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Zimowanie. Moc odpoczynku i wyciszenia, kiedy wszystko idzie nie tak
Kojąca i medytacyjna opowieść o przeżywaniu życiowych zim.
Czasami zimowanie przychodzi stopniowo, niekiedy spada na nas przerażająco szybko. Za każdym razem jest jednak nieuniknione. Chociaż lubimy sobie wyobrażać, że życie może być wiecznym latem, jego zim nie da się uniknąć.
Zimowanie to spędzanie czasu w chłodzie. To jałowy okres w życiu, kiedy czujemy się odrzuceni, zablokowani na drodze rozwoju, zepchnięci do roli outsidera. Może być skutkiem choroby albo jakiegoś istotnego wydarzenia, jak śmierć kogoś bliskiego, rozpad związku, utrata pracy lub narodziny dziecka.
Łatwo wtedy o poczucie, że wpadło się w dziurę między światami.
Katherine May zaprasza nas w przemieniającą podróż po życiowych zimach. Odwołuje się do własnych trudnych doświadczeń, a także obserwacji świata przyrody i przykładów z literatury. Czerpie inspiracje z wielu źródeł, jak: obrzędy związane z grudniowym przesileniem, sen zimowy koszatki, twórczość C.S. Lewisa i Sylvii Plath, pływanie w lodowatej wodzie czy cykl życia pszczół.
Ta książka pomaga zrozumieć, że życie nie przebiega linearnie, ale opiera się na cykliczności. Niczym najlepsza przyjaciółka uczy spokojnej i mądrej reakcji na trudności, afirmacji autentyczności i prawdziwej troski o siebie. Pokazuje, jak przejść przez zimę, żeby przygotowała nas na lato.
Czasami zimowanie przychodzi stopniowo, niekiedy spada na nas przerażająco szybko. Za każdym razem jest jednak nieuniknione. Chociaż lubimy sobie wyobrażać, że życie może być wiecznym latem, jego zim nie da się uniknąć.
Zimowanie to spędzanie czasu w chłodzie. To jałowy okres w życiu, kiedy czujemy się odrzuceni, zablokowani na drodze rozwoju, zepchnięci do roli outsidera. Może być skutkiem choroby albo jakiegoś istotnego wydarzenia, jak śmierć kogoś bliskiego, rozpad związku, utrata pracy lub narodziny dziecka.
Łatwo wtedy o poczucie, że wpadło się w dziurę między światami.
Katherine May zaprasza nas w przemieniającą podróż po życiowych zimach. Odwołuje się do własnych trudnych doświadczeń, a także obserwacji świata przyrody i przykładów z literatury. Czerpie inspiracje z wielu źródeł, jak: obrzędy związane z grudniowym przesileniem, sen zimowy koszatki, twórczość C.S. Lewisa i Sylvii Plath, pływanie w lodowatej wodzie czy cykl życia pszczół.
Ta książka pomaga zrozumieć, że życie nie przebiega linearnie, ale opiera się na cykliczności. Niczym najlepsza przyjaciółka uczy spokojnej i mądrej reakcji na trudności, afirmacji autentyczności i prawdziwej troski o siebie. Pokazuje, jak przejść przez zimę, żeby przygotowała nas na lato.
304 pages, Hardcover
First published February 6, 2020
10991 people are currently reading
129847 people want to read
About the author
Katherine May
19 books1,493 followersKatherine May is an internationally bestselling author and podcaster living in Whitstable, UK. Her hybrid memoir Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times became a New York Times, Sunday Times and Der Spiegel bestseller, was adapted as BBC Radio 4’s Book of the Week, and was shortlisted for the Porchlight and Barnes and Noble Book of the Year. The Electricity of Every Living Thing, her memoir of a midlife autism diagnosis, is currently being adapted as an audio drama by Audible. Other titles include novels such as The Whitstable High Tide Swimming Club, and The Best, Most Awful Job, an anthology of essays about motherhood which she edited. Her journalism and essays have appeared in a range of publications including The New York Times, The Observer and Aeon.
