Book Review: Little Great Island

Full disclosure: author Kate Woodworth is a friend. Her excellent 2018 feedback on Ferry to Cooperation Island led directly to my landing an agent, though first she sent the following confession: 

“I am about fifteen pages into your book and am really enjoying it… I love your metaphors and think you do a marvelous job of introducing character and conflict in the opening.

“But before I continue I wanted to make sure that you remember that I have written a first draft of an island book . . . . I don’t want you to freak some day when you (hopefully) read my book and think: holy cow! I’ve been robbed!”

I’m so glad I replied, “Thank you, please keep reading.”

Since then, we’ve celebrated and commiserated our books’ many publishing ups and downs. Whenever we really needed a pick-me-up, we’d reminisce about our first shared adventure. Only a few hours after meeting at a 2018 Writers Conference, we went in search of some much-needed food to celebrate what would turn out to be two very short-lived agent-victories; the only option turned out to be dessert for dinner. And “it wasn’t just ANY dessert for dinner,” Kate reminded me recently. “It was BURDICK’S CHOCOLATE!”

Given both my appreciation of the author and the similarity between our two books, I was both excited and (again, full disclosure) a bit trepidatious when my pre-ordered copy of Little Great Island showed up. What if I hated it? I loved the cover, but . . . .

Fortunately, after devouring the story, I no longer have to worry about that. Instead I’m trying to curb my jealousy, because Little Great Island is in many ways the book I’ve always wanted to write. Set on an island in Penobscot Bay, Kate has created a tiny independent community that also somehow serves as a metaphor for the entire world. Through a very specific and optimistic lens, she shows us realistic approaches to development, climate change—and cults. 

The island itself kicks off the story, giving us a bird’s eye view of both human and geological topography—and how one has affected the other. The touch is so light, I might not have identified the omniscient narrator without the chapter’s subtitle. Here’s the first paragraph:

It’s April on a Down East island—a waning-moon-shaped haven, an isle of spruce and granite and seagull—where a clutch of steadfast families pulls their living from the sea. Out on the water, a chain of lobster boats heads into the fog bank parked on the horizon, their wakes rippling in Vs behind them. In the yards and houses, cats stalk, smokers hack, and coffee brews. Morning sun glimmers on the bent grasses grown long in the slump-stoned cemetery, while in the kitchens the news is of wind speed and tide charts, of dock prices per pound of lobster, of fuel and tariffs and catch predictions, both dire and good.

We soon learn that those boats—and their people—are heading into a metaphorical fog as well, dragging the past and “we’ve always done it this way” along in their wake. 

All of the characters make both good and bad decisions, but we understand why because the story is told by a whopping 10 of them. Each interacts differently with the island and its surrounding waters; the only commonality is the interconnectedness of all creatures, humans included.

I do have two tiny editorial quibbles. The first is the many missing small words (the hardest typo to catch), especially later in the book. The second is the lack of time-passing specifics; early on, it was hard to know whether an hour or a week had elapsed between chapters. I quickly got used to that, though; when the island finally told me it was August, I found myself wondering; why do I need to know the exact month? (Answer: because summer was coming to an end.)

Neither of these pesky details interfered with what felt like a visit to Maine—as a local. Which is why it’s not just friends who appreciate the book; since its April launch, Little Great Island has garnered many positive reviews. It’s also sparked Be the Butterfly, an invitation to readers to perform one small act to help mitigate climate change. Learn more on Kate’s website, and while you’re there check out her many book events this summer.

As I’ve said before, it’s extremely rare to enjoy both the author and the writing they produce. So here’s to Kate for being both a supportive friend and a jealousy-inducing author! I can’t wait for our next “dinner” together.

Got an island book to recommend? Share your thoughts in the comments below, or send me an email. Either way, thanks for stopping by! See you next week.