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I Am an Island
When Tamsin Calidas first arrives on an island in the Scottish Hebrides, it feels like coming home. Disenchanted by London, she and her husband left the city and high-flying careers to move the 500 miles north, despite having absolutely no experience of crofting, or of island life. It was idyllic, for a while. But as the months wear on, the children she'd longed for fail to materialise, and her marriage breaks down, Tamsin finds herself in ever-increasing isolation.
Injured, ill, without money or friend she is pared right back, stripped to becoming simply a raw element of the often harsh landscape. But with that immersion in her surroundings comes the possibility of rebirth and renewal. Tamsin begins the slow journey back from the brink.
Startling, raw and extremely moving, I Am An Island is a story about the incredible ability of the natural world to provide when everything else has fallen away- a stunning book about solitude, friendship, resilience and self-discovery.
Injured, ill, without money or friend she is pared right back, stripped to becoming simply a raw element of the often harsh landscape. But with that immersion in her surroundings comes the possibility of rebirth and renewal. Tamsin begins the slow journey back from the brink.
Startling, raw and extremely moving, I Am An Island is a story about the incredible ability of the natural world to provide when everything else has fallen away- a stunning book about solitude, friendship, resilience and self-discovery.
304 pages, Hardcover
First published May 7, 2020
254 people are currently reading
5271 people want to read
About the author
Tamsin Calidas
3 books47 followersTamsin Calidas is a writer and photographer living in the wilds of the Scottish Hebrides.
She graduated from Oxford University in 1992 with a BA Hons and worked in various roles in advertising, publishing and the BBC before giving it all up in 2004 to move from Notting Hill to a tiny, remote island in Scotland to run a derelict croft with sheep and horses.
She graduated from Oxford University in 1992 with a BA Hons and worked in various roles in advertising, publishing and the BBC before giving it all up in 2004 to move from Notting Hill to a tiny, remote island in Scotland to run a derelict croft with sheep and horses.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 668 reviews
November 23, 2020
Tamsin has been dreaming of moving ever since she found a map of Scotland and pinned it up in the hallway of her tiny flat.
Nothing is keeping her in London. No family, no close friends, no ties at all if she is honest with herself. She decides it is time to make the move.
Tamsin has had enough of London,
“Sometimes, a life can feel tight, like a jumper you have long outgrown, that restricts your movement, so you feel an urge to stretch and be rid of it.”
So, when her husband, Rab, shows her an advert of a derelict, run-down island croft located on a tiny island off the coast of Scotland. Tamsin, although they have both said they would never move to one of the small islands in the Hebrides, is already seriously contemplating the move.
The choice is made when the neighborhood changes. Muggings become frequent, violence seems a daily occurrence. And any last remaining doubt is dispelled when Tamsin wakes to find their plants ripped up, their house spray-painted, and their fish floating dead on the surface of their pond next to the empty spray-cans.
But nothing could come close to prepare her for the difficulties that lay ahead of her in this new stage of her life.
This is a memoir mired in complete misery. But a memoir that also is incredibly inspirational.
This memoir is about one woman’s incredible strength in the face of adversity and a life that seems to be crumbling around her from every direction. A strength that she did not know she possessed. She faces a disintegrating marriage, domestic abuse, that starts as verbal then moves to physical, ostracism, bullying, death and resulting losses. Estrangement from her father, and a mother struggling with the ravages of dementia. At times it almost feels unbearable to keep reading. Just when you think things could not possibly get any worse, wait for the next page.
The racism and hostility that Tamsin faces is quite shocking and at times, along with the misogyny, it feels that we have been thrown back in time. It opens the readers eyes to different cultures who still seem to be living in a draconian past.
When she finds her husband has been cheating on her and he leaves her life for good, Tamsin is left in a misogynistic world of raising sheep, and all the difficulties that come with this world, on her own. She is ostracised by the local community who treat her as a pariah, sparing her nothing but hostility and abuse.
Tamsin faces these problems almost completely isolated and alone, apart from her friend, Cristall.
Cristall shows the power of true friendship and just how important such a friendship can be. Sometimes powerful enough to save a life.
“’I want you to know that I am here.’ Cristall holds my arm gently. ‘From now on I’ll be looking out for you, and you’ll be looking out for me.’”
The writing at times is beautiful and descriptive, especially in Act II. The prose is beautiful, metaphorical and poetical. While Tamsin is battling these problems, she describes it in sublime sentences. And this memoir will be popular for fans of lovely lyrical writing. Sometimes I just had to stop and admire a paragraph, a passage, a sentence.
Sometimes a book like this comes along and shows us what we are truly capable of when we at our lowest, sinking with no hope in sight. If even half of what Calidas writes about is true and not embellished or exaggerated, and there is no way I am suggesting this at all, then I take my hat off to her. An incredible woman.
A wonderful read. 4.5 Stars.
Nothing is keeping her in London. No family, no close friends, no ties at all if she is honest with herself. She decides it is time to make the move.
Tamsin has had enough of London,
“Sometimes, a life can feel tight, like a jumper you have long outgrown, that restricts your movement, so you feel an urge to stretch and be rid of it.”
So, when her husband, Rab, shows her an advert of a derelict, run-down island croft located on a tiny island off the coast of Scotland. Tamsin, although they have both said they would never move to one of the small islands in the Hebrides, is already seriously contemplating the move.
The choice is made when the neighborhood changes. Muggings become frequent, violence seems a daily occurrence. And any last remaining doubt is dispelled when Tamsin wakes to find their plants ripped up, their house spray-painted, and their fish floating dead on the surface of their pond next to the empty spray-cans.
But nothing could come close to prepare her for the difficulties that lay ahead of her in this new stage of her life.
This is a memoir mired in complete misery. But a memoir that also is incredibly inspirational.
This memoir is about one woman’s incredible strength in the face of adversity and a life that seems to be crumbling around her from every direction. A strength that she did not know she possessed. She faces a disintegrating marriage, domestic abuse, that starts as verbal then moves to physical, ostracism, bullying, death and resulting losses. Estrangement from her father, and a mother struggling with the ravages of dementia. At times it almost feels unbearable to keep reading. Just when you think things could not possibly get any worse, wait for the next page.
The racism and hostility that Tamsin faces is quite shocking and at times, along with the misogyny, it feels that we have been thrown back in time. It opens the readers eyes to different cultures who still seem to be living in a draconian past.
When she finds her husband has been cheating on her and he leaves her life for good, Tamsin is left in a misogynistic world of raising sheep, and all the difficulties that come with this world, on her own. She is ostracised by the local community who treat her as a pariah, sparing her nothing but hostility and abuse.
Tamsin faces these problems almost completely isolated and alone, apart from her friend, Cristall.
Cristall shows the power of true friendship and just how important such a friendship can be. Sometimes powerful enough to save a life.
“’I want you to know that I am here.’ Cristall holds my arm gently. ‘From now on I’ll be looking out for you, and you’ll be looking out for me.’”
The writing at times is beautiful and descriptive, especially in Act II. The prose is beautiful, metaphorical and poetical. While Tamsin is battling these problems, she describes it in sublime sentences. And this memoir will be popular for fans of lovely lyrical writing. Sometimes I just had to stop and admire a paragraph, a passage, a sentence.
Sometimes a book like this comes along and shows us what we are truly capable of when we at our lowest, sinking with no hope in sight. If even half of what Calidas writes about is true and not embellished or exaggerated, and there is no way I am suggesting this at all, then I take my hat off to her. An incredible woman.
A wonderful read. 4.5 Stars.
July 30, 2021
Tamsin Calidas en haar man Rab hebben het gehad met de drukte van Londen. Je kunt niet zeggen dat ze zich ‘in een nieuw avontuur storten’, zoals dat dan heet. Het is eerder zo dat ze een kinderwens hebben, naar de rust van de natuur verlangen, en al een tijdje aan een leven op het platteland denken. Je zou kunnen zeggen dat het avontuur hen overkomt.
