Irish authors have not far to look for stories of tension and conspiracy that realistically involve young people in matters of life and death. In "The Seals" Eilís Dillon draws on the immediacy that the Irish-English conflicts still have in Ireland to write a simple stirring story of rescue, courage, loyalty and noble cunning. To outwit the Black and Tans and to save a much sought-after fugitive, three boys and an old man brave a stormy crossing to the mainland…. Unequivocally partisan, the author rounds out a good narrative with the kind of incident, characterization and dialogue that evolves out of complete familiarity with her source—which makes the difference between her stories and those superficially imposed on conveniently colourful background.

One might say that all Eilis Dillon's earlier books, splendid in their own right, were in some way a preparation for [The Seals]. The loving portrayal of the islands off Connemara in their many moods and colours, her deep understanding of people, meet here in a historical plot of the time of the Black and Tans worthy of her style…. The book conveys a wonderful sense of the continuity of history to the Irish, with the memory of oppressors like Cromwell as fresh as if they lived yesterday. Miss Dillon's unrivalled observation of detail creates a vivid sense of place: the interior of a cottage, a storm at sea or a ride over a barren hillside, and everything unites to make this an unforgettable tale. (pp. 306-07)

Adventure stories for boys don't have to strain for excitement or put incredibly young and inexperienced people into appalling situations which they surmount with extraordinary coolness and expertise…. The Seals seems almost to be avoiding opportunities for garishly dramatic moments—keeping its quota of suspenseful incidents, but relying much more upon modestly straightforward and believable storytelling….

There are only one or two examples of unlikely resourcefulness or fortunate coincidence in a simply told story which catches with some skill the atmosphere of remote island and village life during the Irish troubles. Eilís Dillon knows her people well—their sense of historical grievance, their superstition, their quiet and implacable unity—and weaves them into a narrative as effective in its restraint as many tales are in a more superficially exciting fashion.