Scan barcode
A review by jessmaeshelley
The Storm Keeper's Island by Catherine Doyle
5.0
‘In a field full of wildflowers, a boy and a girl stood side by side beneath an ancient oak tree. The sky was angry, the thunder growling like an angry beast.’
I knew from the first line of The Storm Keeper’s Island, that I would fall under the tide of its tale. Doyle crafts a magical, whimsical, beautiful story. The cracks between sentences are filled with hope and wishes. The atmosphere is soaked with the sea. There is a beautiful balance between humour and darkness, wisdom and adventure. It reads like an old folkloric tale made new.
‘As long as it happened before on Arranmore Island, it can happen again.’
Fionn and his sister sail across the sea on a ferry to Arranmore Island. They are swept away from their comfortable city streets and thrust into the care of their grandfather. Among a crumbled cottage and a nosy village, he rediscovers his home and heritage whilst taking on an unexpected responsibility to wield magic. But a darkness is brewing - an evil ancient being beneath the ground. More than just the exterior plot, however, it carries an emotional depth throughout. As Fionn not only learns to navigate his new surroundings but also learns how to deal with grief and loss.
I loved the way Doyle touched-stoned on this theme. Creating awareness and exploring the multi-facets of depression and grief.
‘Your mother has a warrior’s heart and an islander’s soul. Someday it will lead Evelyn McCauley home. Someday that sky will clear.’
‘There are many different kinds of bravery, Fionn. Often the journeys we take inside ourselves are more difficult than the stormiest seas.’
Doyle’s writing style was like a warm bath that I felt myself sinking deeper into. It reminded me of the stories I was read to as a child. From marmalade toast and tea to the wickers of candlelight, there is a sense of comfort embedded into the sentences.
‘Fionn couldn’t remember his grandmother but his mother said she smelled like roses and smiled like sunshine, spoke like a poet and laughed like a pirate.’
The weather becomes its own character and identity – shifting in almost parallel with Fionn and his grandfather’s emotions.
‘He was standing on the edge of a headland with the clouds gathering in his outstretched hands and the wind wreathing his body. He felt the sea rushing through his veins, leaving salt crystals in the lining of his heart.’
In the atmosphere and Fionn's character development, there is a sense of abandonment and confusion at the beginning (compared to the sense of feeling found and finding courage at the end.) At the point of climax, this return to the original feeling becomes prominent as Fionn explores the possible loss of two people in his life. One already lost, unsure why. And another soon to be lost, slipping through his fingers. It was this grief and fear of letting go, that I found truly harrowing. My heart strings are pulling just thinking about it.
‘You’ll be brave now, won’t you, Fionn? I need you to be brave for what’s to come.’
But in between these moments of darkness, there is a sense of hope…
‘That is your greatest responsibility. To live a life of breathless wonder, so that when it begins to fade from you, you will feel the shadow of its happiness still inside you and the blissful sense that you laughed the loudest, loved the deepest, and lived fearlessly, even as the specifics of it all meltaway.’
‘Somewhere in the distance, a lone crow weaved its caw between the sinking clouds. “The sky is falling,” said Fionn. “The sun will break through again,” his grandfather replied, and there was much more in those two sentences than there had been in everything else that came before them.’
And light-hearted humour where I found myself giggling out loud…
‘A flock of seagulls swooped over their heads and flew out to sea. They circled the ferry as it trundled its way into port. The horn sounded. Fionn winced. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that sound.” “It sounds a bit like a dying cow, doesn’t it?” said Tara.
The world of Arranmore sounds like a dream; a coastal island, wildflowers among the hills, secret caves, whispering trees that grant wishes and stormy weather. I adored the idea of travelling by candlelight. And I loved learning about the history of Storm Keepers - the generations that had come beforehand and the rivalry and challenges that tie into the present moment of the book. Which becomes evident within the characters of those who live in the village – a tight-knit community where everyone knows each other.
(Doyle makes similarities to her own experiences growing up in Arranmore Island – where ‘everybody is your cousin and seems to invite you round for dinner.’)
Doyle also ties in folkloric myth – Morgana and Dagda – the battle on the sea. A cape of souls and a staff of magic. I loved the way she tied in an old tale but in a completely inventive way. The notion of darkness brewing beneath the ground of the Island, ready to be awakened once more, left me unsettled throughout the book as I was reading. Which added another layer of beauty. A story within a story within a story. My favourite kind of tales – intelligent plotting and weaving. Where even a crumb has a ripple effect – the past, present and future become one.
(Quick note; Doyle mentioned how her previous books had been head books and this was her heart book. Gosh I hope she continues to write from her heart!)
I think a great book will make you question the very ground you walk on – like a magical wardrobe, a faraway tree, and a letter to a wizarding school. And after reading this story, I am dying to listen to the wind and decode its whispers.
The Storm Keeper’s Island has left a soft place within my heart. Its imprint will linger for a long time to come and is certainly one of my new favourite books. I cannot wait to read more from Doyle within this world!
