This time of Social Isolation seemed a timely moment to read about Wintering, about drawing back from the world through illness, depression, or simply from being too cold to engage with the world beyond. This book, part memoir, part researched observation shows how winter can bring strength, and inspiration as we bring different ways of coping to this most demanding of seasons. May looks at the animal world (bees for instance), at different cultures who know a lot about winter (the Finns for example), and at her own experiences to show that winter can be far from negative. Instead, it can be one of healing, renewal, acceptance and a source of strength. A lovely book, which gave this cold-weather refuser plenty to think about. ( )

Summary: A memoir exploring the importance of winters in our lives and the importance of the inward turn and care for ourselves in such seasons.

In the autumn of a recent year, in rapid succession, Katherine May’s husband faced a long recovery from a burst appendix. As he recovered, Katherine got sicker with worrisome intestinal symptoms of her own. Meanwhile, her son’s struggles with school became so severe that he refused to attend. With all this, Katherine gave her notice at her teaching job. She realized this was a time of wintering, not only as autumn turned to winter, but a winter of difficulties settled into their lives. Out of this experience, as well as a formative earlier “wintering” experience of depression at seventeen, she wrote this book, arguing it is not only our physical world that needs winter but that wintering can be formative in our lives:

“Once we stop wishing it were summer, winter can be a glorious season in which the world takes on a sparse beauty and even the pavements sparkle. It’s a time for reflection and recuperation, for slow replenishments, for putting your house in order” (p. 14).

May’s book was published February of 2020, when many of us were facing the long winter of the COVID pandemic. Her book gave words to the inchoate experience of many trying to understand what had been happening and could happen in their lives during these experiences. The book traverses seven months from September through late March. The struggles leading to this onset of “winter”, the forced rest of her condition, the re-centering of life around home, including cooking to occupy the hands as well as to eat. She realizes the tension she has lived under that may be coming out in her body. She has time for books waiting to have been read. She rediscovers sleep and even the first and second sleeps with an hour or so of wakefulness between, the longer hours of sleep in winter, mimicking the hibernation of other creatures

She also discovers the life of winter. She takes saunas as part of a cruise to Iceland. She delves into the pagan festival of Samhain, at Halloween, this liminal moment between light and darkness, living and dying. With the turn to November, Samhain gives way to Cailleach, the hag deity who freezes the ground until Brighde takes over in spring. In all this she becomes newly aware of life’s cyclical character–the dropping of leaves and the buds already present for the new year. She celebrates Saint Lucy and the lighting of candles in a Swedish church. She rises early to watch the winter solstice sun rise at Stonehenge and considers the earthward religion Christianity replaced and develops both practices religious and secular to mark a pagan counterpart to Christmastide. January takes them to Norway and the northern lights. She considers the significance of wolves in nature and literature, including Lewis’s Narnia Chronicles. She describes the powerful effect of swimming in cold water with friends, even for three minutes. And as spring emerges she draws lessons from observing the merger of two colonies of bees in a hive when the queen of one is dying. She describes the re-emergence of her lost voice and her ability to sing once more under the care of a voice teacher. She speaks of how wrong it is to tie singing to talent:

“The right to sing is an absolute, regardless o how it sounds to the outside world. We sing because we must. We sing because it fills our lungs with nourishing air, and lets our hearts sour with the notes we let out” (p. 228).

May faced the onslaught of winter. Her encouragement is not to evade winter but learn from it. Take time to query our unhappiness. Slow down to take care of oneself with sleep and food and fresh air. Learn from winter in the world about us. Discover the richness in winter.

There is much of beauty in this book. I also found it a striking reflection of a turn from Christian faith while retaining its language of retreat and rest. The author recognizes what Christian spiritual directors have long known of how the liminal space of spiritual winters refine and renew, a knowledge I find many Christians trying to evade. I cannot commend the turn to pagan gods and rituals but the recognition of seasons and the importance of the practices that remind us of the story in which we live is worth reflection. For those who come across this book post-pandemic, it may offer language to reflect upon that winter in our lives. Winter comes to all of us, for many of us multiple times. Will we be spiritual “snowbirds” who flee it or will we lean into its lessons, bundle up, and grow resilient? ( )

One of the most powerful and sensorial books I ever read about a woman's courage to 'lean in' to her withdrawal from the frantic disjointness of modern life. Courage, wisdom, moderation, insight. Loved this very much! ( )

I hesitate to give this two stars because I can tell the author was frank about their life experience, opinions, and tried to cover a lot of subject matter.

The info about first and second sleep existing before artificial lighting is cool, and I know there is evidence that artificial lighting messes with peoples' circadian rhythm, but I am not sure how much of what she shares is founded or pseudoscience because I feel like she makes a lot of other biased presumptions throughout the book.

The moment that killed it for me was her saying Halloween is a role-reversal holiday for poor people to get a taste of anarchy because they have the gall to ring rich people's doorbells and ask for candy at the threat of a trick. I could not roll my eyes far back enough. It seemed like such a overgeneralization of a holiday for kids and a really bad take.

I also felt bad for her struggles with various health issues, but could not relate that she seemed to be able to get immediate treatment and accommodation for all of her needs. Must be nice! Maybe it's a British thing? A rich white lady thing? Idk.

The luxurious vacations also made me feel completely alienated from her experience as opposed to Comfort of Crows being more about the author's home, nature, and family. In this book nature seems more like some kind of accessory, like something in a zoo for her to look at and comment on versus something she feels part of.

Overall this book was a slog-fest. I really tried to sympathize with them and care about some of the subject matter, but I could not and had to speed-read/skim through the rest of it just to get it over with. ( )

Winter as a metaphor for hard times in your life.

"We like to imagine that it's possible for life to be one eternal summer & that we have uniquely failed to achieve that for ourselves." That's why I recommend the anti-gratitude journal.

Regarding someone with bouts of mania and depression, a GP changed her life by saying, "This isn't about you getting better. This is about you living the best life you can with the parameters that you have." Isn't that what it's about for all of us?

"Have we really got so far into the realm of electric light and central heating that the rhythm of the year is irrelevant to us..." That was me when I lived in the city. All I cared about was how heavy a jacket to wear. Or maybe it was because I was young. I have such a yearly rhythm now, though.

"Misery is not an option [sarcasm]. We must carry on looking jolly for the sake of the crowd." Ha. I always hated the mandate to be happy. ( )