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Recently I remarked that my collection of Caithnessiana is diminishing to the point of invisibility, but no longer had that been said than a copy of David Morrison's The idealist landed on my desk and reopened the whole question of what is happening on the literary scene in the far North. More, in fact than I had suspected. Some of it stems from atomic energy at Dounreay and the growth of Thurso as a dormitory for the Dounreay staff.

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