, and the translators, Moya Llewelyn Davies and George Thomson, did a fabulous job. The language is rich, flows easily, and has the taste of Irish, as I imagine it. Here's a sentence almost chosen at random: The narrator is in a boat and says: "We were across the Great Sound now, and there's no doubt but it would delight a sick man at that time to be looking north and south at the seabirds hunting over the wild sea."
It was originally published in 1933 and deservedly kept in print by Oxford University Press.
Maybe you have to have been on the West Coast of Ireland to appreciate this book properly, but, if you haven't been there, and you read the book, you'll want to go!
O'Sullivan describes his largely unsupervised childhood, hunting rabbits and birds, fishing, hearing folktales and poetry from his grandfather, and enjoying the sights and sounds of nature. Toward the end, as he becomes a young man, we also learn of the decline of the island, how so many of the young people leave for the Irish mainland and for Springfield, Massachusetts.
Blasket, as he describes it, was almost a nature preserve for the Irish language and for the ancient subsistence farming and fishing way of life. You had to be very hardy to survive there, though it also took a lot of courage to leave the circumscribed environment.
O'Sullivan was a gifted, poetical writer, and the translators, Moya Llewelyn Davies and George Thomson, did a fabulous job. The language is rich, flows easily, and has the taste of Irish, as I imagine it. Here's a sentence almost chosen at random: The narrator is in a boat and says: "We were across the Great Sound now, and there's no doubt but it would delight a sick man at that time to be looking north and south at the seabirds hunting over the wild sea."
It was originally published in 1933 and deservedly kept in print by Oxford University Press.
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August 25, 2023Read this for attempting the Summer Reading Bingo at my library, a book translated into English (from Irish, in this case), though it took me a huge chunk of summer so idk if I’ll even finish a row.
I wanted to like this, I like Ireland and I like descriptions and adjectives etc, but I think a lot of the stories in it brought up people or places you never heard from again, or skipped a lot of details, excepting maybe George and the Civic Guards.
Idk how much was lost in translation/was cut from the English translation, but I found a couple stories confusing, like going all the way to the mainland for the races but there was only one?? Or just one described? Similarly going over for a wedding only there were only details of dancing or something?
I am curious about that sailor on the Lusitania, because I googled it, and he’s not on the manifest, or whatever you might call what they gathered about passengers who had been on it the voyage it was sunk, like was that the actual name, or was it just something random Maurice came up with a handful of years later when he wrote the stories? Or did he write some of the stories as he was going through life, kept a journal or something? Bc it sounds like he was only in his mid-twenties when it was published, but some of the anecdotes seem too mundane to warrant remembering the details so well after the fact.
I wanted to like this, I like Ireland and I like descriptions and adjectives etc, but I think a lot of the stories in it brought up people or places you never heard from again, or skipped a lot of details, excepting maybe George and the Civic Guards.
Idk how much was lost in translation/was cut from the English translation, but I found a couple stories confusing, like going all the way to the mainland for the races but there was only one?? Or just one described? Similarly going over for a wedding only there were only details of dancing or something?
I am curious about that sailor on the Lusitania, because I googled it, and he’s not on the manifest, or whatever you might call what they gathered about passengers who had been on it the voyage it was sunk, like was that the actual name, or was it just something random Maurice came up with a handful of years later when he wrote the stories? Or did he write some of the stories as he was going through life, kept a journal or something? Bc it sounds like he was only in his mid-twenties when it was published, but some of the anecdotes seem too mundane to warrant remembering the details so well after the fact.
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