What do you think?
Rate this book


278 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 12, 2024
This felt like stepping into salt air and staying there a while.
Katya Balen just gets this kind of story. Small places. Big feelings. The quiet ache of growing up without quite realising it’s happening.
Ayrie is one of those settings that wraps around you. Puffins, bonfires, cold water, everyone knowing your name and your story whether you like it or not. It’s soft and wild at the same time. And Tilda belongs to it in that deep, instinctive way children belong to places.
And then Albie arrives. Closed off. Resistant. Not wanting any of it.
I loved that tension. The push and pull between loving a place and rejecting it. Between holding on and letting go.
This is really a story about belonging. But also about the quiet grief of change. Of people leaving. Of things not staying as they were, no matter how much you want them to.
The adventure element is there too. The forbidden island. The sense of danger. That flicker of something almost ghostly. Enough to give it edge without ever losing that warmth at its core.
And the community… I really loved that. It feels rare to see that kind of collective care written without cynicism. It’s gentle. Earnest. It works.
If I’m being honest, it didn’t hit quite as deeply as some of her previous books for me. I could feel what it was reaching for, but it didn’t always fully land with the same emotional weight. At times it felt a little lighter than I wanted it to be.
But still. There is something genuinely lovely here. Thoughtful. wholesome without being shallow. Full of nature and wonder and that restless, in-between feeling of growing up.
4★
A quiet, sea-soaked story about home, and the strange, invisible lines that keep pulling us back to it.