What I’m trying to say is that this is a really, really good book. The wildlife, the landscape, the sea, everything is described with a clarity which contrasts with Liptrot’s previous hedonistic fugue and reflects Orkney’s clean lines of cliffs and waters. Although she mentions incidents in London, staggering the streets intoxicated, breaking an art installation, and much, much more, The Outrun is deeply rooted in the Orkney islands. Now absolutely sober, she documents life on the islands, where her own experience mingles with that of seabirds, sheep and seaweed. She is a simple, graceful writer who has managed to combine a brutally honest memoir with nature writing and it is beautiful.įollowing an exciting lifestyle (sex, drugs and alcohol) in London, Liptrot returns to Orkney, where she grew up. Although the way in which I stormed through The Outrun is partly due to my reluctance to read Virginia Woolf at 11pm, more importantly, it’s testament to Amy Liptrot’s writing.
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