Katherine’s podcast, The Wintering Sessions, ranks in the top 1% worldwide, and she has been a guest presenter for On Being’s The Future of Hope series. Her next book, Enchantment, will be published in 2023.
Katherine lives with her husband, son, two cats and a dog. She loves walking, sea-swimming and pickling slightly unappealing things.
Katherine’s podcast, The Wintering Sessions, ranks in the top 1% worldwide, and she has been a guest presenter for On Being’s The Future of Hope series. Her next book, Enchantment, will be published in 2023.
Katherine lives with her husband, son, two cats and a dog. She loves walking, sea-swimming and pickling slightly unappealing things.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 9,595 reviews
December 19, 2020
I picked this up after hearing the author read an excerpt on NPR and am torn on how to rate it. I love the concept of wintering, allowing yourself to see the beauty in things once only endured or at best tolerated, and the author’s writing style is nearly poetic in nature.
All this being said, this book is written from a point of extreme privilege and had several moments that reminded me too much of a hallmark special where everything works out in the end. The author never acknowledges that the majority of people enduring a major hardship do not have the means to take in the hot waters of Iceland, having been off of work for months, and this portion felt a bit like a “find yourself” self help book (though I acknowledge the seeds of this idea can be applied to anyone). It’s still beautifully written, and overall I enjoy the authors voice in the book as a whole, but I felt she held back on really delving into some of the topics she touched on, and would have preferred a longer book to allow her time to address these things.*
The takeaways of living your life in the framework of the things that you value most, and only saying “yes” to the actions that reinforce that framework, while embracing new experiences the events we would normally will to be over soon might offer.
*work life balance, guilt, mental health, fertility issues, having an infant, seasonal affective disorder, being neuroatypical, spouse and personal health.
All this being said, this book is written from a point of extreme privilege and had several moments that reminded me too much of a hallmark special where everything works out in the end. The author never acknowledges that the majority of people enduring a major hardship do not have the means to take in the hot waters of Iceland, having been off of work for months, and this portion felt a bit like a “find yourself” self help book (though I acknowledge the seeds of this idea can be applied to anyone). It’s still beautifully written, and overall I enjoy the authors voice in the book as a whole, but I felt she held back on really delving into some of the topics she touched on, and would have preferred a longer book to allow her time to address these things.*
The takeaways of living your life in the framework of the things that you value most, and only saying “yes” to the actions that reinforce that framework, while embracing new experiences the events we would normally will to be over soon might offer.
*work life balance, guilt, mental health, fertility issues, having an infant, seasonal affective disorder, being neuroatypical, spouse and personal health.
January 23, 2021
I need to start this review by saying that I really did enjoy this book. May writes well, lyrically, confidentially, quietly drawing you in to her message. Which is, generally speaking, that at times life presents you with circumstances from which it is in your best interests to retreat. Health issues, financial issues, career problems, emotional breakdowns, relationship breakups. Even my personal bete noir, seasonal affective disorder, which had no name at the time but plagued my childhood and adolescence.
This process of retreating May refers to as wintering. Pulling into yourself, exploring the quiet, restorative activities available to us most often during that time of the year when the days are short and the air is cold and we stay indoors. She draws many lessons from the natural world, and these descriptions are the some of the best parts of the book. (I realized while reading this book that I need to take my reading earbuds off more often when doing yard work so that I can better appreciate the sounds of the abundant bird life in our new home.) May makes a convincing case for the argument that we can’t always resolve our problems unless we remove ourselves from the circumstances that caused them.
With that said (yes, here’s the “but”), a few things about the book troubled me. As valid as her premise may be, that need to withdraw, it’s just not a feasible approach for a huge percentage of the world’s population. She writes about her financial worries after leaving her job, and yet in the midst of her crisis she doesn’t cancel what must have been a costly holiday trip from England to Iceland. She clearly has an extensive circle of friends who provide her with opportunities for activities to help work through her problems, and her husband is apparently very supportive.
