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The night descends, morbid and malignant on the Arctic Ocean, quenching the friendly flicker of the aurora borealis. To the southwest, frozen stars vanish as treacle-thick storm clouds eat into the fanciful configurations of fabled constellations. Lone sentinel of the northern wastes, our tiny vessel is a Christmas tree of colored lights in an otherwise lightless crypt of cresting swell.
I give the sea on last scan, to make sure we aren't standing into any unforeseen danger, before heading for the warmth of the wheelhouse. All I see is our own navigation lights reflecting back from the glassy mountains, like the ethereal running lights of long-gone ghost ships.
I shiver again.
Posted April 2, 2001
What a surpise to come upon a storyteller from the Gaelic that doesn't rely on past family tragedy. Watkins stories are like being in the presence of the teller. It's impossible to stop reading.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted November 27, 2000
I thought it would be hard to top 'A Celtic Childhood,' but once again Watkins' gift for storytelling left me laughing, crying, and amazed at the wealth of Celtic history and Druidic wisdom that emerges from his rich mixture of vivid prose, poetry and song. I truly couldn't put this one down. I read 15 chapters in a single day. Now I can't wait for part three of the triolgy! 'Write On' Bill!Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.