The Islander. Complete and Unabridged A translation of An tOileánach: An account of life on the Great Blasket Island off the west coast of Kerry

by Tomás Ó Criomhthainn, Gary Bannister (Translator), David Sowby (Contributor)

This superb account of life on the Great Blasket Island off the west coast of Kerry, written as the nineteenth century draws to its close and the dawn of a new era trespasses on the lives of its small community, is both a shocking and captivating read.

Here is the first complete translation of Tomás O’Crohan’s autobiography An tOileánach, first published in 1929. This edition is based on Professor Seán Ó Coileáin’s definitive 2002 Irish-language edition. It contains many passages omitted from the previous English language translation by Robin Flower from the 1930s, some of which were thought too earthy for the times.

Tomás O’Crohan, a fisherman who, at around the age of forty, has taught himself to read and write in his own native tongue, depicts in unaffected, vivid language a very unforgiving landscape of human experience. The Islander reflects life as it was on the Blaskets — raw, real and extremely challenging.

Genres: Ireland, Nonfiction, Irish Literature, History, Biography, Memoir, Autobiography

381 pages, Kindle Edition

First published January 1, 1929

About the author

Tomás Ó Criomhthain (anglicised as Tomas O'Crohan or Thomas O'Crohan; 1856 - 1937) was a native of the Irish-speaking Great Blasket Island, 3 kilometres (1.9 miles) off the coast of the Dingle Peninsula in Ireland. He wrote two books, Allagar na h-Inise (Island Cross-Talk) written over the period 1918-23 and published in 1928, and An t-Oileánach (The Islandman), completed in 1923 and published in 1929. Both have been translated into English. The 2012 translation by Garry Bannister and David Sowby is to date the only unabridged version available in English (earlier versions were redacted being considered too earthy).

Reviews

[Fionnuala]

The life of Tomás O'Crohan, 1856-1937, as lived on the Great Blasket island off the south west coast of Ireland.

P 97 Seal hunting: You need calm weather and a good spring tide. Well, we put out the four oars, 'tough, sweet-sounding, enduring, white, broad-bladed', as was the way with the boats of the Fenians of old, and stayed not from our headlong course till we reached the mouth of the cave we had fixed on. The cave was in the western end of the Great Island. It was a very dangerous place, for there was always a strong swell around it, and it's a long swim into it, and you have to swim sidelong, for the cleft of the rock has only just room for a seal. When the boat stopped in the mouth of the cave there was a strong suck of swell running. Often and again the mouth of the hole would fill up completely, so that you'd despair of ever seeing again anybody who happened to be inside...

P 244 I have written minutely of much of what we did, for it was my wish that somewhere there should be a memorial of it all, and I have done my best to set down the character of the people about me so that some record of us might live after us, for the like of us will never be again.
I am old now. Many a thing has happened to me in the running of my days until now...I can remember being at my mother's breast. She would carry me up the hill in a creel she had for bringing home the turf. When the creel was full of turf, she would come back with me under her arm. I remember being a boy; I remember being a young man; I remember the bloom of my vigor and my strength. I have known famine and plenty, fortune and ill-fortune, in my life-days till to-day. They are great teachers for one that marks them well.
Since the first fire kindled in this island none has written of his life and his world. I am proud to set down my story.
The Great Blasket, 1926

[J. Lynn · Rating 5 out of 5]

I had the great privilege to visit the Dingle peninsula earlier this summer, and obviously there's something to be said about visiting the place where a historical memoir takes place. I was able to picture the teeny island, miraculously pinned down in the constantly seething ocean, to see from the mainland the dots of white and brown that are the remnants of the houses the Blasket people once inhabited.
That was the thing about the Dingle peninsula (and a theme in OCronan's book): the water is alive there. This is not a place where "calm" is a word you'd use to describe the sea - rather, choppy, buzzing, foamy, angry, active, and crashing would be my words of choice.

To have this understanding of Blasket before reading The Islandman became a crucial element of my experience. That's not to say, of course, that the novel doesn't hold up on its own: I believe that it does. But it was such a different type of reading experience from any I'd ever encountered that my sense of Tomas' world, however vague, wound up being a huge asset.