I could go on in this vein, but the bottom line is that this book, lovely as it is, is written from a point of privilege. It resonated for me, personally, on many levels, but I could never quite escape the thought that she and I are not faced with the same limited opportunities as are so many people.
This process of retreating May refers to as wintering. Pulling into yourself, exploring the quiet, restorative activities available to us most often during that time of the year when the days are short and the air is cold and we stay indoors. She draws many lessons from the natural world, and these descriptions are the some of the best parts of the book. (I realized while reading this book that I need to take my reading earbuds off more often when doing yard work so that I can better appreciate the sounds of the abundant bird life in our new home.) May makes a convincing case for the argument that we can’t always resolve our problems unless we remove ourselves from the circumstances that caused them.
With that said (yes, here’s the “but”), a few things about the book troubled me. As valid as her premise may be, that need to withdraw, it’s just not a feasible approach for a huge percentage of the world’s population. She writes about her financial worries after leaving her job, and yet in the midst of her crisis she doesn’t cancel what must have been a costly holiday trip from England to Iceland. She clearly has an extensive circle of friends who provide her with opportunities for activities to help work through her problems, and her husband is apparently very supportive.
I could go on in this vein, but the bottom line is that this book, lovely as it is, is written from a point of privilege. It resonated for me, personally, on many levels, but I could never quite escape the thought that she and I are not faced with the same limited opportunities as are so many people.
January 22, 2021
I wanted to like this book. At first I thought it was self-help, then I realised it's meant to be more like a memoir. It's actually a jumbled and disjointed series of non-chronological anecdotes along with dry philosophical musings.
The author was diagnosed with autism in adulthood, just as I was, so I thought I'd feel something in common with her way of thinking.
Sadly, no. Autism is barely mentioned , which is fine as it's not the point of the book, but I just couldn't sympathize with her point of view about much of anything.
This book reeks of privilege and a very off-putting British middle-class ethnocentrism that I don't share.
For example, the chapter about the sauna was disgusting- first she attaches great spiritual significance to the fact that a Finnish friend says "in sauna" rather than "in the sauna", without a mention of the fact that the Finnish language lacks articles such as "the"- either saying so would have ruined her anecdote, or she didn't bother to research it. She then proceeds to try to embrace the Finnish mindset as she's (mis)interpreted it, by going to a sauna in an English leisure centre, proceeding in an incorrect and in fact dangerous way. It doesn't go well at all for her, of course, which leads her to discard all the supposedly Finnish wisdom she's spent a chapter expounding on. I'm not even sure what the point of including this extended anecdote was other than (possibly) as humour, yet it all felt very humourless to me.
She jets off to Iceland to bathe in hot springs in one chapter, and goes to Norway in another to see the Aurora (which, of course, she finds underwhelming). She goes on at great length about snow for a chapter, of course- by this time I was getting bored and struggling to finish.
By the end I was actively annoyed with her self-indulgent navel-gazing. I'm aware that self-indulgence is part of the point of this book, but over and over she crosses the line into unabashed selfishness.
Two stars instead of one because the writing is technically better than average.
The author was diagnosed with autism in adulthood, just as I was, so I thought I'd feel something in common with her way of thinking.
Sadly, no. Autism is barely mentioned , which is fine as it's not the point of the book, but I just couldn't sympathize with her point of view about much of anything.
This book reeks of privilege and a very off-putting British middle-class ethnocentrism that I don't share.
For example, the chapter about the sauna was disgusting- first she attaches great spiritual significance to the fact that a Finnish friend says "in sauna" rather than "in the sauna", without a mention of the fact that the Finnish language lacks articles such as "the"- either saying so would have ruined her anecdote, or she didn't bother to research it. She then proceeds to try to embrace the Finnish mindset as she's (mis)interpreted it, by going to a sauna in an English leisure centre, proceeding in an incorrect and in fact dangerous way. It doesn't go well at all for her, of course, which leads her to discard all the supposedly Finnish wisdom she's spent a chapter expounding on. I'm not even sure what the point of including this extended anecdote was other than (possibly) as humour, yet it all felt very humourless to me.