Ze kopen een croft op een Schots eilandje van 25 kilometer lang en een kilometer breed, met amper 120 inwoners — die hen niet bepaald in hun armen sluiten. Van de boerderij staan de muren er nog, daar komt het zo’n beetje op neer, waardoor ze het eerste halfjaar in een camper op het terrein wonen en alvast wennen aan de betekenis van het woord rauw.
‘Liefde is een ritme, een wederkerigheid in de hartslag,’ schrijft Tamsin op bladzijde 125, als ze het over haar huwelijk met Rab heeft. Als de kinderwens maar niet wordt vervuld, blijken ze niet in staat elkaar te steunen of te troosten. ‘We hadden alles,’ zegt ze tegen haar man. ‘Ik weet het,’ antwoordt hij. ‘Maar jij wou nog meer.’
Het huwelijk houdt niet stand. Tamsin blijft alleen achter op het eiland, en alsof ze nog niet genoeg voor de kiezen heeft gehad, wordt ze nu nog meer dan eerst door de eilanders met de nek bekeken. Een vrouw in haar eentje op een boerderij, dat is onvoorstelbaar. Tamsin schrijft: ‘Ik heb gehoord dat verdriet zich opslaat in je longen en grote gelijkenis vertoont met het trage verval van de herfst.’
Ik merk dat ik bij het schrijven van dit stuk dikwijls naar het boek wil grijpen om eruit te citeren, meer dan dat ik de behoefte heb om te beschrijven wat er verder met Tamsin Calidas gebeurt. Te citeren uit het hoofdstuk waarin ze aan haar dementerende moeder vraagt ‘hoe dementie voelt’, bijvoorbeeld, en de moeder antwoordt: ‘Alsof er niemand is.’
In de zeventien jaar die dit boek beslaat wordt Calidas haast voortdurend op de proef gesteld. Tussen de bladzijden heb ik voor mijn doen veel briefjes gestopt, om niet te vergeten dat Calidas daar iets waardevols heeft geformuleerd. Je kunt het boek vergelijken met een storm waarin je terechtkomt. Wees gewaarschuwd voor rake gedachten. Zorg voor beschutting als je begint te lezen. Een parapluutje zal niet volstaan.
‘Ik ben een eiland’ is uit het Engels vertaald door Hans Kloos.
Ze kopen een croft op een Schots eilandje van 25 kilometer lang en een kilometer breed, met amper 120 inwoners — die hen niet bepaald in hun armen sluiten. Van de boerderij staan de muren er nog, daar komt het zo’n beetje op neer, waardoor ze het eerste halfjaar in een camper op het terrein wonen en alvast wennen aan de betekenis van het woord rauw.
‘Liefde is een ritme, een wederkerigheid in de hartslag,’ schrijft Tamsin op bladzijde 125, als ze het over haar huwelijk met Rab heeft. Als de kinderwens maar niet wordt vervuld, blijken ze niet in staat elkaar te steunen of te troosten. ‘We hadden alles,’ zegt ze tegen haar man. ‘Ik weet het,’ antwoordt hij. ‘Maar jij wou nog meer.’
Het huwelijk houdt niet stand. Tamsin blijft alleen achter op het eiland, en alsof ze nog niet genoeg voor de kiezen heeft gehad, wordt ze nu nog meer dan eerst door de eilanders met de nek bekeken. Een vrouw in haar eentje op een boerderij, dat is onvoorstelbaar. Tamsin schrijft: ‘Ik heb gehoord dat verdriet zich opslaat in je longen en grote gelijkenis vertoont met het trage verval van de herfst.’
Ik merk dat ik bij het schrijven van dit stuk dikwijls naar het boek wil grijpen om eruit te citeren, meer dan dat ik de behoefte heb om te beschrijven wat er verder met Tamsin Calidas gebeurt. Te citeren uit het hoofdstuk waarin ze aan haar dementerende moeder vraagt ‘hoe dementie voelt’, bijvoorbeeld, en de moeder antwoordt: ‘Alsof er niemand is.’
In de zeventien jaar die dit boek beslaat wordt Calidas haast voortdurend op de proef gesteld. Tussen de bladzijden heb ik voor mijn doen veel briefjes gestopt, om niet te vergeten dat Calidas daar iets waardevols heeft geformuleerd. Je kunt het boek vergelijken met een storm waarin je terechtkomt. Wees gewaarschuwd voor rake gedachten. Zorg voor beschutting als je begint te lezen. Een parapluutje zal niet volstaan.
‘Ik ben een eiland’ is uit het Engels vertaald door Hans Kloos.
May 28, 2020
(2.75) A record of a demoralizing journey into extreme loneliness, this offers slivers of hope that mystical connection with the natural world can restore a sense of self. In places the narrative is a litany of tragedies and bad news. The story’s cathartic potential relies on its audience’s willingness to stick with a book that can be – to be blunt –depressing. The writing often tends towards the poetic, but is occasionally marred by platitudes and New Age sentiments. As with Educated, it’s impossible not to marvel at all the author has survived. Admiring Calidas’s toughness, though, doesn’t preclude relief at reaching the final page.
(My full review is in the May 29th issue of the Times Literary Supplement. Non-subscribers can read an excerpt here.)
(My full review is in the May 29th issue of the Times Literary Supplement. Non-subscribers can read an excerpt here.)
November 1, 2020
This book is compelling in the way a car crash is compelling. I started out with high hopes for it and as it progressed, I became more and more horrified. The author and her husband seem completely unprepared for a life on a remote island, and have no understanding of the conservative nature of the Hebridean society they are moving into. She wants the islanders to conform to her values, not the other way round. As her marriage falls apart and she becomes ostracised by most of the island community, her funds run low and she resorts to eating tree bark. At some point a sane adult should stop lashing herself with pain and suffering and find a community that accepts her. There is a lot of fay spirituality and whispering to plants about how she 'belongs' to the island but she would surely have belonged better with people who actually like her. I sympathise with her loneliness, physical pain and mental anguish, but her continued existence on the island reeks of masochism. Without friends and family to sustain you, what is the point in living there?
I initially recommended the book to my husband, who loves nature writing, but by halfway through the book I withdrew my recommendation.
In the book's acknowledgements, the author offers her gratitude to the community. I'm not entirely sure that the community would return the gratitude. "Thank you so much for thoroughly trashing our reputations. Your accusations of sheep murder, sexism, betrayal, assault, racism and general vileness are greatly appreciated and we will take a long hard look at ourselves and try to do better."
Even if every word, every incident is true, and these people are as nasty as they are described, what outcome does the writer expect? Yes, sympathetic middle-class readers will coo over her descriptions of the natural world and hiss as the villainous locals enter. Yes, she will make a reasonable amount of money as an author and kickstart a writing career. But her ability to continue living on the island is surely at an end.
The only way I can recommend this book is to say that it is so infuriating that you might just want to see if you agree with its fans (who are in the majority) or with me.
By the way, I'm Australian and do not live in the Hebrides.
I initially recommended the book to my husband, who loves nature writing, but by halfway through the book I withdrew my recommendation.
In the book's acknowledgements, the author offers her gratitude to the community. I'm not entirely sure that the community would return the gratitude. "Thank you so much for thoroughly trashing our reputations. Your accusations of sheep murder, sexism, betrayal, assault, racism and general vileness are greatly appreciated and we will take a long hard look at ourselves and try to do better."
Even if every word, every incident is true, and these people are as nasty as they are described, what outcome does the writer expect? Yes, sympathetic middle-class readers will coo over her descriptions of the natural world and hiss as the villainous locals enter. Yes, she will make a reasonable amount of money as an author and kickstart a writing career. But her ability to continue living on the island is surely at an end.
The only way I can recommend this book is to say that it is so infuriating that you might just want to see if you agree with its fans (who are in the majority) or with me.
By the way, I'm Australian and do not live in the Hebrides.
