Nicholas Evans

Thank you for visiting my website, which has had a long overdue revamp. I must apologise to all those readers who have been waiting for a new novel from me. It has been too long, I know. But, after a few health issues, I’m writing again and I hope there will be a new book sometime next year. Also, I’d like to thank all those many readers who have been in touch through the website to wish me well during these past few tricky years.  I apologise for not replying to all of them but I promise I will from now on.

A couple of other things: With a young theatre director and writer called Harry Long, I have just finished writing a stage musical version of The Horse Whisperer.  Have a look at the Musical Whispers section of the website.

And, please, have a look at the Charities page to find out about three wonderful organizations I support. Two are based near where I live in Devon: LandWorks and Sirona. And the third is Space for Giants, an elephant conservation NGO based in Kenya and founded and run by my son-in-law Max Graham. My daughter Lauren works there too. All three charities are doing some great work in these very hard times and need as much support as they muster.

Finally, my UK publishers are bringing out a Silver Anniversary edition of The Horse Whisperer.  It’s startling to realize that it’s twenty-five years since the novel was originally published. It doesn’t seem that long. And this has prompted me to look back at those heady days, reflecting on what happened and how the story came about.

Happy Whispers!


The Horse Whisperer (25th Anniversary)

The Horse Whisperer – 25 Years On

You could hear the horse half a mile away, even before the pickup and trailer turned off the highway. She was screaming and crashing her hooves against the metal walls. And when the rear door was lowered, she exploded into the arena, bucking and swerving and filling the sunlit air with dust. Her owner had driven hundreds of miles to bring her here. He was at his wits’ end, sighing as he leaned on the rail beside me to watch. “If Tom can’t straighten her out, nobody can.”

It was April 1994 and I was in Merced, California at the home of Tom Dorrance. He was standing in the middle of the arena, a short figure in a large white cowboy hat, squinting through the dust while the mare galloped in demented laps around him.

Two hours later, she was like butter, calm and sloppy. And for the first time her owner was able to stand beside her and stroke and nuzzle her. She didn’t even seem to notice when he saddled and cinched her and climbed aboard. He could hardly believe the transformation.

For Tom this was just another day’s work. He was then in his mid-eighties. His pale blue eyes seemed to see right into you. You knew you were in the presence of someone special. Read More »