Tomas O'Cronan is a storyteller - an oral storyteller. Although the style of the novel seems foreign at first, it was only when I realized that it was the perfect written transcript of a long, hugely entertaining nighttime story that I was really able to click right into it. What an amazing privilege to get such a personal sense (because what makes O'Cronan an amazing storyteller is that he pours such amazing vulnerability into his stories) of life in a place so - hate to use the word here - foreign from our own. All that was missing from my experience was a cheery fire, cup of ale, and raging storm outside.

[Anna Erishkigal · Rating 5 out of 5]

Perhaps the fact I am half-Irish colors my review of this book, which is written in the simple language of a simple man. Or perhaps it is the fact I studied it in an Irish Literature class I took through our local community school for no reason other than I wanted to know a bit about my people of origin? Or the fact our instructor loved the subject-matter deeply and shared with us pictures and videos of her experience visiting Great Blasket Island where this story takes place? Or the fact it is near April 15th here in the USA, tax day, and there was something about the way people in the story hid their cows and pigs from the tax-man so as not to have to pay a tax upon them? Or the thought of harvesting seals for food to survive the Great Potato famine? Or the tea which washed up upon the shore after a shipwreck? And how they had never seen such a substance and used it to dye their petticoats and fatten their pigs until they figured out it was good to drink? In any event, this is not an UNBIASED review, but an eminently biased one, because despite the slow pace in places, I enjoyed this story immensely by the 'last calf of an old cow' and would recommend anyone interested in Irish history read it and view our history not through the eyes of a high bard, but a fairly ordinary person.

[Max Nemtsov · Rating 5 out of 5]

Зная, сколько мы знаем про «Островитянина», тем удивительнее читать и убеждаться, что она превосходна — это живая, лукавая, волне гипнотизирующая повесть о повседневной жизни простых и хитрых людей, в ней даже есть увлекательные эпизоды. Майлз в «Поющих Лазаря» несколько ее демонизировал, но надо понимать, что он скорее был против хайпа, вокруг книги вспыхнувшего, — ну и первый перевод ему, возможно, не понравился (это издание — второй).
Что же у нас в сухом остатке, если смотреть на «Островитянина» не глазами гэльского возрождения, а иначе? В сухом остатке у нас — коммуна архаических анархистов, живущая «по заветам предков» в не самом удаленном от цивилизации месте, но до него вполне непросто добраться. Живут эти хитрые, как я уже сказал, люди трудно (ну потому что жизнь в 19 веке вообще не очень проста была, даже для какого-нибудь Дизраэли), при случае промышляют прибрежным мародерством, никакой дани, налогов и ренты не платят, английское правительство натягивают по полной программе. У них свой Король. Больше того — они самостоятельно ведут международную торговлю (омаров прямо французам продают), рыболовных квот не соблюдают (а они, как мы знаем, тогда существовали). Недаром автор гордится, что «“домашнее правление” началось на Бласкете». Поэтому что уж тут удивительного, что правительство даже Свободного государства (и впоследствии республики) никак не могло смириться с таким стихийно-контрарианским самоуправством и независимостью, и общину в 1953 году ликвидировали под предлогом «трудных условий жизни». Ох не чай они там пили… (чая и сахара, кстати, до самых последних годов 19 века они не знали, думали, что им сподручнее ткани красить).
Причем ликвидировали с таким размахом, что бо́льшая часть потомков живет не в Ирландии, а в Штатах (в «ближайшем к Бласкету приходе»). Поневоле задумаешься. Неудивительно по всему по этому, что автор-таки был прав — «подобных нам свет никогда больше не видывал».

[A. Mary · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is a compelling book about life on Great Blasket Island in the late nineteenth century and into the twentieth. It's an important book because that way of life is gone, and no one lives on Great Blasket anymore. O'Crohan shows us many details and activities and practices, so that we get a genuine sense of his life and times. That was his purpose, to get it down because it was passing, and he knew it. The chore of living is daunting much of the time, and the sorrow of loss keeps expanding, but O'Crohan is rather matter-of-fact about it. There's no melodrama or self-pity here. That makes it even more remarkable. While the writing is not brilliant, and the crafting isn't noteworthy, O'Crohan's attention and memory draw a fully fleshed picture for his readers.

[Steve Smits · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a re-read; first read almost 50-years ago -- gosh! In 1972, we had just returned from a two-year stay in Northern Ireland and had had the occasion to visit Dingle and gaze across the sound to the Blaskets. The Islandman is a memoir of the life and times in a unique culture that has since vanished. Not twenty years before I read the book, the last of the Blasket residents had been removed from the island to the mainland. (Now, I understand, you can cross the sea to tour the island, and even get accommodations there.)

