“A church is a sort of wood… A wood is a sort of church. They’re the same thing really.” Susanna Clarke, the author of two of the best fantasy novels of the modern era, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell and Piranesi, returns with The Wood at Midwinter. This is an amuse-bouche of a short story, the perfect bite of everything Clarke does best, wrapped in gorgeous illustrations by Victoria Sawdon.
As Clarke mentions in her author’s note, the sisters at the heart of this tale live in the world of Gilbert Norrell and Jonathan Strange, a world of wild magic, creatures who are not what they seem, and bold young women lured into dangerous scenarios. Sisters Merowdis and Ysolde are humored by their parents, Merowdis especially. Treated like a saint—“‘There!’ said Ysolde. ‘You see! You say saintly things like that. And no one has any idea what you’re talking about.’”—Merowdis indulges her free time with her myriad pets and unusual habits.
One wintry afternoon, she wanders into the woods with her two dogs and pet pig. She wants to find a way out of what she sees as her only two options for her future: marriage to a man she doesn’t love or joining a convent where she knows she’d be just as miserable. The domesticated creatures at her feet try to comfort her, but it’s the wilderness she craves, the freedom to do as she pleases and tiptoeing up to the sharp edge of the unknown. She gets her wish when two agents of the forest, a fox and a blackbird, and then the forest itself offer her a new path. As she soon learns, what we want and what we need are often two separate things.
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The Wood at Midwinter
I can see two main reactions to the ending. Some might despair for a lost young woman who was tricked into a future she cannot escape. Others might see a liberatory ending where Merowdis gets more than she bargained for and becomes something greater than herself. What I love about Clarke’s work is that there are never any tidy resolutions. Her stories leave the reader feeling unmoored and unsure. Both responses to what happens to Merowdis are correct, yet neither are complete. They are more than the sum of their parts.
Although set in the 19th century, there is something ancient and deep about this story. It feels like a traditional European fairytale, the kind that existed before they became delivery mechanisms for Western morality. In a brilliant bit of design, this tone is reflected in the physical layout of the story. Sawdon’s illustrations remind me of an illuminated manuscript, except in black and white. (If a publisher ever gets around to doing a full-color version of this story, I will be first in line to buy it.) The art is two-dimensional but vivid and strange. One full page illustration almost functions like a jump scare, mirroring a similar moment in the text. Speaking of the text, the font also has a medieval flair to it, particularly with the way the “c” and “t” are connected. The narration font of the woods is scratchy and fractured, making it look almost like you’re staring up at barren tree branches clustered together.
Clarke originally wrote this story for a BBC radio production in 2022. I have got to track down a recording of that. As glorious as the experience of reading The Wood in Midwinter was, I know listening to someone tell it will tease out unseen layers. This is a story meant to be heard as much as seen.
The Wood at Midwinter is published by Bloomsbury.