August 14, 2021
4.5 sterren
Dit boek maakt wel indruk zeg. Het gaat over een jonge vrouw, de schrijfster zelf, die vanuit Londen naar een heel klein eiland op de Hebriden vertrekt. Er is niet alleen letterlijk een gevecht tegen de elementen maar ook figuurlijk, ze maakt ontzettend veel mee en weet tenauwernood het hoofd boven water te houden.
4.5 stars
This book makes an impression. It is about a young woman, the writer herself, who leaves London for a very small island in the Hebrides. There is not only a literal fight against the elements but also figuratively, she goes through a lot and barely manages to keep her head above water.
Dit boek maakt wel indruk zeg. Het gaat over een jonge vrouw, de schrijfster zelf, die vanuit Londen naar een heel klein eiland op de Hebriden vertrekt. Er is niet alleen letterlijk een gevecht tegen de elementen maar ook figuurlijk, ze maakt ontzettend veel mee en weet tenauwernood het hoofd boven water te houden.
4.5 stars
This book makes an impression. It is about a young woman, the writer herself, who leaves London for a very small island in the Hebrides. There is not only a literal fight against the elements but also figuratively, she goes through a lot and barely manages to keep her head above water.
December 29, 2020
I finished this one months ago. I’ve been struggling with what to say about it. I was drawn in initially by a very well chosen excerpt in the Guardian that I found so thoughtful and atmospheric that I ordered it in hardback from the UK before it was even out here. And it did remain both thoughtful and atmospheric. And honest, which is essential for this sort of thing. And on top of that she’s excellent at depicting how place determines all in this tale- it absolutely envelopes her life. Eats it alive, really. But before we get to the drawbacks of that... there was some magic to it. It wasn’t hard to feel yourself out on a wind-whipped, rocky, misty field with her in an early morning’s bitter chill. And maybe she was so good at it that that’s the reason it was published.
Because otherwise this was just... relentless. This is a story about how a vague yuppie dream of purity and returning to the earth and community and whatever other Lifetime small-towns-are-best thing got crushed beneath the heel of granite-hard reality. And there is no adorable arc where it’s hard for a bit but then she proves herself as tough as nails as everyone else and then she’s a success overnight! Nor does she get taken under the wing of a local until everyone is scolded into accepting her and she becomes a part of the local community like anyone else.
(Spoilers I guess if you care about that sort of thing for this kind of book, from here on out)
Instead... it’s hard work, she proves herself tough as nails... and her reward is for a bunch of men to curse her, show up drunk at her house to intimidate her, belittle her, possibly murder her prize-winning sheep and then get up and do it all over again the next day. She and her husband make repairs, make their rundown farmhouse somewhat livable again... and then he leaves her because he can’t take the monotony and isolation- brings out the absolute (cheating, mean) worst in him. She gets taken under the wing of exactly one local and it leads to... nothing more than that. And then the nice lady fucking dies! So does her kind husband! She gets a dog out of it, I guess. She desperately wants a big farming family of kids... turns out she can’t have them! She considers giving in at one point and going back to the mainland and like... she literally can’t. She’s kind of financially trapped. Even her parents suck! No bright spot with their visits.
Like... fuck, man. It was really really rough. And she seems to get nothing much out of it except... the ability to endure I guess? The ability to keep going? She finds solace in morning swims and dog walks and there are a few people talking to her, by the end, after 15 years. But not many. And they seem to turn on a nasty fucking dime when they feel like it. And I guess there are rewards in just still moving after all that. In making it work and pushing through. I remember feeling some level of that in my early twenties in teaching. But fuuuucckkkk. This is a whole different beast. It’s desperately sad. I don’t even know if I believe her conclusion that tries to suggest she’s come to a kind of peace by the end. It seems more like resignation and acceptance.
I suppose the more power to her for writing it all down to try to make sense of it- which absolutely feels like the purpose of this- but I don’t think she did. On balance, I do not understand why she kept making these choices (at least before she had to) and I, again, don’t believe in any sort of narrative conclusion she had to come to because it was a book. I wanted to buy into this. “One woman’s struggle to make it and find herself in the process...! The beauty of nature and silence...!” But it’s like someone took that and made it grey and dirty and.. I don’t know.. industrial somehow. Just something that happens to you and keeps happening and you’re reporting it and just end it because it’s time to end.
I kind of had the same feeling I did after My Year of Rest and Relaxation. Like... it was well written, I get the point, there were moments of beautiful prose and enveloping atmosphere, pieces of truth... but I don’t know what I got out of either of them except the confirmation that some stuff is the kind of sad that doesn’t have a point. It just is and you keep going. And that’s true. But I don’t know what to do with a book about it.
Because otherwise this was just... relentless. This is a story about how a vague yuppie dream of purity and returning to the earth and community and whatever other Lifetime small-towns-are-best thing got crushed beneath the heel of granite-hard reality. And there is no adorable arc where it’s hard for a bit but then she proves herself as tough as nails as everyone else and then she’s a success overnight! Nor does she get taken under the wing of a local until everyone is scolded into accepting her and she becomes a part of the local community like anyone else.
(Spoilers I guess if you care about that sort of thing for this kind of book, from here on out)
Instead... it’s hard work, she proves herself tough as nails... and her reward is for a bunch of men to curse her, show up drunk at her house to intimidate her, belittle her, possibly murder her prize-winning sheep and then get up and do it all over again the next day. She and her husband make repairs, make their rundown farmhouse somewhat livable again... and then he leaves her because he can’t take the monotony and isolation- brings out the absolute (cheating, mean) worst in him. She gets taken under the wing of exactly one local and it leads to... nothing more than that. And then the nice lady fucking dies! So does her kind husband! She gets a dog out of it, I guess. She desperately wants a big farming family of kids... turns out she can’t have them! She considers giving in at one point and going back to the mainland and like... she literally can’t. She’s kind of financially trapped. Even her parents suck! No bright spot with their visits.
Like... fuck, man. It was really really rough. And she seems to get nothing much out of it except... the ability to endure I guess? The ability to keep going? She finds solace in morning swims and dog walks and there are a few people talking to her, by the end, after 15 years. But not many. And they seem to turn on a nasty fucking dime when they feel like it. And I guess there are rewards in just still moving after all that. In making it work and pushing through. I remember feeling some level of that in my early twenties in teaching. But fuuuucckkkk. This is a whole different beast. It’s desperately sad. I don’t even know if I believe her conclusion that tries to suggest she’s come to a kind of peace by the end. It seems more like resignation and acceptance.
I suppose the more power to her for writing it all down to try to make sense of it- which absolutely feels like the purpose of this- but I don’t think she did. On balance, I do not understand why she kept making these choices (at least before she had to) and I, again, don’t believe in any sort of narrative conclusion she had to come to because it was a book. I wanted to buy into this. “One woman’s struggle to make it and find herself in the process...! The beauty of nature and silence...!” But it’s like someone took that and made it grey and dirty and.. I don’t know.. industrial somehow. Just something that happens to you and keeps happening and you’re reporting it and just end it because it’s time to end.
I kind of had the same feeling I did after My Year of Rest and Relaxation. Like... it was well written, I get the point, there were moments of beautiful prose and enveloping atmosphere, pieces of truth... but I don’t know what I got out of either of them except the confirmation that some stuff is the kind of sad that doesn’t have a point. It just is and you keep going. And that’s true. But I don’t know what to do with a book about it.
March 26, 2021
Wat een mokerslag.
De ene vijf sterren is de andere niet.
Ik zou een ster kunnen laten vallen vanwege het ongemak dat me de hele tijd vergezelde tijdens het lezen. Een sterretje minder omdat de auteur me een voyeuristisch gevoel gaf. Mijn god, wil ik dit eigenlijk allemaal wel weten, was een gedachte die nooit veraf was.
Maar de intensiteit van het verhaal, de leeservaring die me bij de keel greep, de heftige emoties die de revue passeerden, de bespiegelingen die de auteur maakt en de rotsvaste overtuiging dat iedereen overal het recht heeft zijn plaats te vinden die het boek uitstraalt, dat zal die vijfde sterk wel waard zijn.