The islanders produced books about its inhabitants that reflect their lives on this remote place. O'Crohan relates so vividly what life was like in his time for he and his fellow Blasketers. His story, told so enchantingly, is the story of a culture and community with a way of life that to us today would seem harsh. The Blasketers fished in curraghs in the dangerous seas around them and grew meager crops of potatoes and oats in the nearly worthless land on the island (gathering sea weed for manure was a method of eking out production.) Their diets were mostly fish and potatoes; seal hunts occasionally provided supplemental meat to their tables. They benefited at times from salvaging debris from ships that foundered on the rocks and shoals. O'Crohan tells of retrieving a substance that made a good dye for clothing to find out later that it was tea, a product unknown to them before.

Their houses were rude and spare; read about how domestic animals would reside with the occupants in the house and how chickens would roost in the thatch roofs where eggs could be retrieved. They were poor and knew it, but lived full and rich lives nonetheless.

The islanders were exclusive speakers of Irish, a version so pure that scholars and others interested in the early 20th century Irish language revival visited to study and experience the purity of the language. The translation of "The Islandman" to English by Robin Flowers is excellent in relating the rhythm of the Irish language.

O'Crohan concludes his story of their lives by writing poignantly "I have written minutely of much that we did, for it was my wish that somewhere there should be a memorial of it all, and I have done my best to set down the character of the people about me so that some record of us might lives after us, for the like of us will never be again."

Other books by the Blasketers include "Island Cross-Talk" by O'Crohan, "Twenty Years A-Growing" by Maurice O'Sullivan and "Pieg" by Pieg Sayers. They are all highly recommended.

[Elizabeth Quinn · Rating 5 out of 5]

Some Irish readers term this a "poor mouth" book -- a woe-is-me, my-life-was-terribly-difficult tome that teachers recommended as "good for you." I read it -- and really enjoyed it -- as a window into the kind of world inhabited by my Quinn ancestors before they left Ireland in 1832. Americans are used to frontier tales of Abe Lincoln "ciphering" with charcoal on the blade of a shovel and the Ingalls family living in their sod house in the Dakotas. The Islandman allows us to see a bit of what came before for our immigrant families.

[Liis · Rating 5 out of 5]

Life.

[Maria Teresa · Rating 4 out of 5]

If you happen to be driving along the Slea Head Drive on the Dingle Peninsula, at some point you’ll stop by Blasket Center and if you follow the path to the view point, you’ll find yourself on a terrace just above the raging ocean and in front of you, the Great Blasket. If you have a good eyesight you’ll even recognise a few white dots. Those are the cottages which you can rent now from April to October on an otherwise deserted piece of land. The same piece of land was inhabited indeed until 1950s by a fervent and resilient mostly fishing Irish-speaking community. I visited the Great Blaskets cultural center earlier this year and I got fascinated by these people having to be evacuated from the only land they knew because such a close island was at times impossible to reach and all cause of the ocean and its streams in between. There is a canoe in the Great Blasket center in Dunquin which is closed and it looks more like a tomb of course to signify the end of (human) life on the island. It is placed just at the end of the museum facing the Great Blasket. This writer beautifully tells us the story of this community as he knows it and I obviously can not but love the way of life he depicts and can even smell the salty skin of its community, inexorably dependent on nature and on the force of the sea.

[Patrick Duran · Rating 5 out of 5]

I bought this book in Dingle while on a road trip around Ireland. At the time, we only viewed the Great Blasket Island from the shore, and now I want to return to actually venture to the island itself. Tomas O'Crohan is a character! He details life on the island from his birth in 1856 through 1926. I doubt few living today would be able to endure the hardships previous generations faced. He and his family made their living through fishing, and lobster proved to be relatively profitable for them. His tales are filled with humor, which seems to be how past generations dealt with adversity.

O'Crohan writes, "One day there will be none left in the Blasket of all I have mentioned in this book--and none to remember them. I am thankful to God, who has given me the chance to preserve from forgetfulness those days that I have seen with my own eyes, and that when I am gone men will know what life was like in my time." He achieved what he set out to do in an entertaining fashion.

[Kate · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is the third book about the Blaskets that I have read. I enjoyed it though it was a bit harder to follow. It is sad that this community no longer exists and I continue to be fascinated about it. I hope to eventually go back and explore in greater depth...what a beautiful place!

