I’m reading Sea Room: An Island Life in the Hebrides by Adam Nicolson. Nicolson is the son and grandson of a tribe of writers, the most famous of whom is probably his paternal grandfather, the diplomat Harold Nicolson (author, among other things, of Good Behaviour, being a Study of Certain Types of Civility, 1955). In the early 20C, Adam’s father, Nigel, answered a newspaper ad for the sale of three islands in the Hebrides, the Shiantes, and paid 1,900 pounds for them. When he was twenty-one, Adam inherited the islands like one might age into a trust fund. The upshot, thirty years later, is this unusual, somewhat shaggy book—part memoir and part history, with forays into archeology, botany, boat-making, oceanography, ornithology, even housekeeping. Throughout, Nicolson is a companionable host, showing us around his favorite spots and scrutinizing his beloved birds; dishing rich descriptions without ever boring us (or me). The best travel writer makes one want to visit the place he’s describing. Midway through Sea Room, I really do find myself wanting to stroll across the windswept Shiants, stopping to examine the grassy ruins, to dip—if it's the ripest part of summer and not too chilly—into the peaty pools, and sit and watch the sea birds wing around the cliffs.