A Spell of Winter: WINNER OF THE WOMEN'S PRIZE FOR FICTION

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I was born in December 1952, in Yorkshire, the second of four children. My father was the eldest of twelve, and this extended family has no doubt had a strong influence on my life, as have my own children. In a large family you hear a great many stories. You also come to understand very early that stories hold quite different meanings for different listeners, and can be recast from many viewpoints. I studied English at the University of York, and after graduation taught English as a foreign language in Finland. Helen Dunmore was an award-winning novelist, children’s author and poet who will be remembered for the depth and breadth of her fiction. Rich and intricate, yet narrated with a deceptive simplicity that made all of her work accessible and heartfelt, her writing stood out for the fluidity and lyricism of her prose, and her extraordinary ability to capture the presence of the past.

With both parents gone, Catherine and Rob go and live with their grandfather in a mansion and befriend the helpers there. Eventually Catherine and Rob develop feelings for each other and the relationship becomes close. This leads to consequences and repercussions Catherine has to go through. Now I move my body inside Rob's coat, so all my skin will touch the lining which has touched him. My breasts tip forward, catching on the hairy wool of the coat's opening. My fire dances and grows strong, stronger than the worn brown oilcloth, bought for hard wear, stronger than the iron frames of our two beds, stronger than the chain of the gas lamp over the table. I prop two dry logs into the flames and sit cross-legged, naked to the heat of the fire and the heat of the coat. I listen to the scuff of mice in the attics above me, the creak and settle of long rows of rooms beneath me, the cry of rooks beyond the frost-bound windows. What did it look like?' asked Rob. His voice had gone growly with excitement. I said nothing. I stared at Kate, and I saw white strings like roots coming out of the arm as it bounced down the wooden stairs. First and foremost, Dunmore’s prose is stunning. With her sumptuous use of words, she evokes a rich, gothic setting, and a quietly sinister and claustrophobic atmosphere that I adored. Her characters are complex, difficult to root for and yet oddly sympathetic for all their flaws. By presenting them and their often deplorable actions without judgement, she asks us to question human boundaries, allowing the reader to draw their own conclusions in many instances. Because of this, and also the beauty of the prose, it reminded me very much of To the Lighthouse, which I loved the first time for its revelations, but found frustratingly hard to follow on my second read. It also reminded me of The Awakening. Like those books, this is about observations and relationships and development and the impact of trauma.This novel was the first winner of the Orange Prize for Fiction in 1996. I bought it after the book blogger Simon Savidge and his wonderful mother, Louise Savidge, started reading past winners of the Women's Prize for Fiction. The Orange Prize became the Bailey's Prize in 2012 and after 2017, the Women's Prize for Fiction. For the past two years, I have read a number of the longlisted titles, and look forward to the nominations and awards. A Spell of Winter is a difficult book to categorize and difficult to explain without giving too much away - but it follows siblings Cathy and Rob who have spent their lives in a quasi-abandoned manor in the English countryside which belonged to their parents; their father is now dead and their mother ran off when they were young. As adults, Cathy and Rob's relationship begins to develop into something forbidden, and it sets off a tragic chain of events that spread into the years of the First World War. This book was like a dream. Dunmore’s fluid style, her depictions of English countryside, and her oddly flawed characters all seem like things I have seen whilst sleeping. There’s a lazy quality here, something difficult to describe, but something which is nonetheless compelling and confusing all at once. Catherine and her brother Rob grow up on a large but failing English country estate owned by their grandfather. They have been abandoned by their parents and raised by a servant not much older than them, Kate. The siblings’ relationship is both disturbing and tender, both outrageous and relatable. WWI is brewing, but the household dramas take center stage.

Oh yes, they had to do that. You can't be burying bits of a body here and there. But for a long while no one moved, and the only sound was my grandmother drumming her heels against the flags in the scullery. Of course she knew nothing of what was happening, nor ever did, for no one told her. Not even the youngest child that was there that day.' Kate held her empty toasting-fork up to the flames, forgotten.They were bringing him down the curve of the stairs,' said Kate. She laid the muffin down on the hearth and showed us with her hands how the men eased the body round the narrow top of the stairs. 'There we were, all of us looking from the kitchen.' At around this time I began to write the poems which formed my first poetry collection, The Apple Fall, and to publish these in magazines. I also completed two novels; fortunately neither survives, and it was more than ten years before I wrote another novel. No,' I said, my mind full of the blind, skinny leverets, 'she won't have any young. It's the wrong time.'