[John Kane · Rating 5 out of 5]

A great history of the Blasket Islands, told by a man with a witty and fearless voice.

[Sarah Brown · Rating 4 out of 5]

Interesting and honest account of living in the Blasket. The famine and the first world war are barely mentioned as they had little impact on his life. Simple account of a time long gone.

[Zachary · Rating 5 out of 5]

I traveled to West Kerry from London, a spectacular European capital with the hustle and bustle of urban life which I have come to love, and even revere. Whenever I have visited such cities—be it New York, or Paris, or Rome, or Istanbul—I truly wonder why there is anyone left in the provincial, rural backwaters of the United States or any other non-urban place in the world, when it would be better, I often muse, to immerse oneself in the music, arts, literature, and the all-round cultural explosion of city life. To this point, I have been staunch in the conviction that cities—those multicultural, multiethnic bastions of diversity and intellectualism—are the best places to live. Yet even after a few days in West Kerry, in verdant Ireland, I started to question this bold assertion. There is an important caveat to my embryonic concession, however. I do not believe that I would have started to think this way had I simply visited Ireland without time spent in intimate academic conversation with its authors, artists, and saints beforehand. In other words, it was the confluence of my physical presence in Ireland and my experience with the work of Irish writers, that provoked my assent to the attractiveness and real beauty of parochial life in West Kerry and its hinterlands.

This was perhaps most self-evident in my recent visit to the Great Blasket Island, the former home of Tomás O’Crohan, whose memoir already introduced me to those “sea monsters of an antique world” at the most westerly tip of Europe before I ever set my eyes upon them. I had fallen in love with Tomás and The Islandman prior to my visit; his frank humor, narrative virtuosity, and innate literary sensibilities make for an exceptional memoir. Yet my appreciation only went so far, and it was not until I visited the Blasket Island Centre and looked out upon the islands’ “peaks and hills, sundered from their mainland brothers” that I realized the colossal nature of Tomás’s literary achievement. My actual visit to the island further accentuated my realization that Tomás was a true poet, and not just a talented storyteller with keen observation skills and an impressive memory.

In my mind, Tomás O’Crohan has metamorphosed into a kind of Homeric bard, hand-picked by the poet Dunlevy, a curious and rather indolent man whose enemies quickly become the subjects of caustic and satirical verse. “The poem will be lost,” the bard of the Great Blasket tells Tomás as he tries to cut turf, “if somebody doesn’t pick it up.” By the end of his memoir, Tomás has so obviously assumed the mantle of chronicler and epic poet: “I have written minutely of much that we did, for it was my wish that somewhere there should be a memorial of it all.” Yet Tomás does not simply chronicle the events of his life and those of his community; The Islandman by no means resembles historical annals that consist of mere names and dates. Instead, Tomás crafts an epic tale of heroic proportions, perhaps even un-self-consciously. Compare the line from Tomás above to the first lines of Homer in the Odyssey: “Tell me, Muse, of the man of many ways, who was driven / far journeys, after he had sacked Troy’s sacred citadel. / Many were they whose cities he saw, whose minds he learned of, / many the pains he suffered in his spirit on the wide sea.” The entire rest of that ancient poem serves as a commemoration, or a memorial, of the heroic deeds of Odysseus, a maritime warrior not unlike the assiduous Tomás, who lives on an island similar to the Great Blasket. Homer is Odysseus’s chronicler who recounts his actions in poetic verse; without the poet, the itinerant travels of Odysseus are no more or less adventurous than the quotidian travails of any other ancient Mediterranean sailor, lost on his way home from war. Likewise, without Tomás’s The Islandman, the routine troubles of the people of the Great Blasket are, from the perspective of the modern reader, at least, the simple labors of ordinary peasants on the periphery of the twentieth century industrialized world. Tomás dramatizes their lives and their accomplishments in a similar vein to his bardic Greek predecessor.

