By: Erica McCartney
In an age of constant noise and urgency, Róisín Sorahan’s Time and the Tree offers a refreshing shift—a quiet, stirring experience, drawing readers into an ancient forest. This genre-defying novel unfolds in a surreal woodland where time bends, seasons transform, and characters grapple with the invisible forces that shape their lives. It serves as a meditation on presence, choice, and the stories we carry—and encourages us to slow down enough to hear our own voices.
At its heart is a conversation between a boy and a wise old Tree. The Tree, rooted yet ever-reaching, offers stillness that gently contrasts with the chaos of the world around them. As the seasons turn, a cast of unexpected visitors—a warrior, a stranger, a child clutching secrets—pass through the forest on their own quiet journeys. Each is faced with questions of compassion, regret, fear, and hope, all while navigating a world that seems to be unravelling.
The seed of the novel began with a single, potent image: “A child speaking with a tree about the nature of time,” Sorahan recalls. That idea stayed with her, eventually unfolding during a ten-day silent meditation retreat. What followed was a leap of faith: she left behind a steady job and the comforts of routine to travel the world. “I had a perfectly good life,” she says, “but it would have been much harder not to go.” In choosing the uncharted path, she found the clarity and creative space to explore the deeper themes that would eventually grow into Time and the Tree.
Letting go of structure became an act of discovery. “I became aware of choices I hadn’t even realized I had made,” Sorahan says. “And I became convinced that there are many ways to live well and fully.” Those insights ripple through the novel, which invites readers to reconsider their own relationship with time, meaning, and agency.
Set across four seasons, the story draws on both myth and mindfulness. “The natural world constantly follows a cycle of decay and renewal,” Sorahan explains. “Death and birth are interwoven. Without winter, there cannot be spring.” In this timeless forest, change emerges not through force—but through quiet awareness, patience, and presence. Even the Tree, wise and grounded, adapts with time.
The novel’s seasonal structure mirrors the emotional and philosophical journeys of both its characters and readers. Time and the Tree does not claim to provide quick resolutions but instead invites us to step out of our well-worn paths and into something wilder, more intuitive, and more awake.
Complexity is welcomed here. Sorahan blends compassion and menace into the same breath, refusing to simplify. “Polarities diminish us,” she says. “They’re a failure of imagination and empathy. Censure and compassion can coexist, if understanding is brought to bear.” For her, nuance isn’t a choice—it’s a necessity. In Time and the Tree, the reader is not a passive observer but an active participant in their own unfolding.
While the novel has received praise for its lyrical prose, magical realism, and spiritual depth, Sorahan credits her Irish roots for much of her literary voice. “Language is never taken for granted. Words are subversive. So is silence,” she says. Citing influences like Samuel Beckett, John McGahern, Claire Keegan, and Kevin Barry, she also draws unexpected joy from children’s literature, calling it “utterly subversive” and referring to herself as “a magpie for bright, shiny ideas.”
Still, it’s not books but life that shaped her most. “To live fully is to make mistakes, take the wrong turn, seek help, and find your way,” she says. Sorahan resists the straight road. She embraces detours, discomfort, and the wonder that lives in uncertainty—all of which echo through her work.
And the Tree? While undeniably symbolic, Sorahan insists it’s also just a tree—present, grounded, complete in itself. “Its power and wisdom lie in its lack of striving to be anything else,” she says. “It’s a tree, and that is enough.”
Since its publication, Time and the Tree has earned multiple literary honors, including the Nautilus Book Award and the Eric Hoffer Da Vinci Eye Award. But for Sorahan, the real reward lies in reader connection. “When someone wants to inhabit the world you’ve written, it’s like inviting your favorite person to your private gallery.”
Outside of writing, she still seeks the wild. “There are those who want to stay by the fire,” she says, “and those who want to leave its light—so that when we return to its warmth, we can cast shadows on the walls with our words and keep the listeners enthralled.”
For anyone who has ever felt out of step with the world—or yearned for something deeper, wilder, and more alive—Time and the Tree offers an invitation. It doesn’t assure easy answers. But it does offer a path—a poetic, rooted, and mysterious one—back to presence.
Find your copy of Róisín Sorahan’s Time and the Tree now on Amazon. Dive into a story that will stay with you long after the final page is turned.
