At the outer western edge of Shetland, 20 miles off the shores of the mainland, lies a more solitary isle, less nestled into the group. Foula is the furthest afield of Shetland's own islands, to the outside world a place of mystery, wildness and, depending on one's point of view, scary isolation.
But these fanciful perspectives can obscure what really happens there. In the early 1980s, one of the inhabitants decided to record the passage of a year of Foula life. Sheila Gear, a zoology graduate married to one of the island's crofters, with three young children and a myriad of other responsibilities, took time out to paint the reader a picture: of extraordinarily changeable weather ranging from searing icy windstorms to idyllic blooming quiescence; of the heartbreak of the deaths of loved livestock exposed to the harshness of wintry conditions, and the playful joy and excitement of the births of new generations of creatures in the spring; of the back-breaking work to till the land and marshal its bounty, managing plenty and lack with equal aplomb; of the distinct specialness of the landscape, its peaks and cliffs soaring many hundreds of feet into the air, and its wild bird inhabitants' habits and idiosyncrasies; and of the people who live there and what makes them tick - their frustrations at the lack of governmental investment in the island's infrastructure, their amusement at the foibles of incomers, their enmeshedness within such a small community, their devotion to their island home.
Gear also gives us snapshots of the island's history - its characters, its economy, its shipwrecks, and the ebb and flow of its fortunes. Replete with the spirit of the island, and crammed with detail, Foula: Island West of the Sun is a remarkable record of survival and thriving in a place which is out of the ordinary way, in every sense.