Much like Homer, Tomás also preserves the collective cultural memory of his people via his dramatization of their lives in addition to his own. The memories of his epic battle with the seal, his comrades’ heroic encounter with the fearsome beast of the sea who almost upends their boats, and the climactic moment at Christmas when the entire Blasket community is well-fed and merry, would have died with the last of the native islanders had it not been for The Islandman. While there may be someday “none left in the Blasket,” I daresay that Tomás’s prediction that there will likewise be “none to remember them” may not come to fruition, for his memoir will live on forever. Tomás has crafted a cultural artifact that will stand the test of time. While he was far too humble an author, I believe, to have penned the words of Ovid—another epic poet—at the end of his Amores, I nevertheless think that Ovid’s dictum applies just as well to Tomás: “Therefore even when the last of the flames have eaten me up / I shall live, and the better part of me will be alive.” In Tomás’s case, I would add, the better part of his entire community will live on—indeed, has lived on—after its dissipation in the middle of the twentieth century.

All of which is to say that the parochial, island community on the Blasket, the ruins of which I had the opportunity to walk about and touch, has, in my mind, assumed a profound gravitas of mythic proportions. As I walked amidst the abandoned homes and footpaths, I felt as if they were the blackened ruins of Troy; this was a sacred space once inhabited by a people far more heroic than perhaps any other I have known. While I cannot say for certain, I doubt that I would have had the same appreciation for the Great Blasket Island and its culture without Tomás’s epic presentation of his community in The Islandman. I am immensely appreciative that I studied the Blasket Island storytellers so closely, and I am pleased that I had sufficient open-mindedness to allow their tales to influence my attitude toward their way of life. At this point, I think, I am more of a mind to wonder, like the playwright J. M. Synge, “why anyone is left in Dublin, or London, or Paris, when it would be better, one would think, to live in a tent or hut with this magnificent sea and sky, and to breathe this wonderful air, which is like wine in one’s teeth.”

[Laszlo · Rating 3 out of 5]

Honest, raw and simple telling of the story of a community and a way of life that doesn't exist anymore.

O'Crohan does justice to Gaelic storytelling traditions by keeping alive the lives and happenings of this remote island, whipped by Atlantic storms, harsh weather, tax collectors and living off the fruits of the sea below and above. Much I believe, is lost in translation from Irish to English thought the book maintains a charm to it, like reading the diary of a laborer or farmer and so has to it a certain personal touch that colors all of the events through his eyes.

One dozes off every now and then in the detailed accounts of moving to a nearby town to sell off seal meat or some random encounters but then get pulled back in the by the little earthly happenings from death, marriage to hunting seals or funny encounters with shopkeeps.

[Mark Gannon · Rating 4 out of 5]

There is a sense of melancholy that permeates the book- not only because I know that the Great Blasket Island are now devoid of human life (having evacuated in the 1960's due to its aging population), but because the author seemed to know, even in the 1920's, that he was witnessing the end of a way of life that had existed for centuries.

Tomas O'Crohan presents to us a many snapshots of island life- and it often bleak. There are several stories of deep friendships, a few comic scenes, and some pleasant childhood memories, but as another reviewer noted, many people would consider this a "poor me, look at how tough my life is" type of book. I don't think it was intentional on the author part, but he seems to have given more focus to the more sorrowful aspects of island life. Two examples of this: 1) he bluntly states that he got married- but his wife is only mentioned twice- once as a demonstration how the author is related to a man he is fishing with and her second mention is to say that she had died. 2) No mention is made of his children when they are born. The author mentions his children five times in the book and for the following reasons- i) one child dies of drowning, ii)two die from measles, iii)another son dies by drowning while a daughter nearly drowns in the same incident, iv)his daughter marries, but dies six years later, v)one son immigrates, while his last remaining child is living in near poverty with the author on the island. Bleak, to say the least. Overall, from an historical stand point, an interesting read.

[Clare · Rating 4 out of 5]

A lovely memoir full of nostalgia for the traditional Irish Island life. Humorous at times (my favourite bits include when the islanders first meet a man with glasses 😂 and when Tomas gets a pair of boots on the mainland and everyone thinks he's a big rich man when he comes back), and at others quite shocking (the bit about seal hunting is quite hard to read though I do understand this was a different time and was needed for survival.) At times it is quite laborious to read and disjointed in places (though this may be due to translation).

Overall a lovely little memoir of traditional island life!

[Richard · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is an important historical document as well as it being a biography, giving the reader an insight into life on a remote Irish island at the turn of the 20th Century. Not always an easy read, and may have benefitted from a glossary, but there are parts of this that will stay with me, and I found myself sad to leave the place once I'd finished.