Tamsin Calidas vertelt hoe ze 15 jaar geleden haar goede leventje in Londen opgaf om met haar echtgenoot een schapenboerderij op een klein Schots eiland (om en bij de 150 bewoners) te verbouwen en uit te baten.
De 15 jaar die volgen zijn alles behalve een droom. Ze zijn bikkelhard en Calidas beschrijft ze tot in het pijnlijkste detail: een huwelijk dat stukloopt, een kinderwens die onhaalbaar blijkt, financiële problemen en eenzaamheid. Veel eenzaamheid. Dat alles tegen de achtergrond van een gesloten gemeenschap die moeizaam met nieuwkomers om lijkt te gaan.
Wanneer je als lezer denkt alles gehad te hebben, blijkt er nog tegenslag om de hoek te leunen.
Alle bovenstaande zouden me nooit kunnen overtuigen om dat boek te lezen. Ook nu vind ik het nog merkwaardig dat ik hier doorheen vloog.
Maar waar Calidas haar verhaal mee in balans brengt, is de omgeving waarin ze zo graag wil verblijven. De natuur die het ritme op zo'n eiland bepaald en waartegen elk verzet zinloos is. De natuur die haar voedt: letterlijk wanneer ze geen frank meer heeft om uit te geven en figuurlijk wanneer ze door weer en wind, plant en dier te observeren lessen voor zichzelf trekt.
Dikwijls heb ik tijdens het lezen gedacht: was dit maar uitgesproken fictie. Dan kon ik zeggen dat het een mooi boek was maar dat de auteur soms wat overdreef. Nu blijf je met die moker in je maag. Nu sta ik erbij en kijk er naar. Ik zal nog wel even moeten kauwen: wanneer ben je te koppig en wanneer geef je te snel op. Wanneer stel je je aan of wanneer moet leed gedeeld worden. Vragen genoeg.
Ben benieuwd hoe en hoelang dit blijft nazinderen.
PS: ter info: ik las de drukproef van de Nederlandstalige editie die binnenkort bij uitgeverij Pluim verschijnt.
De ene vijf sterren is de andere niet.
Ik zou een ster kunnen laten vallen vanwege het ongemak dat me de hele tijd vergezelde tijdens het lezen. Een sterretje minder omdat de auteur me een voyeuristisch gevoel gaf. Mijn god, wil ik dit eigenlijk allemaal wel weten, was een gedachte die nooit veraf was.
Maar de intensiteit van het verhaal, de leeservaring die me bij de keel greep, de heftige emoties die de revue passeerden, de bespiegelingen die de auteur maakt en de rotsvaste overtuiging dat iedereen overal het recht heeft zijn plaats te vinden die het boek uitstraalt, dat zal die vijfde sterk wel waard zijn.
Tamsin Calidas vertelt hoe ze 15 jaar geleden haar goede leventje in Londen opgaf om met haar echtgenoot een schapenboerderij op een klein Schots eiland (om en bij de 150 bewoners) te verbouwen en uit te baten.
De 15 jaar die volgen zijn alles behalve een droom. Ze zijn bikkelhard en Calidas beschrijft ze tot in het pijnlijkste detail: een huwelijk dat stukloopt, een kinderwens die onhaalbaar blijkt, financiële problemen en eenzaamheid. Veel eenzaamheid. Dat alles tegen de achtergrond van een gesloten gemeenschap die moeizaam met nieuwkomers om lijkt te gaan.
Wanneer je als lezer denkt alles gehad te hebben, blijkt er nog tegenslag om de hoek te leunen.
Alle bovenstaande zouden me nooit kunnen overtuigen om dat boek te lezen. Ook nu vind ik het nog merkwaardig dat ik hier doorheen vloog.
Maar waar Calidas haar verhaal mee in balans brengt, is de omgeving waarin ze zo graag wil verblijven. De natuur die het ritme op zo'n eiland bepaald en waartegen elk verzet zinloos is. De natuur die haar voedt: letterlijk wanneer ze geen frank meer heeft om uit te geven en figuurlijk wanneer ze door weer en wind, plant en dier te observeren lessen voor zichzelf trekt.
Dikwijls heb ik tijdens het lezen gedacht: was dit maar uitgesproken fictie. Dan kon ik zeggen dat het een mooi boek was maar dat de auteur soms wat overdreef. Nu blijf je met die moker in je maag. Nu sta ik erbij en kijk er naar. Ik zal nog wel even moeten kauwen: wanneer ben je te koppig en wanneer geef je te snel op. Wanneer stel je je aan of wanneer moet leed gedeeld worden. Vragen genoeg.
Ben benieuwd hoe en hoelang dit blijft nazinderen.
PS: ter info: ik las de drukproef van de Nederlandstalige editie die binnenkort bij uitgeverij Pluim verschijnt.
January 10, 2022
Heb dit boek in één ruk uitgelezen. Wat een verhaal. Zo somber en heftig, en tegelijkertijd zo hoopvol en warm. Prachtig geschreven. Dit boek had ik absoluut niet willen missen.
August 31, 2021
I found this really annoying.The author’s initial journey was fleeing from a life rather than towards a new one and this might account for the unpreparedness which characterises the initial section. It’s a very self-centred book in that it’s not really about her integration (or lack of it) to the island community which she doesn’t name (It’s Lismore – as a 10 second google search reveals). There are also some accounts online of how some islanders are a bit annoyed about the tone of the book, which does not paint them favourably – despite a wholesome acknowledgement. There’s quite a bit about how she is snubbed, and much worse, but very little – apart from her deep and tragically ending friendship with an older woman, also an incomer – about what she did to try to join the community. She declined offers of help and seems put out that they stopped. She is quoted in a newspaper article as saying the individuals she describes are amalgams rather than specific individuals, and while I don’t doubt the events she describes, they are certainly partial acounts, as they must be, but there doesn’t seem to be much willingness to see the other side. After a series of bad fortune, she gradually rebuilds, based on a love of the natural world, and somewhat improbably, extreme cold-water swimming. She tells her tale in a poetic prose which appeals initially but rapidly becomes testing – repetitive in places, superficial, and a bit too new-age-mother-earth for me. She’s an interesting character, strong willed, and, well, a bit odd. She remains there, the island now her permanent home, and this is as much a testament to her neighbours with whom she seems to have settled into a relatively peaceable co-existence, as it is to her undoubted resilience.
July 7, 2021
Ik snap echt niks van deze vrouw. Het is een soort van ik vertrek aflevering waarbij je de hele tijd denkt: mensch! Ga gewoon weg daar! Ja oh ik ben zo één met de natuur terwijl ik geen vrienden heb, iedereen me wegkijkt en ze eigenlijk ook nog eens iedere keer als ze zich eens onder de dorpelingen bevindt sexual assaulted wordt. Nee top joh, goede beslissing was dit.
June 18, 2021
3,5
Miserie, miserie, miserie.
Wie van Rutger Bregman een
positieve injectie in zijn mensbeeld ingespoten kreeg, komt nu genoeg ondeugdelijke mensen op een eiland tegen om voorgoed de handdoek in de ring te gooien en de witte vlag te begraven.
Hoewel het absoluut meeslepend verteld wordt, trof ik in de beschrijvingen van natuur, eilandleven, rouw en eenzaamheid niet genoeg vernieuwende of treffende formuleringen aan die me de kleine hype rond dit boek kunnen helpen verklaren.
Miserie, miserie, miserie.
Wie van Rutger Bregman een
positieve injectie in zijn mensbeeld ingespoten kreeg, komt nu genoeg ondeugdelijke mensen op een eiland tegen om voorgoed de handdoek in de ring te gooien en de witte vlag te begraven.
Hoewel het absoluut meeslepend verteld wordt, trof ik in de beschrijvingen van natuur, eilandleven, rouw en eenzaamheid niet genoeg vernieuwende of treffende formuleringen aan die me de kleine hype rond dit boek kunnen helpen verklaren.
