Robin Hardy (2) (1929–2016)

By and large, pagans are annoying, combining as they do the unholy trinity of the self righteousness of a religious group that considers itself misunderstood, the smugness of a religious group that feels that they are the true religion and hence are privy to The Answer, and their unique element of dressing and behaving like characters at a live fantasy role playing weekend.

Pagans essentially fall into two groups. The first of these is pagan lite. These are the ones that you see at festivals, show more who once read a book about ley-lines but have yet to realise that there is more to being a pagan than black mascara, piercings, lots of bad silver jewellery and arseing around at Glastonbury.

These are the sort of people who complained bitterly for years that they were being denied freedom of religious expression because they couldn't get access to Stonehenge during certain festivals and, when English Heritage relented and allowed them access to the site on the solstice, celebrated their religious freedom by sitting cross legged on a rock playing a flute, badly, and guzzling Merrydown, all the while being studiously ignored by the 'real' pagans, that is; blokes in beards and white sheets who claim to be Druids and, because of health and safety regulations, are confined to 'sacrificing' a leg of lamb, all the while wishing for a return to the good old days when they would be up to their elbows in virgin.

The pagans in 'The Wicker Man' are quite a different proposition altogether. Some have beards, some drink cider but all are from what one might call the fundamentalist end of pagan religion.

The plot concerns a staunchly Christian Highland police sergeant who receives a letter reporting that a child has gone missing on a remote Scottish island, famous for it's apples and isolated nature. Sergeant Howie investigates and discovers a closed community practicing the pagan faith and particularly fertility rituals at every opportunity, especially those that require flouncing round a maypole or bonking. The Sergeant does not approve, but al fresco group sex is the least of his problems as he uncovers what he suspects is an island wide conspiracy.

Howie is, literally, a man alone, stranded friendless on an island. Small islands can be weird places, they don't even have to be surrounded by sea. Anyone who has been to a remote farming community, insular and cut off from the world by a sea of wheat or beet will know that they can be peculiar places, home to a peculiar people. That effect is enhanced here because the whole island is a farming community and, surrounded by the Atlantic, there really is no escape.

The sense of menace and tension grows with every turn of the page and every turn of events. Howie's paranoia, justified or not, is ramped up to a degree that the reader starts to feel a little of it themselves. There's a very uncomfortable suggestion that what's happening to Howie could happen just as easily to the reader. Anyone who has stopped in the middle of nowhere to fill up with petrol or ask for directions and felt somewhat uncomfortably cut off from the rest of the world, without even the comfort of a mobile 'phone signal, will recognise the sense of isolation.

Along with this growing sense of peril is one of anticipation. The book is called 'The Wicker Man' and one wonders just who or what the wicker man may be. The revelation is a true moment of horror, possibly only working because the tension has been building throughout the book.

The oddness of the place, a Scottish island that grows fruit and the oddness of it's inhabitants (these are not 'pagan lite' folk) is subtly conveyed. The island's Laird, Summerisle himself, is as suave and charismatic as you could hope for in somebody who may just be behind all the shady goings on, his cool confidence only faltering in his last exchange with Howie.

A disturbing and thought provoking novel that moves from thriller to horror in chilling increments. Not one to be read on a caravanning holiday in the back of beyond, but certainly one to be read. show less

I don't know many people to whom I would recommend this book. It's a mystery. It's a story of religious conflict. It's a story of ancient rites enacted in a not-yet-modern place. It's the story of a stranger in a strange land. It's a passion play.

If you like "The Lottery" by Shirley Jackson, you might like this much longer exploration of the theme of a community united in the process of selecting and making a sacrifice.

If you like Katherine Kurtz's "Lammas Night" you might like this darker show more exploration of the themes.

Personally, as someone who has been both a devout Christian and a devout Pagan, I enjoyed the mutual incomprehension of Sgt. Howie and the islanders.

The writing is good, although not extraordinary. I've seen other reviews complaining that the characters don't have depth, but I don't think they need it. They are archetypes, just as much as the Hobbyhorse and Punch, who appear in the final pages. We know just as much as we need to about everyone in the story. To add details would have detracted from the mythic quality. show less

I first saw the movie 30 years ago and, until recently, I had no idea that the novel even existed. Then I felt compelled to read it.

It took me less than 48 hours to whip through this book; much of it contained dialogue and scenes translated directly from screenplay to page. The book contains scenes that were edited from the movie (the original VHS version of the movie included them, but I have not yet watched a DVD which contains those scenes)as well as additional material.

This novel is such show more a faithful adaptation of the film that any fan of the movie should enjoy reading the book.

I'm a little conflicted about The Wicker Man. As a traditional Celtic pagan, I am dismayed by the proliferation of the human sacrifice myth (as well as a horrific scene of animal sacrifice, that was one literary addition that I really could have lived without). One would think that maintaining a voluntarily separatist community devoted solely to their worship would be enough appeasement for the old goddesses and gods! That is the Summerisle that I would love to live on, certainly. show less

'Much has been said of the strumpets of yore
Of wenches and bawdy house queens by the score
But I sing of a baggage that we all adore,
The Landlord's Daughter . . . '

'. . . Her ale it is lively and strong to the taste
It is brewed with discretion and never with haste
You can have all you like
If you swear not to waste
The Landlord's Daughter . . .'

A novel based on the film of the same name, and written by its writer and director. I liked the beginning, seeing Sergeant Howie and Mary together, show more guarding the golden eagle nest and I definitely felt I knew more about him from reading the book. There was more detail about the paganism of the islanders, and more interaction between Lord Summerisle and the policeman. There were a few things, however, that didn't work as well as in the film, notably Willow's dancing, singing and pounding the walls outside Howie's room at the pub, which was only shown from Howie's point of view, and didn't have the same impact as seeing Britt Ekland doing it, while the interminable discussions between Lord Summerisle and Howie became tedious after a while. show less