[Astrid · Rating 4 out of 5]

“One day there will be none left in the Blasket of all I have mentioned in this book - and none to remember them. I am thankful to God, who has given me the chance to preserve from forgetfullness those days that I have seen with my own eyes and have borne their burden, and that when I am gone men will know what life was like in my time and the neighbors that lived with me.”

[Aidan Reid · Rating 5 out of 5]

Great read of a time long-forgotten.

[Marj Osborne · Rating 4 out of 5]

A unique glimpse into lives in an isolated community more than a century ago. It's all the more poignant because of our visit to the Great Blasket Islands museum on the Dingle Peninsula last year.

[Marcus Gavin · Rating 5 out of 5]

An interesting read. Five stars easily earned.

[Michael Cawley · Rating 5 out of 5]

Enlightening autobiography of Irish fisherman and author Tomas O’Crohan who lived on Great Blasket Island.

[Heidi Daniele · Rating 5 out of 5]

The Islandman is Tomas O'Crohan's reflection on his life. His account of daily life on the Blasket Islands is told in it's purest form, from the heart. Fabulous read! If you have any interest in Irish history this memoir is a must read.

[Lubov Yakovleva · Rating 5 out of 5]

Славная книга. Славный рассказчик.
Тяжёлая жизнь.

Хорошо, что теперь существует перевод на русский. Хорошо, что теперь можно расширить своё представление о том, насколько разнообразной может быть жизнь человека.
Дополнить и углубить понимание, к чему может приспособиться человек, если уж он родился там, где родился, – на отрезанном куске суши, где деревьев нет, вечная трава, вечные камни, вечный ветер, вечное море.

Осмысление повседневного опыта выживания на острове, рассказ о рождении, детстве, взрослении, учении и развлечении.
Постоянство тем – где взять еду (мало где), как справиться с морем (чаще никак, но иногда редким смельчакам везло), как убежать от поэта, который требует внимания к своим сказам (а вот это точно никак), как отогнать от острова чужаков в мундирах (камнями!).

Скудная, скупая жизнь, а место радости в ней тоже было. Музыка, танцы, выпивка, гульба с друзьями и роднёй, что чаще одно и то же.

Казалось бы, чужая жизнь давно ушедших в небытие людей-поселенцев-островитян, а оторваться от перечисления их дневных забот сложно.
Наверно, какой-то отбор автор делал, не зря же потом набралось ещё на одну книгу. Да и какие-то эпизоды ярче, просто потому, что в них о балансировании на краю жизни и смерти, о риске. И не каждый раз итог в пользу островитян, стихии удавалось полакомиться человечинкой.
Но это не просто эпизоды, они не единичные, после прочтения остаётся ощущение цельного слитного проживания жизни день за днём, когда человек с утра не может быть уверен, что день закончится благополучно и хорошо.
И уж совсем горько узнать, что у рассказчика дети гибли один за одним. А что с этим поделать? Продолжать жить. И вспоминать. И смеяться над тем, что было смешно. Может, и не смеяться, а посмеиваться. Скорее так.

А ещё почему-то очень тоскливо при мысли, что деревьев на острове не было и нет. Без деревьев маета и не то, не то.

Решила добавить. Видимо, буду возвращаться не раз. Какие-то мысли приходят, требуют к себе внимания, хотят быть высказанными, будто у них есть своя воля и власть надо мной.
Дополнение такое: рассказчик – автор этой книги повествует о жизни, которой больше нет. Бласкет – остров, на котором он родился, ныне покинут. Жители перевезены на материк. Вчера я искала фотографии Бласкета, чтобы проверить своё утверждение о деревьях, а то мало ли, там одно-два выросло и удержалось на серых камнях (нет, не выросло и не удержалось). На современных снимках руины домов, сложенных из тех же серых камней. И трава зелёная, яркая-яркая.
И больше ничего.
Насколько я понимаю, руины эти законсервированы, чтобы люди приезжали и дивились, вот тут жили люди и было им нелегко.

Свидетельства О'Крихиня подобны массивным, но далеко не просторным строениям, что были сложены островитянами для жизни. Это утверждение "было так, больше так не будет" – закреплённый, корневой постулат. Утверждение как впечатывание в реальность.
Выходит, книга эта – заговор для памяти навсегда о том, чего теперь нет, но оно есть. Сложный фокус.

[Anna Graham · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sometimes a book is written for a distinct purpose, as this one was, but another evolves, a great beauty unfolding. The Islandman is such a tale, regaling a unique history while capturing one small moment, never to return.