September 27, 2020
I was expecting a book about life on a remote island, but got a book dealing with misogyny, race, childlessness, breakdown of a relationship, friendship, loss, grief, nature...I could list so many more topics but the common thread is the author’s determination to not give up, despite all the hardships she faced. It’s a tough read at times but so worth it!
July 8, 2021
Never was there a greater tale of woe... sorry, I am being flippant, and this is the memoir of a woman who has had a very tough life. It is hinted at that childhood was not easy, although the book starts with her living in London with a successful career, but having her confidence and sense of safety thoroughly knocked after a bad traffic accident when she is in a taxi, and also what appears like a con attack to break into her home. Her nerves are shot (and actually for other reasons as we later find out in the book. Infertility and going through the medical processes is like having a goblin living in your head), and so she decides to flee her life and start afresh with her husband else where. They don't have any destination in mind, but randomly end up buying a croft on a very small island (it's not named but having looked on Google I think it's Lismore) off the west coast of Scotland, a short ferry trip from Oban, to start "the good life". Except the good life doesn't happen. Failed marriage, exclusion and bitter hate from the locals, broken bones, poverty, no children, death... it all happens, albeit over 14 plus years.
Now, I do not want to belittle what she has gone through, but life happens. Things like death, ending of relationships, not getting all you wanted in life (eg children) is a sad reality we all have to face when we grow up. We can forget this in these modern times with the wonder of medical science and ever improving life quality, but life is bloody hard. Having said that, some behaviours are unacceptable. The child abuse that is hinted at, the domestic abuse, and the out and out bullying and victimisation that goes on is out and out disgraceful.
I do not wish to condone any of that in anyway. I hate bullies. But, this is only one side of the story, and I do wonder if she didn't antagonise the locals just a bit. I know I'll sound like angry northerner now, but the beginning smacks of rich Londoner viewing the rest of the country as a pretty countryside playground laid out for their benefit. Forgetting that people actually live out there in the real world, make a living there, have their own families and traditions, struggle with house prices as rich Southerners wanting their second homes and playgrounds push up prices. And she clearly knows nothing about Scotland and the highlands when she moves up there. The first people she meets she has a go at because they're walking across her newly purchased fields. "this is private property". Would you not in the very least, if becoming a landowner, check out what this entails? The right to roam in Scotland isn't exactly a big secret. And these highland communities, despite being remote are close knit: no locked doors, bobbing in to see one another... I can imagine it can't be for everyone. I love the west coast but I don't know if I could cope with it. But then I know this and thus I wouldn't buy a croft.
So she doesn't get on with the islanders, but her husband, Rab, who eventually leaves does. I did wonder if some of it wasn't taking sides in the break down of the marriage. He appeared to have gotten on with them, well, certainly, he had an affair there so he must have done! I also wonder at their crofting experiences. You read a lot about how nasty people were and how isolated she became. Yet these two Londoners take on a croft and are immediately caring for their own cattle and sheep. I've read other memories by farmers and this is something that is learned over life. She never says what Rab's background is, but it does make me wonder if they didn't get a lot of help from the locals and this just isn't mentioned in the book.
There are some positive relationships with islanders, in particular Cristall, a lovely lady. Unfortunately described as having an educated English accent, perhaps betraying an underlying bias there? I don't know.
I know agricultural communities. They can be a bit internal in that it's been that way for generations, and they can be a bit so-so with newcomers and change (not saying everyone is like this). Also there can be, especially with older generations, sexism, singlemindedness and racism. I don't think these things are particular to the Scots. And although it is refreshing to read someone's account of escape to the country not being all peaches and cream; AND also going against the grain of EVERYTHING's better and more wonderful in Scotland, which is the trend in such books at the moment - for there are ALWAYS bad apples in every barrell - I do find myself a bit surprised by how bad things get as I've generally found the Scots easy going. Again why I wonder about the antagonism. Whenever she talks about problems, she's always of the mindset she has done nothing wrong. Even in her marriage she makes a comment at one point that she thought about it, and she couldn't think of a single thing she'd done wrong. 100% not her fault.
The children issue is a very big issue. People on the island make hurtful and insensitive comments. People are like that EVERYWHERE. It is still a big issue that a woman's role is to have kids, and she can't possibily have a fulfilling life in another way. The only solution to that problem is time and generations dying off I'm afraid. I do feel for her on that point. She goes through years of trying and medical intervention and stress (sadly I bet the stress and misery was counterproductive and may have lessened her chances), and such things take a massive toll on relationships. When you see how the whole community seems to turn against her (perhaps in the playground formula, one or two bullies attack and everyone else quietly goes along with it so they do not end up in the firing line), you can definately imagine if this had been a few hundred years ago, they would have strung her up as a witch.
So I make this sound like a miserable and irritating read? It's not always easy, and I was irritated with her at times. The third section sees some calm and hope come into her life, and there's more about just enjoying being in nature. I would say that this is a memoir of emotions and poetical descriptions, rather that a strict biography or detailing farming life or even the island itself to any great extent.
And whilst I'm glad I've read it, it does leave me ambivilent towards both the book itself and the author.
Now, I do not want to belittle what she has gone through, but life happens. Things like death, ending of relationships, not getting all you wanted in life (eg children) is a sad reality we all have to face when we grow up. We can forget this in these modern times with the wonder of medical science and ever improving life quality, but life is bloody hard. Having said that, some behaviours are unacceptable. The child abuse that is hinted at, the domestic abuse, and the out and out bullying and victimisation that goes on is out and out disgraceful.
I do not wish to condone any of that in anyway. I hate bullies. But, this is only one side of the story, and I do wonder if she didn't antagonise the locals just a bit. I know I'll sound like angry northerner now, but the beginning smacks of rich Londoner viewing the rest of the country as a pretty countryside playground laid out for their benefit. Forgetting that people actually live out there in the real world, make a living there, have their own families and traditions, struggle with house prices as rich Southerners wanting their second homes and playgrounds push up prices. And she clearly knows nothing about Scotland and the highlands when she moves up there. The first people she meets she has a go at because they're walking across her newly purchased fields. "this is private property". Would you not in the very least, if becoming a landowner, check out what this entails? The right to roam in Scotland isn't exactly a big secret. And these highland communities, despite being remote are close knit: no locked doors, bobbing in to see one another... I can imagine it can't be for everyone. I love the west coast but I don't know if I could cope with it. But then I know this and thus I wouldn't buy a croft.
So she doesn't get on with the islanders, but her husband, Rab, who eventually leaves does. I did wonder if some of it wasn't taking sides in the break down of the marriage. He appeared to have gotten on with them, well, certainly, he had an affair there so he must have done! I also wonder at their crofting experiences. You read a lot about how nasty people were and how isolated she became. Yet these two Londoners take on a croft and are immediately caring for their own cattle and sheep. I've read other memories by farmers and this is something that is learned over life. She never says what Rab's background is, but it does make me wonder if they didn't get a lot of help from the locals and this just isn't mentioned in the book.
There are some positive relationships with islanders, in particular Cristall, a lovely lady. Unfortunately described as having an educated English accent, perhaps betraying an underlying bias there? I don't know.
I know agricultural communities. They can be a bit internal in that it's been that way for generations, and they can be a bit so-so with newcomers and change (not saying everyone is like this). Also there can be, especially with older generations, sexism, singlemindedness and racism. I don't think these things are particular to the Scots. And although it is refreshing to read someone's account of escape to the country not being all peaches and cream; AND also going against the grain of EVERYTHING's better and more wonderful in Scotland, which is the trend in such books at the moment - for there are ALWAYS bad apples in every barrell - I do find myself a bit surprised by how bad things get as I've generally found the Scots easy going. Again why I wonder about the antagonism. Whenever she talks about problems, she's always of the mindset she has done nothing wrong. Even in her marriage she makes a comment at one point that she thought about it, and she couldn't think of a single thing she'd done wrong. 100% not her fault.