She jets off to Iceland to bathe in hot springs in one chapter, and goes to Norway in another to see the Aurora (which, of course, she finds underwhelming). She goes on at great length about snow for a chapter, of course- by this time I was getting bored and struggling to finish.
By the end I was actively annoyed with her self-indulgent navel-gazing. I'm aware that self-indulgence is part of the point of this book, but over and over she crosses the line into unabashed selfishness.
Two stars instead of one because the writing is technically better than average.
March 20, 2021
This is a book born of massive privilege, by an author who seems almost entirely unconscious of her privileges. If you work because you have to and do not have the luxury of quitting your job to be one with the winter (intermixed with traveling to Iceland, preserving random vegetables, and swanning around Stonehenge at winter solstice), you might end up feeling a bit resentful about this one.
And that's a shame because Katherine May writes beautifully, thinks interestingly, and observes astutely - yet while reading this book, I kept thinking, "Well, that must be nice." March 2020-2021 would have been ideal for embracing a time of fallowing and leaning into the cold and suckiness. Except I had to work the whole time as if there were not a pandemic happening, and if there's a way to winter while juggling a demanding full-time job, May doesn't offer it.
Wintering is part memoir, part self-help; its subject range is broad, yet punctuated by intense detail as May alights briefly upon bits of natural history (dormice hibernation, honeybee social structure), children's literature, cultural traditions that have evolved in cold climates, and May's own experiences with cold water swimming, meditation, homeschooling, and yes, even sleeping.
Memoirs are tricky because I am picky about whose heads I am willing to spend time in. They should be somewhat simpatico but not so similar that they can't shed new light on things I've experienced but never truly thought about. For the most part, I enjoyed May's perspective and the seasonality with which she experiences the world. She describes leafless trees so carefully that I know which species she is referring to even if she doesn't (European ash, F. excelsior, is the only ash with "hoof-like black buds"). She revivified my memories of two very long winters spent in England, which bear little resemblance to California winters but have their own beauty:
And what reader doesn't recognize this sentiment?
The self-help-y bits spoke to me less: May's anxieties are not mine, nor her relationships. (I thought mine were abnormally independent, but I actually felt kind of bad for her partner H, who seems to occupy so little space in her life or thoughts.) Also, my life is already relatively, er, winterized out of personal preference for solitude and introspection, so some of May's conclusions feel a bit obvious. Of course you should feel whatever you're feeling?
Lovely book; not quite for me. I'd be interested in checking out more of Katherine May's writing, though.
And that's a shame because Katherine May writes beautifully, thinks interestingly, and observes astutely - yet while reading this book, I kept thinking, "Well, that must be nice." March 2020-2021 would have been ideal for embracing a time of fallowing and leaning into the cold and suckiness. Except I had to work the whole time as if there were not a pandemic happening, and if there's a way to winter while juggling a demanding full-time job, May doesn't offer it.
Wintering is part memoir, part self-help; its subject range is broad, yet punctuated by intense detail as May alights briefly upon bits of natural history (dormice hibernation, honeybee social structure), children's literature, cultural traditions that have evolved in cold climates, and May's own experiences with cold water swimming, meditation, homeschooling, and yes, even sleeping.
