Winter - Val McDermid

I didn't read Michael Morpurgo's Spring, partly because whilst it might be impossible to dislike spring, it really isn't my favourite season. It drags somewhat in my mind, and weather that veers between unseasonably hot to bloody freezing is just annoying (ditto autumn, and keep your mists and mellow fruitfulness).

Winter on the other hand I love. I like the dark nights, the cold, the wild weather. This time of year city and town centres all lit up for Christmas absolutely look their best, the gold and blue frosty days feel like a gift, and there's a much better chance of actually managing to catch up with friends in the process of actual gift swapping. The food is good, and if the stress of work is real it also comes with the buzz of being constantly busy.

Winter is also the time of year when I really read seasonally. I'm an absolute sucker for a Christmas themed murder mystery, book about Christmas traditions/folklore/ recipe books, wintery short stories - all and any of it. Films, not so much somehow - unless it's a classic black and white something, though they;re harder to find now.

With all this in mind Val McDermid's Winter has been an absolute treat. Short and sweet, with charming illustrations. She sees Winter as a time of rest, retreat, and above all else, creativity (hard agree, these long dark nights are perfect for thinking and making). She talks about all of these things here, and looks back with nostalgia on her own Scottish working class upbringing where Winter started with Halloween. 

My Childhood Winters followed the same path. I hadn't realised that Christmas wasn't really celebrated in Scotland until late in the 1950s - December 25th didn't become a public holiday until 1958 which is a little bit mind-boggling. New year was always a much bigger deal, and even in my 1970s childhood, the feeling was that Christmas was for the bairns, New Years for the real party. 

I don't really know how much more commercial Christmas has become. A childhood in a not particularly wealthy rural area where everyone's expectations were similar, followed by an adulthood working in retail, where expectations often seem to be off the scale, has skewed my perception, but I share the nostalgia here for a simpler celebration, although a younger reader might roll their eyes a bit at the poor but happy inference.

Altogether a charming book with much to offer fellow lovers of Winter.