The children issue is a very big issue. People on the island make hurtful and insensitive comments. People are like that EVERYWHERE. It is still a big issue that a woman's role is to have kids, and she can't possibily have a fulfilling life in another way. The only solution to that problem is time and generations dying off I'm afraid. I do feel for her on that point. She goes through years of trying and medical intervention and stress (sadly I bet the stress and misery was counterproductive and may have lessened her chances), and such things take a massive toll on relationships. When you see how the whole community seems to turn against her (perhaps in the playground formula, one or two bullies attack and everyone else quietly goes along with it so they do not end up in the firing line), you can definately imagine if this had been a few hundred years ago, they would have strung her up as a witch.
So I make this sound like a miserable and irritating read? It's not always easy, and I was irritated with her at times. The third section sees some calm and hope come into her life, and there's more about just enjoying being in nature. I would say that this is a memoir of emotions and poetical descriptions, rather that a strict biography or detailing farming life or even the island itself to any great extent.
And whilst I'm glad I've read it, it does leave me ambivilent towards both the book itself and the author.
November 1, 2020
Returned for a Kindle refund. This two-adjective for every noun writing by numbers dirge is just a perfect example of the fact that just because everyone can write, doesn't mean they should expect others to read. Aside from disjointed anecdota thrust into the middle of chapters, the whole "going to use as many words as possible to say "windy day" etc made it feel more as if I was marking my students' essays instead of reading something enjoyable.
Shame, as I am fascinated by the area and was looking forward to this.
Shame, as I am fascinated by the area and was looking forward to this.
August 8, 2021
Wie op een eiland leeft, moet af en toe dat eiland kunnen verlaten.
Als je een eiland bent, moet dat elke dag.
Misschien zijn vijf sterretjes wat veel. Maar soms komt een boek op het juiste moment.
Op zoek naar het water dat mij omringt, voelde ik heel wat vaste grond op de bladzijden van dit boek.
Als je een eiland bent, moet dat elke dag.
Misschien zijn vijf sterretjes wat veel. Maar soms komt een boek op het juiste moment.
Op zoek naar het water dat mij omringt, voelde ik heel wat vaste grond op de bladzijden van dit boek.
October 24, 2021
All memoirs rely on selective memory and this one more than most. The author is determined to portray herself as unwelcome on the island from the outset. However, a pair of Londoners with money to outbid the locals on property cannot expect a red carpet. No-one moves from city life to successfully raising livestock without initial help and guidance, and this is never mentioned. As for being so poor that she survived several months by eating leaves, social security in Scotland does not let people starve.
August 11, 2022
“No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.” (John Donne)
Heftig! Ik ben een eiland is het onthutsende relaas van een jonge Londense vrouw die – na een aantal slechte ervaringen in Londen – besluit met haar man een vervallen ‘croft’ – een boerderij met een grond – te kopen op een eiland in de Hebriden met het idee om daar, in de vrije natuur en ver weg van de Grote Boze Stad, een gezin te stichten.
Die droom spat op gruwelijke wijze uiteen. De kinderwens komt niet uit, haar huwelijk knalt op de klippen en de eilandbewoners maken het bijzonder duidelijk dat ze dat pretentieuze kutwijf niet op hun eiland willen.
Van de Schotse eilandromantiek blijft niets over. Het is een onbehouwen, bitse gemeenschap die geen pottenkijkers duldt, racistisch en vrouwonvriendelijk is en niet aarzelt om geweld te gebruiken. Al na luttele bladzijden is het: weg sfeer!
Wat volgt is een hellegang van ontberingen en vernederingen. Onwaarschijnlijk, en dan stellen dat dit echt gebeurd is! Ik ben een eiland is een verhaal van gigantische moed, fenomenaal doorzettingsvermogen en immense (veer)kracht. Bij momenten deden haar ervaringen me denken aan de pijnkunst van Marina Abramovich. De vrouw ondergaat, duldt en lijdt op onmenselijke wijze, maar houdt vol.
Als alle pogingen tot verbinding tevergeefs blijken, zoekt en vindt ze troost in de natuur. Ze wordt één met de grond waarop ze bestaat. Ze verzamelt dieren om zich heen, spreekt met bomen en bekommert zich om gekwetste vogeltjes (omdat ze er zelf ook eentje is).
En daarin schuilt de oerkracht van dit boek. Calidas schrijft onwaarschijnlijk knap over het pure leven in de natuur. Daarbij horen zeldzame namen van dieren of planten en vergeten vaktermen uit het boerenbedrijf, maar ook de peilloze schoonheid van een open hemel of de eindeloze einder, vallende bloemblaadjes en de genadeloze vernieldrift van een ontketende natuur. (Pluim voor Frans Kloos die deze wilde lyriek zo prachtig vertaald heeft.)
Eigenlijk is dit geen boek voor mij. Ik ben geen natuurmens. Ik heb allesbehalve groene vingers en een hekel aan (huis)dieren. De natuur vind ik leuk voor een daguitstap, maar verder moet je die (vind ik) gewoon met rust laten.
Toch vind ik dit boek ongelooflijk boeiend, omdat het uiteindelijk ook – en vooral – gaat over de menselijke natuur, over volhouden, over loutering en onze nood aan verbinding. Niemand is een eiland.
PS: Dit boek is helemaal waar gebeurd, maar roept zo veel vragen op. Is het echt niet overdreven? Waarom die fictieve auteursnaam en de geheimdoenerij over de exacte locatie van het eiland? Hoe reageren de eilandbewoners op de publicatie (en het succes) van dit boek? En vooral: en hoe gaat het er nu mee, liefste mevrouw Calidas?
(Dit gezegd zijnde, ik snap ook wel waarom mensen dit boek haten.)
May 22, 2020
Reading this addictive, magical memoir reminded me of reading Angela’s Ashes: I hid from a family party to read that. I read I Am An Island in one near-continuous read. The first night I put back three times the time I’d vowed to stop; the next night I just kept going till 2 am, till it was finished.
The initial interest was in finding out about obeying the ‘wild call’ to move out to a remote, but beautiful spot. As Calidas puts it: ‘a life can feel tight, like a jumper you have long outgrown…’ I picked up the book, wanting to find detail about swimming with seals, and freshwater lochs, and definitely got that, and got it vividly described: ‘the strength of a ewe’s contractions against your hand… is a vivid, crushing force’. I particularly loved the episode where she is swimming by moonlight, watching deer, close by, on the land.
But what really hooked me, surprised me, was the sheer toughness, and bad luck, she had to overcome. I’ve rarely read a memoir where I felt so protectively worried for the narrator. Barn rooves blowing off; lambs dying – I expected that. I didn’t expect the death of closest friend, divorce, and relentless ostracism, racism, and frequent sexual and violent threat – ‘If there’s one thing I hate more than fucking incomers…’ In the first fifty pages, she is hit by a car, has an intruder in her house, before you get to the scene where she tries lying nude in the grass of her new land, then ‘two men are striding towards me… next minute, they are standing over me…’ I was reading, heart pounding, feeling scared for this lone woman in the Highlands as she drifts into debt, hardship and isolation; what hooked me, though, was thinking: ‘How do you make sense of this?’ – not just practically, but emotionally, spiritually. The opposition is so unstinting, and coming from so many angles – ‘my dad looked me in the eyes and said, ‘I wish I had never come’ - you wonder how she does not become embittered.
But thank goodness, she doesn’t. The epiphanies do come, and they’re a testimony to Calidas’s generosity and huge heart and bravery, and it’s a tribute to her honesty and descriptive powers that you’re boosted along with her. ‘I am still improvising when it comes to forgiveness.’ ‘I am thrilled that the risk I have taken has been worthwhile and to have witnessed an extraordinary act of compassion.’ The bravest thing she does doesn’t feel like the 25 minute sea swim, without a wet suit, when it’s 2 degrees – what? How do you do that? - but the moving scene where, with exquisite compassion, she visits the man who’s threatened her twice, and may have killed her ram.
