'We are the land. The elements that created the land live in our bodies. We are born, we bring to birth, and we die, and the land takes us. There is no difference. What is done to us is also done to the land, and what is done to the land is the thing which is done to us. There is nothing else.'Naomi, the enigmatic fiddler, arrives in Clachanpluck, bringing her music and the ominous potential of an incomer. Her unexpected arrival enriches this remote forest village even as she disrupts it.This is a story of an all-consuming love of the land; the power of friendship; the seasonal round of creation and death; and the physical thrill of storm and rhythm, fire and candlelight. The impending sense of catastrophe - global and personal - which haunts this world, finally erupts in violence: trust and love are the casualties. The Incomer follows in the tradition of the ballads: fantasy gilds the mundane and the ordinary is made extraordinary.'A beautifully imagined society with its holistic pantheism and imbued with the sense of the power of music.' The Scotsman'An immensely satisfying book to read because of its rich symbolism and allegorical qualities.In reading a book such as this with the female re-instated, we realise how much of woman and her psyche has been expunged from Western literature.' Cencrastus