‘For now though, the island let the boy sleep, dulling the wind and silencing the seagulls so that he might find peace in the safety of his dreams. For a little while at least.’
I knew from the first line of The Storm Keeper’s Island, that I would fall under the tide of its tale. Doyle crafts a magical, whimsical, beautiful story. The cracks between sentences are filled with hope and wishes. The atmosphere is soaked with the sea. There is a beautiful balance between humour and darkness, wisdom and adventure. It reads like an old folkloric tale made new.
‘As long as it happened before on Arranmore Island, it can happen again.’
Fionn and his sister sail across the sea on a ferry to Arranmore Island. They are swept away from their comfortable city streets and thrust into the care of their grandfather. Among a crumbled cottage and a nosy village, he rediscovers his home and heritage whilst taking on an unexpected responsibility to wield magic. But a darkness is brewing - an evil ancient being beneath the ground. More than just the exterior plot, however, it carries an emotional depth throughout. As Fionn not only learns to navigate his new surroundings but also learns how to deal with grief and loss.
I loved the way Doyle touched-stoned on this theme. Creating awareness and exploring the multi-facets of depression and grief.
‘Your mother has a warrior’s heart and an islander’s soul. Someday it will lead Evelyn McCauley home. Someday that sky will clear.’
‘There are many different kinds of bravery, Fionn. Often the journeys we take inside ourselves are more difficult than the stormiest seas.’
Doyle’s writing style was like a warm bath that I felt myself sinking deeper into. It reminded me of the stories I was read to as a child. From marmalade toast and tea to the wickers of candlelight, there is a sense of comfort embedded into the sentences.
‘Fionn couldn’t remember his grandmother but his mother said she smelled like roses and smiled like sunshine, spoke like a poet and laughed like a pirate.’
The weather becomes its own character and identity – shifting in almost parallel with Fionn and his grandfather’s emotions.
‘He was standing on the edge of a headland with the clouds gathering in his outstretched hands and the wind wreathing his body. He felt the sea rushing through his veins, leaving salt crystals in the lining of his heart.’
In the atmosphere and Fionn's character development, there is a sense of abandonment and confusion at the beginning (compared to the sense of feeling found and finding courage at the end.) At the point of climax, this return to the original feeling becomes prominent as Fionn explores the possible loss of two people in his life. One already lost, unsure why. And another soon to be lost, slipping through his fingers. It was this grief and fear of letting go, that I found truly harrowing. My heart strings are pulling just thinking about it.
‘You’ll be brave now, won’t you, Fionn? I need you to be brave for what’s to come.’
But in between these moments of darkness, there is a sense of hope…
‘That is your greatest responsibility. To live a life of breathless wonder, so that when it begins to fade from you, you will feel the shadow of its happiness still inside you and the blissful sense that you laughed the loudest, loved the deepest, and lived fearlessly, even as the specifics of it all meltaway.’
‘Somewhere in the distance, a lone crow weaved its caw between the sinking clouds. “The sky is falling,” said Fionn. “The sun will break through again,” his grandfather replied, and there was much more in those two sentences than there had been in everything else that came before them.’
And light-hearted humour where I found myself giggling out loud…
‘A flock of seagulls swooped over their heads and flew out to sea. They circled the ferry as it trundled its way into port. The horn sounded. Fionn winced. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that sound.” “It sounds a bit like a dying cow, doesn’t it?” said Tara.
The world of Arranmore sounds like a dream; a coastal island, wildflowers among the hills, secret caves, whispering trees that grant wishes and stormy weather. I adored the idea of travelling by candlelight. And I loved learning about the history of Storm Keepers - the generations that had come beforehand and the rivalry and challenges that tie into the present moment of the book. Which becomes evident within the characters of those who live in the village – a tight-knit community where everyone knows each other.
(Doyle makes similarities to her own experiences growing up in Arranmore Island – where ‘everybody is your cousin and seems to invite you round for dinner.’)
Doyle also ties in folkloric myth – Morgana and Dagda – the battle on the sea. A cape of souls and a staff of magic. I loved the way she tied in an old tale but in a completely inventive way. The notion of darkness brewing beneath the ground of the Island, ready to be awakened once more, left me unsettled throughout the book as I was reading. Which added another layer of beauty. A story within a story within a story. My favourite kind of tales – intelligent plotting and weaving. Where even a crumb has a ripple effect – the past, present and future become one.
(Quick note; Doyle mentioned how her previous books had been head books and this was her heart book. Gosh I hope she continues to write from her heart!)
I think a great book will make you question the very ground you walk on – like a magical wardrobe, a faraway tree, and a letter to a wizarding school. And after reading this story, I am dying to listen to the wind and decode its whispers.
The Storm Keeper’s Island has left a soft place within my heart. Its imprint will linger for a long time to come and is certainly one of my new favourite books. I cannot wait to read more from Doyle within this world!
‘For now though, the island let the boy sleep, dulling the wind and silencing the seagulls so that he might find peace in the safety of his dreams. For a little while at least.’