Due to a sudden, unexpected passing in the family a few years ago and another more recently and my subsequent (mental) health issues stemming from that, I was unable to download this book in time to review it before it was archived as I did not visit this site for several years after the bereavements. This meant I didn't read or venture onto netgalley for years as not only did it remind me of that person as they shared my passion for reading, but I also struggled to maintain interest in anything due to overwhelming depression. I was therefore unable to download this title in time and so I couldn't give a review as it wasn't successfully acquired before it was archived. The second issue that has happened with some of my other books is that I had them downloaded to one particular device and said device is now defunct, so I have no access to those books anymore, sadly.

This means I can't leave an accurate reflection of my feelings towards the book as I am unable to read it now and so I am leaving a message of explanation instead. I am now back to reading and reviewing full time as once considerable time had passed I have found that books have been helping me significantly in terms of my mindset and mental health - this was after having no interest in anything for quite a number of years after the passings. Anything requested and approved will be read and a review written and posted to Amazon (where I am a Hall of Famer & Top Reviewer), Goodreads (where I have several thousand friends and the same amount who follow my reviews) and Waterstones (or Barnes & Noble if the publisher is American based). Thank you for the opportunity and apologies for the inconvenience.

This is a glorious book. Wonderfully lyrical prose about the healing and power of place and how it can both ravage and enrich our lives.

This memoir is told in pieces with her life story and emotional responses linked to the landscape where she was living at that time. This book is written which such vulnerability and strength, and the authors true love for nature shines through!

This is absolutely fantastic. Part memoir, part a love letter to nature, ni Dochartaigh explains what it was like to grow up during the Troubles in Derry, with both Catholic and Protestant parents, her own life caught in the balance of outrage in both communities. Her writing makes it perfectly clear that the societies we have built, in all their dark moments, are still abutted by the absolute glory in nature. I really, truly loved this, and wish I could read it again for the first time.

I received a copy via Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

It's hard to know how to review, let alone rate, this book. On the one hand: it's an intense autobiographical account of the author's trauma, which manages to discuss the Troubles and Brexit with extreme sensitivity and respect, and is beautifully written too. On the other: ...it does drag on a bit.

The problem I had was that and eventually, every chapter became a bit repetitive, with its descriptions of harrowing events Dochartaigh went through and then how nature helped her cope and heal. To be honest, after a while it becomes hard to cope with all the traumatic experiences that are recounted, and I felt a bit numb and exhausted. I had a similar response to all the descriptions of how nature helped Dochartaigh heal, which I found very similar each time. The writing style became quite grating eventually, and the structure also seemed a bit odd - roughly chronological, but then some things overviewed before they were fully recounted, such as Dochartaigh's experience of alcoholism.

I feel unfair complaining about these things, because in many ways it's a beautiful and well-written book, and I appreciated the insight into what it was like living through the Troubles in Derry. I think that ultimately, it just wasn't the book for me; but I don't regret reading it either, and maybe it will be the book for you.

This sadly did not work for me. If I am honest, I wasn't quite sure what to make of it. I expected a memoir - of a troubled past - but with nature writing and place writing interwoven and it wasn't really that. One of the things that destroys a memoir for me is when the writer hints at stuff. Either talk about it openly or don't mention it. So yes, this was rather unsuccessful for me.

I loved the blend of nature writing, memoir and history and found Kerri’s struggle to learn Irish Gaelic to help her connect with her roots very moving. It was, at times, emotionally heavy going, but it was written beautifully and I have sent it to a lot of my subscribers.

A beautifully written, honest and emotional book, and one that I cried my way through. I’m not sure I’d have read it if I’d known what I was getting into, but I would like to read this again.

This is a story of healing from compound trauma, our links to place and ‘home’, and the wild natural places/encounters that hold us and lift us from our normal lives. Irish language, legends, history, nature and borders all play a part in the author’s understanding and letting go of what she’s been through - and, from the violence of a childhood during the Troubles, onwards and back, she’s been through a lot. I appreciated that this was a story of recovery, rather than a direct memoir of loss, and I admire her willingness to share her story after years of suppressing or minimising her traumas. And did I mention how beautiful the writing is?

Themes of depression, grief, suicide and trauma.