The lives of those upon Great Blasket Isle off the shore of Ireland is told with love and honesty in a stark poetry, translated from the native Irish by Robin Flower in a manner that exudes character and liveliness while not stinting on the tragedy to befall those around Tomas O'Crohan, or the author himself. But victories abound, whether it be in marriages or a great catch of fish, or just the saving of O'Crohan's uncle in a quest for seals. Yet the most stirring moments are some of the smallest, in the words and phrases used to describe mundane activities; going to school, collecting turf or Tomas's small war waged against the island's poet-in-residence, a man to mildly vex the author on and off during his adult life.

The reader learns of burial rituals, fishing expeditions, and O'Crohan's home life in a language imbibed with love and faith, awareness of life's inequities, also the tenor of great appreciation. This story is not for all, but for those eager to be thrown into a maelstrom of sorts, I highly recommend this view of an existence so sequestered but full of vigor and charm. The Islandman left me in wonder, a richer person for having read it.

[Joan · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Far on in the autumn, one fine night that we were anchored with a lobster pot rope, we heard a singing, soft and long and sweet, in the deep middle of the night…My heart leapt in me, and I felt very odd.” p180

And didn’t my heart leap within me as I read this description of seals singing.
This amazing memoir limns the characters and life of a small island community off the coast of Ireland in the nineteenth century; though it is not about An Gorta Mor.
Tomas O’Crohan was a subsistence fisherman but I think you can also call him a seanchai. He sets out to tell the story of his people “for the like of us will never be again”, then carries the reader through the excitement fishing in small boat on a big sea, the pride of working hard even when bone-tired, the joys of a close-knit community and the heartbreak of loss. “…my own wife died. I was completely muddled and upset after that…when comrades part, the one that remains can but blunder along.” p218
In “The Islandman” his recollections are translated from the Irish by Robin Flower.
My heavy-handed review cannot describe the delicacy, the gentleness and the beauty of these sketches. I do recommend that you keep an Oxford English Dictionary near at hand to check the historical meanings of words such as baulk, peeler, lilt, and bonham. And if you can -- read it by the sea where you can hear the surf pound a rocky shore and taste the salt on your lips.

[Oscar Despard · Rating 5 out of 5]

This autobiography is a wonderful record of the Blaskets dialect of the Irish language, as well as a powerful account of an austere life. It is an insight into what life was like less than a century ago in some parts of the country. However, while its majesty is often bleak, it never falls into the moaning that made its companion autobiography, “Peig” (which I haven’t yet read), the infamous incubus of Irish secondary school students.

The Blaskets Irish, though difficult, was not insurmountable, even to an inexperienced reader like me. Though I had to have Niall Ó Dónaill’s Irish-English dictionary beside me, that was sufficient aid to understand most of the story. This was helped by an edition that edited out some of the more difficult and dialectical words, which were replaced by modern spelling with the original placed in a footnote.

The book displays a very different world-view than anything that would be voiced in the modern world. The description of the author’s marriage receives about a page of text; his wife’s death gets a few lines. The innovation of the lobster-pot, on the other hand, which supplied some years of relative ease and food security, receives close to a full chapter. ‘An t-Oileánach’ tells of a time when the need to live was what mattered, not any need to enjoy oneself; it also serves as a eulogy for that time, which Ó Criomhthain, in his final few words, acknowledges to be passing in Ireland.

[Louise Mullins · Rating 5 out of 5]

I read this memoir for research. It contains a chronological biography of a Blasket islander who like many, grew up poor living off the land, but who developed a thick skin of courage while dealing with hardship, strife, and grief. In this book famine, death, and poverty are explored by this man who never lost his empathy, humour, or love for his fellow humans. There are quotes which I've written down about those in The New World not understanding fully the lives of those who left the island to seek their fortune there. And snippets of wisdom for those who wish to understand the lives of The Blasket's inhabitants. A tale of woe and happiness, equally explored.

[Chris · Rating 3 out of 5]

The entire time I read this work, I felt like a small child listening to an old man tell camp fire stories. The language is familiar and reads very well even as a translation, but would be considered a touch dated. He has done a wonderful job sharing entertaining and sometimes sad anecdotes about island life.

Understandably, this isn't a read to take up if you're looking for intrigue or high drama. It is an interesting set of connected stories that I enjoyed and would recommend to most anyone.