A personal and cultural exploration of silence and its value in our lives―“[an] artful book, mixing autobiography, travel writing, meditation, and essay” ( Independent , UK). In her late forties, after a noisy upbringing as one of six children and adulthood as a vocal feminist and mother, Sara Maitland found herself living alone in the country and, to her surprise, falling in love with silence. In this fascinating, intelligent, and beautifully written book, Maitland describes how she began to explore this new love, spending periods of silence in the Sinai desert, the Scottish hills, and a remote cottage on the Isle of Skye. Maitland also delves deep into the rich cultural history of silence, exploring its significance in fairy tale and myth, its importance to the Western and Eastern religious traditions, and its use in psychoanalysis and artistic expression. Her story culminates in her building a hermitage on an isolated moor in Galloway. “Her book is probably unique in its subject, and timely, because good, healing silence is becoming hard to find, and we may not know we need it” ( Guardian , UK). "As Maitland seeks to both lose and find herself in silence, she articulates a remarkably graceful and penetrating response to that mysterious and essential force." — Booklist (starred review) "A timely and alluring exploration of the pleasures and powers of silence." —Tim Parks, author of A Season with Verona Sara Maitland grew up in London and South West Scotland. Maitland is the author of several books including the Counterpoint Press title, Book of Silence and Daughter of Jerusalem, winner of the Somerset Maugham Award in 1978. She studied English at Oxford University. She currently lives in Newton Stewart, UK. A Book of Silence By Sara Maitland Counterpoint Copyright © 2008 Sara Maitland All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-58243-613-5 Contents 1 Growing up in a Noisy World, 2 Forty Days and Forty Nights, 3 The Dark Side, 4 Silence and the Gods, 5 Silent Places, 6 Desert Hermits, 7 The Bliss of Solitude, 8 Coming Home, Acknowledgements, Notes, CHAPTER 1 Growing up in a Noisy World It is early morning. It is a morning of extraordinary radiance – and unusually up here there is practically no wind. It is almost perfectly silent: some small birds are chirping occasionally and a little while ago a pair of crows flapped past making their raucous cough noises. It is the first day of October so the curlew and the oystercatchers have gone down to the seashore. In a little while one particular noise will happen – the two-carriage Glasgow-to-Stranraer train will bump by on the other side of the valley; and a second one may happen – Neil may rumble past on his quad bike after seeing to his sheep on the hill above the house; if he does he will wave and I will wave back. That is more or less it. I am sitting on the front doorstep of my little house with a cup of coffee, looking down the valley at my extraordinary view of nothing. It is wonderful. Virginia Woolf famously taught us that every woman writer needs a room of her own. She didn't know the half of it, in my opinion. I need a moor of my own. Or, as an exasperated but obviously sensitive friend commented when she came to see my latest lunacy, 'Only you, Sara – twenty-mile views of absolutely nothing!' It isn't 'nothing', actually – it is cloud formations, and the different ways reed, rough grass, heather and bracken move in the wind, and the changing colours, not just through the year but through the day as the sun and the clouds alternate and shift – but in another sense she is right, and it is the huge nothing that pulls me into itself. I look at it, and with fewer things to look at I see better. I listen to nothing and its silent tunes and rhythms sound harmonic. The irregular line of the hill, with the telegraph and electricity poles striding over it, holds the silence as though in a bowl and below me I can see occasional, and apparently unrelated, strips of silver, which are in fact the small river meandering down the valley. I am feeling a bit smug this morning because yesterday I got my completion certificate. When you build a new house you start out with planning permission and building warrant, and at the end of it all an inspector comes to see if you have done what you said you would do and check that your house is compliant with building regulations and standards. Mine is; it is finished, completed, certified. All done and dusted. Last night I paid off my builder, and we had a drink and ended a year-long relationship of bizarre intensity, both painful and delightful. Now I am sitting and regathering my silence, which is what I came here for in the first place. Three minutes ago – it is pure gift, something you cannot ask for or anticipate – a hen harrier came hunting down the burn, not twenty metres from the door. Not many people have a hen harrier in the garden. Hen harriers are fairly rare in the UK, with slight