Thin places – where you ‘meet yourself in the still point’, where you are ‘held in the space in between’, the gap in the silence, the change in the wind’ are spread across this memoir/history/poem/narrative in imaginative, often surprising ways. Thin places are like a veil dividing Heaven from Earth, they are where the land meets the water, where humankind and non-humankinds relate, where we find our inner peace safely and reconcile ourselves to ‘being in the world’.
Kerri Ni Dochartaigh writes of growing up in Derry, the notorious ‘stroke city’, through the Troubles which are mirrored in the troubles of her family and of her own personal life. She has experienced much grief, a dysfunctional family life, several breakdowns, addiction problems yet manages the amazing feat of projecting these experiences into a lucid and poetic rendering that is often heart-breaking to read. The compensating theme to these darker issues is her great love of the natural world and of the world of Irish folklore. The borderlands of Donegal and Derry are, for her, like a land of respite and renewal; she loves swimming in the sea at any time of the year, strolling the fields, scrambling up hills. But she also points out that a sense of place can be generated inside the city too, in dump piles outside factories, in the edgelands of the city where memories and wildlife still have a purchase. We are guardians of the natural world in her book and this is related to the Celtic identity, its language, and landscapes.
The writer knows Derry inside out and is deeply knowledgeable of Irish history. Rivers are cited as living homes of ancient myth. Lough Foyle, the river that runs from Derry through Donegal and into the Atlantic, exemplifies the arbitrariness of a divided Ireland as it flows across the border; it is still managed by a joint cross border body. Through such discursive references, Ni Dochartaigh links ancient story to modern conflict and sees the same narrative inscribed in her attempts to build a settled home life.
The breakdown episodes are a little overwritten. Apart from that, Ni Dochartaigh has composed an innovative and bracing account of where the personal, the political, the historical and the political meet and mesh together.

Place; a word filled with so much meaning. It’s where you come from; perhaps where you escape from; where you travel and retreat to; where you put down roots. It can be a home; a prison; a shelter; an identity; a memory; a threshold; a portal. Place is often earthly, tangible and distinct, but it can also be transcendental, elusive and symbolic. The thin places described in this book are just that; liminal, in-between, unnamable places...natural, wild places; healing spaces...where the veil between this world and the next is thin and anything is possible.

Kerri ní Dochartaigh was born in Derry-Londonderry, Northern Ireland, at the very height of the Troubles. The daughter of a Catholic mother and a Protestant father, Kerri spent most of her childhood moving from place to place, seeking safety and belonging in a city and a country fuelled by intolerance and violence.

‘Thin Places’ is Kerri’s story; a blend of memoir, nature writing, social history and political commentary centred on her personal journey of recovery and healing from unimaginable pain and trauma. Rather than a highly structured, linear narrative, however, ‘Thin Places’ is open and reflective, brimming with resonant metaphors and evocative descriptions of place. It’s about Ireland; about hope; about the power of nature, the importance of language and the need for connection and belonging; an urgent and timely warning call against the growing threat of hard borders between nations.

This is one of the more unusual books I've read in a while and probably one I normally would have steered clear of. I generally am not a fan of over elaborate writing or indeed nature writing.

That aside this book captivated me fully. It is one of those books that while not a whole lot is actually happening, so much happens under the surface. Kerri's use of language is something special in itself. Through multiple layers of symbolism she looks at her ever changing aspects of trauma she has experienced over the years. She allows you in so deep into her struggles and how she dealt with them. The good the bad and very often the ugly.

Kerri delves quite deeply into the topics of the Troubles in Northern Ireland, her own mental health issues and experienced trauma and can be a little bit wordy at times. So, it may not be one to read while in a fragile place, but it is a truly beautiful piece of work that is worth putting the effort into.

The "thin places" of the title refers to (in the author's own words - please be minded any quotes may change in the final version of the book): "places that make us feel something larger than ourselves, as though we are held in place between worlds, beyond experience."

I love the idea of this, and the blend of nature and memoir always intrigues me, but I'm sorry to say little here worked for me. I didn't feel wholly convinced by the connections the author looks for between emotions, memory and place, and think this has been done in a more cogent and affecting way elsewhere.

This book was not what I expected at all. Although I knew it was a memoir, I feel that it has been advertised as nature writing, which it is simply not. The use of the Irish language throughout is sporadic, and although I appreciated the idea of returning to the language as a way of embracing one’s background, it felt forced and seemed to fall away in the latter stages of the book.