Memoirs are tricky because I am picky about whose heads I am willing to spend time in. They should be somewhat simpatico but not so similar that they can't shed new light on things I've experienced but never truly thought about. For the most part, I enjoyed May's perspective and the seasonality with which she experiences the world. She describes leafless trees so carefully that I know which species she is referring to even if she doesn't (European ash, F. excelsior, is the only ash with "hoof-like black buds"). She revivified my memories of two very long winters spent in England, which bear little resemblance to California winters but have their own beauty:
The starkness of winter an reveal colours we would otherwise miss. I once watched a fox cross a frosty field, her coat shining against the gloom. Walking in the bare winter woodland, I am surrounded by astonishing foxy reds: the deep burnish of bracken, its dry fronds twisted to lacework; the deep crimson leaves left on brambles; the last remaining berries on honeysuckle and orangey clusters of rose hips.
And what reader doesn't recognize this sentiment?
Winter is when I reorganise my bookshelves and read all the books I acquired in the previous year and failed to actually read. It is also the time when I reread beloved novels, for the pleasure of reacquainting myself with old friends. In summer, I want big, splashy ideas and trashy page-turners, devoured while lounging in a garden chair or perching on one of the breakwaters on the beach. In winter, I want concepts to chew over in a pool of lamplight - slow, spiritual reading, a reinforcement of the soul. Winter is a time for libraries, the muffled quiet of bookstacks and the scent of old pages and dust. In winter, I can spend hours in silent pursuit of a half-understood concept or a detail of history. There is nowhere else to be, after all.
The self-help-y bits spoke to me less: May's anxieties are not mine, nor her relationships. (I thought mine were abnormally independent, but I actually felt kind of bad for her partner H, who seems to occupy so little space in her life or thoughts.) Also, my life is already relatively, er, winterized out of personal preference for solitude and introspection, so some of May's conclusions feel a bit obvious. Of course you should feel whatever you're feeling?
Lovely book; not quite for me. I'd be interested in checking out more of Katherine May's writing, though.
November 19, 2020
Can there be a more perfect book to read as the year winds down? Katherine May looks at wintering from a number of perspectives including viewing the aurora borealis, the time she lost her voice, seasonal affective disorder, and more, including how most of nature rests for transformation in the winter. And we should too!
This is a new title so might be good for gifts for your older, reflective relative. Maybe alongside a book of poetry by Mary Oliver or Barbara Kingsolver.
I had a review copy of the print but ended up listening to the audio, which I found very soothing.
This is a new title so might be good for gifts for your older, reflective relative. Maybe alongside a book of poetry by Mary Oliver or Barbara Kingsolver.
I had a review copy of the print but ended up listening to the audio, which I found very soothing.
December 30, 2022
2.5
Sadly, this book wasn't what I expected.
It felt like someone was sharing key moments of their life so basically a memoir. Maybe that could have worked for me had I been able to relate to her.
The author did finish each chap by incorporating how we could learn something from the mentioned incident that could help us in wintering. But in most of these cases the message seemed to be manipulated from the story rather than them being an obvious takeaway. I felt like most of the incidents really didn't relate to wintering.
Having said that, the author writes beautifully. Her house by the sea made me wish I could earn enough money one day to have a privilege to live so close to sea.
"That is wintering. It is the active acceptance of sadness. It is the practice of allowing ourselves to feel it as a need. It is the courage to stare down the worst parts of our experience and to commit to healing them the best we can. Wintering is a moment of intuition, our true needs felt keenly as a knife."
Sadly, this book wasn't what I expected.
It felt like someone was sharing key moments of their life so basically a memoir. Maybe that could have worked for me had I been able to relate to her.
The author did finish each chap by incorporating how we could learn something from the mentioned incident that could help us in wintering. But in most of these cases the message seemed to be manipulated from the story rather than them being an obvious takeaway. I felt like most of the incidents really didn't relate to wintering.
Having said that, the author writes beautifully. Her house by the sea made me wish I could earn enough money one day to have a privilege to live so close to sea.
"That is wintering. It is the active acceptance of sadness. It is the practice of allowing ourselves to feel it as a need. It is the courage to stare down the worst parts of our experience and to commit to healing them the best we can. Wintering is a moment of intuition, our true needs felt keenly as a knife."