This was the first winner of the Orange Prize (now the Women's Prize for Fiction), and I found it very impressive. The atmosphere and setting reminded me of a couple of my favourite William Trevor novels ( Fools of Fortune and The Story of Lucy Gault - they share the decaying country house settings and the Anglo-Irish family settings, and they share the elegiac tone with darker overtones and the quality of the writing. Poetry was very important to me from childhood. I began by listening to and learning by heart all kinds of rhymes and hymns and ballads, and then went on to make up my own poems, using the forms I’d heard. Writing these down came a little later. Having abandoned her family, the mother remains a topic mostly avoided by the men at the estate. But Cathy has difficulty forgetting (and forgiving). After Cathy's abortion, she recalls a poem about a women's stillbirth: "A mother, a mother was born" (p. 196). What does this mean to Cathy? How does the abortion affect Cathy's bond with her mother? Contrast this with Cathy's feelings toward her father. Out of curiosity, after I'd finished the book I read WITH YOUR CROOKED HEART, Dunmore's latest. Although some of the same themes surface --- particularly the absent mother --- and there is a continuing taste for the macabre, Dunmore doesn't overdo her effects or use more words than she has to. Her people, instead of having to fight their way out of encumbering gothic stereotypes, are fully themselves --- sympathetic despite addiction, brutality, dishonesty, pain --- from the start. And the suspense is terrific. I can see nothing through the frost flowers on the glass. I wonder if it is snowing yet, but I think it is too cold. It will only take a minute to rake out last night's fire and build up a fresh pyramid. There is always enough wood. All I have to do is walk out and gather it. There are five years of rotting trees and fallen branches which have been left to lie in the woods.Dunmore is a lovely lyrical writer and the book is strangely affecting. It’s about a young woman, her brother, and a strange life with absent parents and the odd characters who are there in their place. Did it take chutzpah, to put words in the mouth of one of her literary heroes? Not really, she says: their story needed to be told. "We know the bare bones of what happened – but what was it like for him and Frieda in this landscape? The details intrigued me: Lawrence creating a garden, growing things like salsify, getting in tons of manure. He knew how to do practical things – the ironing, the washing – and his combination of day-to-day good sense and the life of the mind fascinated me. I felt there were some interesting things about that particular period and about what turned him against England." The book takes place during pre first World War Britain and focuses on two children; Cathleen and her brother Rob. When both children were young, their mother ran away, Something their father was not able to accept and it eventually leads to madness. Mostly the children run wild in the woods and there is a sense of nature, both bounteous and grisly in Dunmore’s atmospheric setting where images of violence against small animals recur. Miss Gallagher fears for Cathy, as does her grandfather, and at seventeen, Cathy is introduced to Mr Bullivant, the wealthy new owner of the neighbouring estate who is fresh from Italy. He collects art, is pleasant company and knows Cathy’s mother. He also worries about Cathy and encourages her to leave and see the world, but she would rather stay at home with her grandfather. The other reason this book came alive for me is that Cathy was such a fascinating, sympathetic, well-developed character, and the depth of emotional complexity that Dunmore was able to excavate with this book was staggering. This book is about sexuality, societal restraints, and female agency, all examined through the lens of one woman's fraught relationship with her own family inheritance. It all sounds like a rather standard female-centric historical fiction novel, but Cathy's journey and Dunmore's psychological insights took on a hard edge that subverted all of my expectations and then some.

This book is about a woman named Cathy who is trapped in the life she is living, out in the English countryside, because she is scared to go anywhere or do anything. It's ok for others to go off and see places but she can't because she always finds some kind of logical excuse. And that's why she's trapped in "winter", with her life not really moving forward at all even though the years are passing.. I ought to have made sure I knew more. He'd had a past, a geography of silence. None of us had ever mapped it.

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Comparing herself to the beautiful Livvy, a dowdier Cathy thinks: "I was too like my mother. My face made people think of the things men and women did together in the dark" (p. 66). What does she mean? What kind of face forces people into shame? Contrast this with the shame that Miss Gallagher attempts to stir up in people. A new neighbor shows an interest in Catherine. At tea, he admits to having met her mother, startling Catherine and opening new wounds. Although attracted to the cold and distant Olivia, Rob decides marriage is not a possibility for him or for Catherine because of their parents’ failure. Soon a brother/sister pact is made and they agree never to take partners. This decision is the turning point of this poignant novel. Wonderful descriptions too. The environment really comes to life. That's definitely one of the things I loved about the book...but it was the story itself that kept me reading. Dunmore's writing is the star of the show here: gorgeously lyrical, evocative and atmospheric, alive with startling imagery and unexpected conjunctions. But there are too many long descriptions of woodland and flowers (so many flowers) that make the pace sluggish and congest the text. Both servants fiercely guard the mysteries of the family heritage from Rob and Cathy. This inverts common behavior, resulting in outsiders who are better informed about the family than the family itself. What effect does this have on Cathy? Rob?