It’s an unexpected, often strange book. ‘I am deeply attached to that hosepipe’; ‘It… takes a surprisingly long time to eat a leaf… sycamore is the toughest…’ But at its core it’s tough, beautiful, and deeply life-affirming. It finishes with Calidas wishing for more connections: ‘I cast my wish into its currents.’ She may be inundated! There may not be room on that island for all of us who’ll want to come to track deer, and eat boiled oak sapling. But in the meantime, we can all feast on her magical, magnificent book!
The initial interest was in finding out about obeying the ‘wild call’ to move out to a remote, but beautiful spot. As Calidas puts it: ‘a life can feel tight, like a jumper you have long outgrown…’ I picked up the book, wanting to find detail about swimming with seals, and freshwater lochs, and definitely got that, and got it vividly described: ‘the strength of a ewe’s contractions against your hand… is a vivid, crushing force’. I particularly loved the episode where she is swimming by moonlight, watching deer, close by, on the land.
But what really hooked me, surprised me, was the sheer toughness, and bad luck, she had to overcome. I’ve rarely read a memoir where I felt so protectively worried for the narrator. Barn rooves blowing off; lambs dying – I expected that. I didn’t expect the death of closest friend, divorce, and relentless ostracism, racism, and frequent sexual and violent threat – ‘If there’s one thing I hate more than fucking incomers…’ In the first fifty pages, she is hit by a car, has an intruder in her house, before you get to the scene where she tries lying nude in the grass of her new land, then ‘two men are striding towards me… next minute, they are standing over me…’ I was reading, heart pounding, feeling scared for this lone woman in the Highlands as she drifts into debt, hardship and isolation; what hooked me, though, was thinking: ‘How do you make sense of this?’ – not just practically, but emotionally, spiritually. The opposition is so unstinting, and coming from so many angles – ‘my dad looked me in the eyes and said, ‘I wish I had never come’ - you wonder how she does not become embittered.
But thank goodness, she doesn’t. The epiphanies do come, and they’re a testimony to Calidas’s generosity and huge heart and bravery, and it’s a tribute to her honesty and descriptive powers that you’re boosted along with her. ‘I am still improvising when it comes to forgiveness.’ ‘I am thrilled that the risk I have taken has been worthwhile and to have witnessed an extraordinary act of compassion.’ The bravest thing she does doesn’t feel like the 25 minute sea swim, without a wet suit, when it’s 2 degrees – what? How do you do that? - but the moving scene where, with exquisite compassion, she visits the man who’s threatened her twice, and may have killed her ram.
It’s an unexpected, often strange book. ‘I am deeply attached to that hosepipe’; ‘It… takes a surprisingly long time to eat a leaf… sycamore is the toughest…’ But at its core it’s tough, beautiful, and deeply life-affirming. It finishes with Calidas wishing for more connections: ‘I cast my wish into its currents.’ She may be inundated! There may not be room on that island for all of us who’ll want to come to track deer, and eat boiled oak sapling. But in the meantime, we can all feast on her magical, magnificent book!
September 21, 2023
Rauw, koud en toch ontroerend mooi
March 11, 2023
In november 2021 gingen we in @paardvantroje_gent luisteren naar Tamsin Calidas. Ze is een ontzettend charismatische vrouw en we hingen aan haar lippen. Ze vertelde over de vijandigheid en de moeilijkheden waar ze mee te maken kreeg toen ze zich op een eiland in de Hebriden vestigde, maar de echte impact wordt pas duidelijk als je het boek leest. Wat ze daar allemaal te verduren kreeg is geen kattenpis! Hoedje af voor Tamsin, ik was het in haar plaats al lang afgetrapt met mijn staart tussen mijn benen.
I am an Island is een ongemakkelijk en bikkelhard boek, te meer als je bedenkt dat het geen fictie is. En toch zit het vol hoop, schoonheid en girl power.
(Ik probeer boeken van Engelstalige auteurs zoveel mogelijk in het Engels te lezen, maar soms is een boek echt te moeilijk. Als ik na 20 pagina’s het gevoel heb dat het te veel inspanning vergt om alles te begrijpen, dan ga ik de vertaling halen in de bib. I am an island is zo’n boek. Zelfs in het Nederlands is het een boek dat veel van de lezer vraagt omdat het heel intens geschreven is.)
I am an Island is een ongemakkelijk en bikkelhard boek, te meer als je bedenkt dat het geen fictie is. En toch zit het vol hoop, schoonheid en girl power.
(Ik probeer boeken van Engelstalige auteurs zoveel mogelijk in het Engels te lezen, maar soms is een boek echt te moeilijk. Als ik na 20 pagina’s het gevoel heb dat het te veel inspanning vergt om alles te begrijpen, dan ga ik de vertaling halen in de bib. I am an island is zo’n boek. Zelfs in het Nederlands is het een boek dat veel van de lezer vraagt omdat het heel intens geschreven is.)
June 13, 2021
Niet doorheen te komen, halverwege gestopt. Stadsbewoner is moe van Londen, trouwt met een eikel, droomt van een leven 'in de natuur' gaat met de eikel op zeer dunbevolkt eiland wonen zonder zich vooraf te orienteren (want tussen de keuze in Londen wonen en zelf je koeien melken zit kennelijk niks meer?) Ze schiet vervolgens in de slachtofferrol.
Wat ik het meest mis in dit boek is zelfreflectie en zeker ook zelfspot. Alles ligt aan anderen, vijandigheid lijkt uit het niets te komen, maar ik kan me niet aan de indruk onttrekken dat de ik-persoon dingen verzwijgt over zichzelf. En meid, als je man je mishandelt en vernedert, wegwezen! Met je droomhuis.
Wat ik het meest mis in dit boek is zelfreflectie en zeker ook zelfspot. Alles ligt aan anderen, vijandigheid lijkt uit het niets te komen, maar ik kan me niet aan de indruk onttrekken dat de ik-persoon dingen verzwijgt over zichzelf. En meid, als je man je mishandelt en vernedert, wegwezen! Met je droomhuis.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
June 12, 2020
With an exceptional hold on poetic description, Tasmin Calidas's memoir immerses you in the life of crofting, a manner of existence I knew nothing about until now. While the 'plot' per se is not much more than a series of consecutive disasters, what held me in thrall was the prospect of returning to nature, time and again, to be drenched in its atmospherics. This is not a 'fun' read - I'm not even sure I'd recommend it to friends. But if you're chasing after the smell of sunlight on wool, or the arc of salt spray coming off the West Hebrides waters, this book is for you.
July 24, 2020
I am writing this review from a farm in North East Scotland having taken the plunge 4 years ago. There is just something about this book that doesn’t ring true, something about the overtly poetic language that makes me doubt it’s authenticity. That aside, as a work of prose it’s beautiful.
October 4, 2020
Felt very one sided, immature and not at all self aware 🤷🏻♀️ a lot of bad stuff happens but.. I didn’t feel much for her
August 2, 2021
“Ik ben een eiland. Ik heb een naam. Mijn stem is niet meer dan een gulle hand wind. Aan de zee geef ik die koude stilte in mij.”
Wat een verhaal! Ik deed er te lang over... niet omdat ik het niet mooi vond.
Maar de rauwheid greep me soms te hard vast.
Soms te prachtig om snel te lezen. Ik wou er alles uithalen. Elke mooie zin 100 keer herlezen. Opschrijven, memoriseren.
Ik wou dit boek zo lang mogelijk vast houden. Het laten door dringen.
Het verhaal van Tamsin in haar woorden verteld. Met alle rauwheid die het mee sleurt. Met alle schoonheid die ze vond om haar leven te kunnen begrijpen, omarmen.
Die schoonheid vond ze vooral in de woeste natuur daar op een Schots eiland.
Eigenlijk weet ik niet goed wat ik meer kan toevoegen.
Laat ik nog dit zeggen, lees deze parel!
Wat een verhaal! Ik deed er te lang over... niet omdat ik het niet mooi vond.
Maar de rauwheid greep me soms te hard vast.
Soms te prachtig om snel te lezen. Ik wou er alles uithalen. Elke mooie zin 100 keer herlezen. Opschrijven, memoriseren.
