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“The map doesn’t show it, but the path is still there. You just have to keep walking.”

In Landlines, Raynor Winn returns once more to the trail — this time with the weight of years, illness, and uncertainty pressing even more deeply into her boots. And yet, from the very first page, there is that same fierce light: the quiet strength of a woman who knows what it means to risk everything for hope.

This third memoir sees Raynor and Moth set out again — not along the familiar coasts of the South West, but from Scotland’s rugged highlands down through wild terrain, ancient paths, and unfamiliar lands. Moth’s health has worsened. Their future is even more fragile. But the act of walking, of placing one foot in front of the other, remains a kind of sacred rhythm — one that roots them to the land and to each other.

Landlines is perhaps Winn’s most mature and expansive work. The writing feels richer, more meditative, with passages that ache with clarity and gratitude. There’s a new layer of reflection here — about aging, the body’s betrayals, the limits of love and endurance. But there’s also a sense of deepening connection: to the land, to the seasons, and to a slower kind of strength.

It’s not just a continuation of The Salt Path and The Wild Silence — it’s a culmination. And in some ways, it felt the most emotionally resonant of the three. There’s something profound about returning to the trail, knowing the risks, and choosing to walk anyway.

If I have a single quibble, it’s that the structure wanders now and then — the pace sometimes slows to a near halt in certain philosophical reflections. But that’s also part of its rhythm. This is a book that breathes, that pauses. That asks you to listen, not rush.

Favourite quote:
"The path was not an escape but a return — to the land, to ourselves, to something ancient and enduring."

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐½ (4.5 stars)
Wistful, grounded, and quietly powerful — Landlines is a moving reflection on perseverance, place, and the quiet act of keeping going.


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 “We are not separate from nature. We are nature.”

Coming back to Raynor Winn’s voice in The Wild Silence feels like returning to a quiet cove you once walked, barefoot and full of questions. It carries the same raw honesty and reverence for the natural world as The Salt Path, but this time the journey is inward — a slower, softer reckoning with home, healing, and the life that follows after survival.

This book begins not on the coast, but in the quiet aftermath. Raynor and Moth, having completed their epic walk, are still searching — not just for somewhere to live, but for a sense of peace, belonging, and purpose. Much of The Wild Silence is about what it means to try and settle when you’ve been reshaped by loss, by wildness, by walking.

There’s a deep tenderness in the way Raynor writes about Moth — his illness, his fragility, his strength — and how their relationship bends and grows under new pressures. There’s also a lovely thread about reconnecting with her mother, and a remarkable project that sees Raynor and Moth return to the land in a different way — by rewilding a neglected farm. These moments are where the book shines.

The prose remains lyrical and sincere, though at times the structure felt a little meandering. Some sections felt slightly unfocused or repeated certain beats from The Salt Path, and I occasionally wished for a tighter arc or more clarity. But then again, life after trauma is messy and non-linear, and perhaps the book’s form reflects that truth.

It’s not quite as immediately striking as The Salt Path, but it’s a worthy continuation — quieter, but just as brave. If The Salt Path is about losing everything, The Wild Silence is about relearning how to live in the aftermath. About finding meaning not just in wild places, but in stillness, in roots, in tending the land with your own hands.

Favourite quote:
"The wild silence isn't empty. It’s full of memory, of heartbeat, of breath. It listens to you, if you listen back."

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ (4 stars)
A reflective and deeply felt continuation — The Wild Silence is a book about returning, restoring, and remembering what it means to live with the land.

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Blyhe

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