Humbug or holly jolly?

December. Days of darkness — at least for the close on 90% of the global population that inhabits the northern hemisphere. Twinkly lights and tinsel. Cash tills ringing out … or these days the ping of payment card readers. Inflatable Santas, giant nutcracker soldiers and glitter-encrusted reindeers edging out the traditional cribs and presepi.

And the mixed delights as carol services and pop concerts of Christmas favourites proliferate, competing with seasonal muzak piped out in every other shop. If only the general public could appreciate the joys of live music throughout the year and not just cram it all into the one frenzied month!

However, I’m not a Bah Humbug kind of musician, I must add – for though not a confident solo pianist I do enjoy performing, particularly when supporting other musicians. But you might appreciate the sinking feeling I get when asked to play yet another iteration of ‘Hark the Herald Angels’, “Away in a Manger’ or ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’…

Hibernating ideas

© C A Lovegrove.

The Wood at Midwinter
by Susanna Clarke.
Illustrated by Victoria Sawdon.
Bloomsbury Circus, 2024.

It was winter, just a few days before Christmas. A few flakes of snow fell on the quiet fields. Along the lane that led to the wood came a carriage, driven by a young woman. Her name was Ysolde Scot and her sister, Merowdis, sat at her side.

How to describe this short but disconcerting offering from the author of Piranesi and Jonathan Strange and Mr Norell? A modern fairytale? Yes, it is this, though just occasionally the whimsy slightly defuses the uncanny feel of magic. A beast fable perhaps? There are indeed talking animals, even trees, but there’s no moral implied. A Christmas ghost story? True, it’s set at midwinter in Victorian times, but there’s no male antiquarian dabbling with supernatural matters to be seen, nor any decaying mansion with dark corridors.

No, what this dreamlike tale most reminds me of are the Breton lais of Marie de France, with natural magic invading the liminal space separating it from the everyday human world. As the author writes in an Afterword, she’s fascinated by characters “who are bridges between different worlds, between different states of being, characters who feel compelled to try and reconcile the irreconcilable.”

This liminality is, I feel, what links the approach of Susanna Clarke and her medieval counterpart, cemented I believe by her use of Anglo-Norman names and Arthurian motifs.