January 12, 2022
Ok, I'm just going to come out and say it.
I don't think Katherine May understands what winter actually is, and she's probably the last person on Earth who should be writing an entire book about it.
*Phew* glad I got that off my chest.
In all seriousness, this read like a parody (with the exception of the moments that touched on mental health), and I found myself laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of it all.
At one point, she made a massive deal about children in Finland, I believe, who have to *gasp* play outside at recess in -20 degree celsius weather, and I'm just over here reminiscing about doing precisely that through my entire childhood, and it just being a regular Tuesday because, well, Canada.
It felt like May was trying to impress me with the ravages of the winter and the rare magic that is snow as I trudged through a foot of it on the ground that has been covered in the stuff since October and checked my phone to see it's -45 degrees celsius with windchill and I forgot to put on a hat.
I just couldn't take any of it seriously and almost gave up several times.
I'm glad I continued because the penultimate section, "Song," which focused on May's lost voice and its connection to her lost sense of self and disconnection from her body, was truly the best part and resonated with me deeply. But it simply couldn't make up for the silliness of the first fourteen plus drawn-out sections about it getting dark at 3 pm for several months of the year and how that's just wild.
I suppose I'm just not the audience for this one. At all.
Perhaps you'll fare better!
Trigger/Content Warnings: mental illness, depression, suicide, medical content, infertility, cancer, panic attacks, grief, animal cruelty
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I don't think Katherine May understands what winter actually is, and she's probably the last person on Earth who should be writing an entire book about it.
*Phew* glad I got that off my chest.
In all seriousness, this read like a parody (with the exception of the moments that touched on mental health), and I found myself laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of it all.
At one point, she made a massive deal about children in Finland, I believe, who have to *gasp* play outside at recess in -20 degree celsius weather, and I'm just over here reminiscing about doing precisely that through my entire childhood, and it just being a regular Tuesday because, well, Canada.
It felt like May was trying to impress me with the ravages of the winter and the rare magic that is snow as I trudged through a foot of it on the ground that has been covered in the stuff since October and checked my phone to see it's -45 degrees celsius with windchill and I forgot to put on a hat.
I just couldn't take any of it seriously and almost gave up several times.
I'm glad I continued because the penultimate section, "Song," which focused on May's lost voice and its connection to her lost sense of self and disconnection from her body, was truly the best part and resonated with me deeply. But it simply couldn't make up for the silliness of the first fourteen plus drawn-out sections about it getting dark at 3 pm for several months of the year and how that's just wild.
I suppose I'm just not the audience for this one. At all.
Perhaps you'll fare better!
Trigger/Content Warnings: mental illness, depression, suicide, medical content, infertility, cancer, panic attacks, grief, animal cruelty
You can find me on...
Youtube | Instagram | Twitter| TikTok
You can join our book club over on Patreon...
PBB Book Club
January 28, 2021
Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times is an excellent read during this time of year. It serves as a reminder to slow down, assess how you feel (the need to retreat, for more sleep, a desire to reorganize, whatever it may be) and act on those feelings.
Author Katherine May shares her experiences wintering (verb), which will of course vary from person to person. Not everyone is in a position to cope the same way May does, but I do think most will relate to the desire to seek comfort, particularly in this often quiet, cold season. Wintering isn’t a big book but one I found reassuring.
“But here it is: my winter. It’s an open invitation to transition into a more sustainable life and to wrest back control over the chaos I’ve created. It’s a moment when I have to step into solitude and contemplation. It’s also a moment when I have to walk away from old alliances, let the strings of some friendships fall loose, if only for awhile. It’s a path I’ve walked over and over again in my life. I have learned the skill set of wintering the hard way.”
Author Katherine May shares her experiences wintering (verb), which will of course vary from person to person. Not everyone is in a position to cope the same way May does, but I do think most will relate to the desire to seek comfort, particularly in this often quiet, cold season. Wintering isn’t a big book but one I found reassuring.