The writing in this book is so flowery, it is at times completely incomprehensible. It feels as though this kind of writing defies editing, which means that the quality of the description feels extremely inconsistent. It is not an easy read, nor is it rewarding. The writer seems to have had a very distressing life and is clearly working through issues by writing about landscape and the natural world, but this book lacks the formal control of language required to do this successfully.

I will not be sharing my review of this book on social media platforms as I usually do, as it is not my intention to upset a debut writer, who is clearly a vulnerable person. I would have declined to send feedback, but as NetGalley does not credit this in the user statistics, I would have lost my 100% rating, which is important to me on this site. Thank you for the opportunity to read this proof.

Derry-born writer Kerri ní Dochartaigh explores the legacy of trauma in response to the Northern Irish 'Troubles' conflict, and offers her readers redemption through the healing power of nature, spirituality and the different forms of family we all encounter throughout our lives.

This is an imperfect book but I couldn't help loving it and I think I will re-read it.
It is less nature-oriented than I thought it would be; but there are beautiful descriptions of nature, especially the sea, the river and the birds. The theme of the "thin places", borders, thresholds, in-betweens, is woven through the book It is lyrical, poetic, although repetitive at times.. There are many pages where the author describes being rejected and living in fear as a child - their house being petrol-bombed when she was little -, and the second part of the book is more focused on her mental health - depression, grief, trauma. She comes across as incredibly self-aware and honest about it, describing feeling empty, moving often, drinking by herself every night. These pages were less lyrical, but poetic in their own way - and very moving, at times I wished I could hug the narrator.
Some beautiful and interesting comments about the Irish language and Irish history; her progress in learning Irish, and the origin of many places names - something I find fascinating.
Overall it is a beautiful book, with its imperfections, but there's something very loveable and touching about it, and there are many, many gorgeous paragraphs.

Kerri ni Dochartaigh grew up in Derry in the very midst of the Troubles, and this is a visceral account of the lasting impact of that experience.
'Thin Places' is a richly satisfying read, harrowing at times, drawing in so many interesting themes - grief, loss, the solace of the natural world, the power of place, and of naming and language. There were so many passages that I wanted to highlight to read again, and ideas that I wanted to revisit.

Moving, interesting, educational, political, and very very Irish! Loved all the interesting elements of my own culture.

Thin Places by Kerri ni Dochartaigh may be one of the last books I read in the strange year that has been 2020 but it is also one of the best. I found myself slowing down to savour the beautiful words on the page and the vivid images they conjured. The book is part memoir, part nature writing and part history, taking the author's story of growing up in Derry as part of a mixed Faith family during the Troubles and showing how from a very young age her connection with the natural world was a grounding force and a safety net during difficult times.
The theme of borders, both natural and man made runs through the book which feels so current in the time of Brexit and all the particular concerns that the people of Northern Ireland have about the process. It is an incredibly personal piece of writing , the author is courageous enough to share some very dark moments from her past, but there is also a lot of hope , and so much beauty in her writing. Her descriptions of the natural world almost sing from the page , so lyrical, evocative and powerful. that I am in awe.
I read and reviewed an ARC courtesy of NetGalley and the publisher, all opinions are my own .

Thin Places is a beautifully-written memoir about the Troubles, trauma and healing.

Kerri Ní Dochartaigh crafts some stunning images and her prose sings from the page. Her descriptions of the thin places are almost incantations, transporting you straight to the Atlantic shores of Ireland. While it gets a little repetitive at times, I loved the rich mix of nature writing and mythology.

But the beauty is always held at counterpoint to the brutality of the Troubles. This is a raw and honest exploration of trauma - both personal and generational. Northern Ireland has a complex history and it's vital that we recognise the ongoing impact of violence and hope today.

Thin Places is an important and powerful read: haunting and hopeful in equal measures.

I really struggled with this book. I think I thought it would be more about nature than it was. That's not to say that it wasn't, but the focus and drive of the book is the author's working through her incredibly traumatic life and the key events in that journey that led her home. She references the 'thin places' often but for myself I didn't get a full sense of what they were like as places, more like what they represented to her as an individual and how she was able to connect with her trauma in those spaces. The book is very much about her inner landscape and how that shaped her responses in later life. It was a pretty devastating read. It felt to me like her recovery was pretty raw and facilitated as much by her writing as the things she writes about.