Eilís Dillon The Island of Horses Numerous editions, in six languages, from 1956 to 2019 No one ever went to the Island of Horses. It was said to be unlucky, and when there was a storm the island shone with a strange light and the Inishrone people used to say that the wild Spanish horses were trying to land there; Pat's grandmother used to tell tales about a long silver strand and a hidden valley, and she said the harebells were bluer there and the sea-pinks brighter than anywhere else. So was it any wonder that two bold boys, having adventure in them, should want to explore it? At least, said Pat, they might find eels there. They did; and they found other things too: horses - and not all wild ones. THE ISLAND OF HORSES was chosen in The Sunday Times as one of "The 99 Best Books for Children" BUY THE NEW PAPERBACK EDITION — OR THE HARDBACK

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WHAT THE REVIEWERS SAID:

"Its wild settings, strange adventures, and picturesque characters have an Irish spell upon them and make the reading of this well written story a memorable experience." (Chicago Tribune)

"The story is told with a wealth of detail about a lifestyle that has almost vanished. It has the taste of the sea and the landscape, into which is woven a story that bristles with mystery and excitement." (Tony Hickey, Village Magazine) "A thumping good read." (The Irish Press)

"A very good story about two boys who set out to explore a deserted island off the Connemara coast, and about the adventures that follow. All are well within the bounds of probability ... The people are real, the Irish background rings true, and there is a hard, spare poetry in the telling of the story." (The Guardian)

"One of the best of the season's adventure stories. Has everything: good characterization, atmosphere, pace, style." (The Library Journal)

"An exciting tale by a fine writer." (J.H. Laker, Yarmouth Mercury)

"Eilís Dillon brings an original and outstanding gift to her storytelling." (British Weekly)

More reviews
after this extract from the opening pages ....

1. We go to the Island of Horses

Whenever I think of the Island of Horses now, I remember it as it looked from the boat on the first day that I landed there. All my life until then I had seen it as a darker blue curve on the edge of the blue sea. Usually a white line of foam showed along the base of it, where the surf broke on the rocks. During storms, great cones of spray would fly into the air and drift across it like mist. We could feel their thunder, seven miles away, though we could not hear it. Then the sea and the sky were an inky, leaden black, but the island shone with a strange light like silver, and the Inishrone people would say that the wild Spanish horses were trying to land on the Island of Horses.

Inishrone is our island. It lies three miles off the coast of Connemara, nearly at the mouth of Galway Bay. Its thick end juts out into the bay, with high cliffs that save us all from being washed away by the Atlantic rollers in the wintertime. Up there on the cliffs, on a summer day, you would imagine that you could throw a stone on to the lighthouse at Bungowla, on the biggest Aran island. Inishrone is a good place, and we have a way of living that suits us, though it would not please everyone.

There are houses scattered all over the island, but there is only one village. It is called Garavin, which means bad weather. It is not well named, for it is at the sheltered side of the island, where the quay is. There are two shops there, and a forge where you can get a metal rim put on the wheel of your cart, as well as having your horse shod. There is Matt Flaherty's public house, where the men of the island come to drink their evening porter, and a post office run by the crankiest women in all Ireland. I do not know whether they get cranky from working in the post office, or whether they are picked because they are cranky. Whatever the reason, we have a saying on Inishrone for the last seventy years: "As cranky as the post office cat."