Ik wou dit boek zo lang mogelijk vast houden. Het laten door dringen.
Het verhaal van Tamsin in haar woorden verteld. Met alle rauwheid die het mee sleurt. Met alle schoonheid die ze vond om haar leven te kunnen begrijpen, omarmen.
Die schoonheid vond ze vooral in de woeste natuur daar op een Schots eiland.
Eigenlijk weet ik niet goed wat ik meer kan toevoegen.
Laat ik nog dit zeggen, lees deze parel!
August 18, 2021
Pfoeh, zeker geen licht boekje, en wel erg veel ellende. Maar ook bijzonder en mooi geschreven.
June 18, 2021
Een persoonlijk verhaal over jezelf ontdekken, vallen en weer opstaan.
June 7, 2020
I'm glad I've heard Tamsin Calidas's story (audiobook) and I took several things from it.
First, it's interesting to read her experiences of being an outsider on the Scottish islands. I'm taken aback by the amount of hostility and misogyny she faced. No surprise that her book has had mixed reactions - she doesn't pull any punches and her account doesn't present the local people in a good light, especially in the early years. Is it a totally fair and unbiased account? Probably not, but I think she has been honest in recounting her own experience, and it's good for us to have our idylls challenged.
Second, I found it to be a devastating account of a descent into loneliness and isolation. The author faced a litany of difficult, sometimes terrible life events, and clearly came very close to total breakdown. It was really hard to go on that journey with her. The middle section of this book is powerfully written and a very moving and personal account of challenges with mental health and wellbeing
Third, there's the focus on living a different type of life, crofting, and developing a different relationship with nature. Ultimately it's her relationship with nature - water, wind, fire, birds and animals that help her pull back from the brink. The final part of the book focuses on this ability to connect with nature and to then build on this to reconnect with family and ultimately friends. Although there are many beautifully worded reflections and insights, I began to lose interest. Just too ponderous and drawn out. I found myself thinking that an abridged version of this book could be brilliant.
I was relieved during the author's acknowledgements to hear the her talk about friendships, support and reconnecting with people in her life. I think she has been brave sharing her story and I find myself genuinely wishing her well for the future.
First, it's interesting to read her experiences of being an outsider on the Scottish islands. I'm taken aback by the amount of hostility and misogyny she faced. No surprise that her book has had mixed reactions - she doesn't pull any punches and her account doesn't present the local people in a good light, especially in the early years. Is it a totally fair and unbiased account? Probably not, but I think she has been honest in recounting her own experience, and it's good for us to have our idylls challenged.
Second, I found it to be a devastating account of a descent into loneliness and isolation. The author faced a litany of difficult, sometimes terrible life events, and clearly came very close to total breakdown. It was really hard to go on that journey with her. The middle section of this book is powerfully written and a very moving and personal account of challenges with mental health and wellbeing
Third, there's the focus on living a different type of life, crofting, and developing a different relationship with nature. Ultimately it's her relationship with nature - water, wind, fire, birds and animals that help her pull back from the brink. The final part of the book focuses on this ability to connect with nature and to then build on this to reconnect with family and ultimately friends. Although there are many beautifully worded reflections and insights, I began to lose interest. Just too ponderous and drawn out. I found myself thinking that an abridged version of this book could be brilliant.
I was relieved during the author's acknowledgements to hear the her talk about friendships, support and reconnecting with people in her life. I think she has been brave sharing her story and I find myself genuinely wishing her well for the future.
February 10, 2021
This was a really enoyable and completely compelling read that I can only add to the many accolades it has received.
Regardless of its very feminine perspective, as a man living alone (with a dog of course) in a quiet rural spot much affected by wild weather, I can relate to a lot of Calidas's story, especially the life-changing effect of the nature and environment.
So, five stars, no question, but its the sort of book that needs to be discussed.
After so much conflict and pain, has Calidas lost confidence in relationships and people? Was she always going to be happier alone? Her withdrawal from society seems intentional, and gradually becomes more and more marked. And once content in her solitude, she seems more happy to welcome the odd person back into her life, but in small amounts, and on her own terms.
Society tells us people aren't supposed to live alone with hardly any contact with family, and few if any, friends. If we are indeed 'an Island', there's a great deal of determination and stubborness as we strive for acceptance; in Calidas's case, much trauma and hurt as well.
Paired with her wilderness life, is the incredible backdrop of the changing of the season, and its affects on nature on the Hebridean island.
Regardless of its very feminine perspective, as a man living alone (with a dog of course) in a quiet rural spot much affected by wild weather, I can relate to a lot of Calidas's story, especially the life-changing effect of the nature and environment.
I am practising to be like the earth. If I am cold, I light a fire. If I am hurt, I breathe and allow tears to flow. If I am fearful, I step closer to the source of fear. If I am alone, I go outside into the wilds for their solace and company.
So, five stars, no question, but its the sort of book that needs to be discussed.
After so much conflict and pain, has Calidas lost confidence in relationships and people? Was she always going to be happier alone? Her withdrawal from society seems intentional, and gradually becomes more and more marked. And once content in her solitude, she seems more happy to welcome the odd person back into her life, but in small amounts, and on her own terms.
Society tells us people aren't supposed to live alone with hardly any contact with family, and few if any, friends. If we are indeed 'an Island', there's a great deal of determination and stubborness as we strive for acceptance; in Calidas's case, much trauma and hurt as well.
Paired with her wilderness life, is the incredible backdrop of the changing of the season, and its affects on nature on the Hebridean island.
March 2, 2021
>>Manchmal kann sich das Leben beengt anfühlen, als trüge man einen Pullover, der im Laufe der Zeit zu klein geworden ist,...<<
„Vor mir nichts als Meer – Meine langsame Rückkehr vom Rande des Abgrunds“ von Tamsin Calidas ist eine Lebensreise und Selbstfindung, die für mich mit einem sehr fesselnden Einstieg begann. Die Autorin hat eine wirklich schöne Art zu schreiben und zu beschreiben, was mir insgesamt sehr gefallen hat! Auch die Bilder und Gefühle, die sie durch das geschriebene Wort hier entstehen lässt, ist so manches mal wirklich eindrucksvoll und berührend.
Leider gab es für mich hier auch ein paar Längen und Interaktionen, bei denen ich mir mein Augenrollen nicht verkneifen konnte... Auch thematisch konnte ich im weiteren Verlauf bzw. eine Zeitspanne lang nicht interessiert am Ball bleiben, aber das ist einfach eine Sache des persönlichen Interesses (an dieser Stelle möchte ich einfach nicht spoilern, daher halte ich mich hier eher bedeckt).
Fazit: Wer gerne Lebensberichte, gerne über die Selbstfindung liest und das raue Meer mag, der wird mit diesem Buch sicher schöne Lesestunden verbringen können. Mir hat das Buch alles in allem gut gefallen.
„Vor mir nichts als Meer – Meine langsame Rückkehr vom Rande des Abgrunds“ von Tamsin Calidas ist eine Lebensreise und Selbstfindung, die für mich mit einem sehr fesselnden Einstieg begann. Die Autorin hat eine wirklich schöne Art zu schreiben und zu beschreiben, was mir insgesamt sehr gefallen hat! Auch die Bilder und Gefühle, die sie durch das geschriebene Wort hier entstehen lässt, ist so manches mal wirklich eindrucksvoll und berührend.
Leider gab es für mich hier auch ein paar Längen und Interaktionen, bei denen ich mir mein Augenrollen nicht verkneifen konnte... Auch thematisch konnte ich im weiteren Verlauf bzw. eine Zeitspanne lang nicht interessiert am Ball bleiben, aber das ist einfach eine Sache des persönlichen Interesses (an dieser Stelle möchte ich einfach nicht spoilern, daher halte ich mich hier eher bedeckt).
Fazit: Wer gerne Lebensberichte, gerne über die Selbstfindung liest und das raue Meer mag, der wird mit diesem Buch sicher schöne Lesestunden verbringen können. Mir hat das Buch alles in allem gut gefallen.
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