To Drive the Cold Winter Away

I think the hardest thing about living in a tropical climate would be the lack of seasons: how do you know what to wear, what to eat, what to read? In the same way I crave sweaters and soups in winter, my literary choices in the winter months also reflect a definite seasonal taste. In winter I crave mysteries, preferably historical in nature and impeccable in execution, fantasies of fairy tales and epic quests, and novels imbued with the sensibilities of ancient tragedies and gothic tales--interior worlds of slowly mounting tension and inescapable fates.

It’s easy to understand my body’s cravings for warm clothing and hot food in the coldest months of the year, but what accounts for the cravings of my mind? Maybe it’s pure escapism--the desire to fall into world other than my own. Recreated worlds that provide glimpses into a past that are already come and gone. Fully created worlds that exist only in words on a page and images in the mind. Interior worlds that delve deeply into the human heart.

Or maybe it’s just the weather: winter where I live generally means rain, and lots of it, for a long, long time. The kind of weather that practically begs you to make a cup of tea and settle on the couch with a book and a blanket. The kind of weather that provides the moody atmosphere that fits best with mysteries, quests, and quiet horror.

Whatever the reason, I find myself once again in winter reading the kinds of books described above. This week I finished both The Serpent on the Crown and The Lion in the Valley by Elizabeth Peters. I’ve been working my way through Peters’ Amelia Peabody mystery series lately--about half rereads and about half new reads. I’ve enjoyed them for years, and I wish I could say that I’ve read them responsibly in order, but sadly, though I did read the first three in the order in which they were written, since then I’ve been seesawing back and forth between the two extremes of the series. Mostly, I’ve read whatever has been most available at the library. What that’s done for me, though, is to give me a different kind of appreciation for the series than I’ve had for anything similar before.

The short way to describe the series is to say that it concerns a family of English archaeologists in Egypt in the early twentieth century, but to leave it at that would be to do the series a disservice. The books (thus far) span some twenty or thirty years, encompasses the shift of British society from the Victorian era to the roaring twenties, chronicles World War I and the twilight days of the British empire, and describes the birth of scientific archaeology. Added to which the books are funny, well written, and thoroughly charming, And if certain aspects of the series lack a certain freshness for longtime readers (the continual need to reintroduce and re-describe the key player in each book, for example) the series still stands on its own, both as a mystery series and as a multigenerational historical saga, and if neither of the two books I’ve just finished qualifies as my new favorite in the series, both of them were thoroughly enjoyable. What now for me and Amelia Peabody? The Deeds of the Disturber and Seeing a Large Cat, of course.

I didn’t finish The Ladies of Grace Adieu this week: I’m savoring it. When I read Susanna Clarke’s most excellent Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell last winter, I plunged right in and read with abandon. I even hand carried it onto and airplane last December because it was too large to fit in my carryon. (Incidentally, should you decide to travel with Jonathan Strange, might I recommend the mass market paperback and not the trade paperback? Just a suggestion.) But with a book that topped out at over eight hundred pages, I didn’t feel much of a need to pace myself. The Ladies of Grace Adieu, on the other hand, is a mere fraction of that length, and must be doled out slowly. I find Clarke’s work to be not only delightful but utterly impressive, detailed and lovely. Her book and stories read like a collaboration between L. Frank Baum and Jane Austen, and perhaps the most impressive thing about them is that although you can tell how much work must have gone into the construction of both books, you can’t see it. Added to which Ladies may be the most delightfully designed book I’ve had the pleasure of seeing in recent years; everything, from the type used to Charles Vess’ wonderful illustrations to the construction of the cover, everything evokes the feeling of the old Oz books I read as a child--books that had belonged first to my mother, or sometimes even my grandmother. The kind of books they just don’t make anymore. Such details make Ladies a pleasure to read, both mentally and physically.

And what tales of danger, wonder, adventure and amazement will I be embarking on this winter’s week? Added to the two new Amelia Peabodys on the docket are Laurie R. King’s Locked Rooms, Carola Dunn’s A Mourning Wedding, and maybe even Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose. Plus a few other things, if my library holds come in.