“But here it is: my winter. It’s an open invitation to transition into a more sustainable life and to wrest back control over the chaos I’ve created. It’s a moment when I have to step into solitude and contemplation. It’s also a moment when I have to walk away from old alliances, let the strings of some friendships fall loose, if only for awhile. It’s a path I’ve walked over and over again in my life. I have learned the skill set of wintering the hard way.”
February 8, 2020
I count myself extremely blessed to have gained access to an early copy of Katherine May's 'Wintering.' Not only is it a VERY beautiful book, I found reading it an incredibly healing experience. So relatable, honest and authentic and it resonated with me on a very deep level. I enjoyed the gorgeous prose, the poignancy of personal story as well as the interesting nature aspects. Having endured periods of 'wintering' myself, I feel this book has presented me with a fresh perspective and some new tools to take back in with me when it next returns. It's left me feeling inspired and comforted in equal measure - and definitely less alone. I will be turning to this book again and again and I just know that almost anyone who reads 'Wintering' will find some comfort, healing and inspiration.
Reading this actually made my Christmas!
Reading this actually made my Christmas!
April 8, 2021
An interesting, though altogether dissatisfying read. For the North American release, the book was given a bit of a rebranding - an undeniably gorgeous and "instagrammable" cover and an entirely new title (original title: "Wintering: How I Learned to Flourish When Life Became Frozen"). While both titles are misleading, the original title is more representative as the book is a study in navel-gazing, self-pity and boasting.
I was put off from the start when the author whinged (a theme of what was to come) about having her 40th birthday festivities RUINED by her husband's emergency medical crisis (which turned out to be a burst appendix). Very curious that her life partner is only ever referred to by his first initial "H" and only sporadically mentioned throughout after the first section, and notably absent in the acknowledgements section, especially in comparison to the fawning over her son. I kept forgetting that I was not reading the musings of a jaded older woman and instead, a woman barely in her 40s! There was just so much moaning. While there was some beautiful nature writing within these pages, especially the epilogue, overall I can't say I enjoyed this hastily assembled book.
**UPDATE: While I did not enjoy the book, I was very pleased with a recent Vox Conversations podcast interview with Sigal Samuel where the author speaks about the book and also its reception in the time of the pandemic. It made me feel what I think the book set out to accomplish. Really recommend it! https://podcasts.apple.com/ca/podcast...
I was put off from the start when the author whinged (a theme of what was to come) about having her 40th birthday festivities RUINED by her husband's emergency medical crisis (which turned out to be a burst appendix). Very curious that her life partner is only ever referred to by his first initial "H" and only sporadically mentioned throughout after the first section, and notably absent in the acknowledgements section, especially in comparison to the fawning over her son. I kept forgetting that I was not reading the musings of a jaded older woman and instead, a woman barely in her 40s! There was just so much moaning. While there was some beautiful nature writing within these pages, especially the epilogue, overall I can't say I enjoyed this hastily assembled book.
**UPDATE: While I did not enjoy the book, I was very pleased with a recent Vox Conversations podcast interview with Sigal Samuel where the author speaks about the book and also its reception in the time of the pandemic. It made me feel what I think the book set out to accomplish. Really recommend it! https://podcasts.apple.com/ca/podcast...
April 29, 2020
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.
December 29, 2020
Oh dear. So much promise of wisdom and experience. Except this author has very little of either, and the words "middle class narcissim" just keep popping into my head. Wintering has to mean confrontation with death, and exhaustive preparation to survive. Not pickling Japanese radishes in overpriced alcohol. I don't hold much with accusations of cultural appropriation, but I would make an exception for the dormice featured in this book. Since they aren't able to make their own protest at this time of year, I'll do it for them.
January 2, 2021
I loved this book. Last year I picked up Range on a whim because I loved the title and that book was a home run read. Wintering was another title that pulled me in without knowing anything about the book. It wasn’t a home run but it was a very good book. I won’t summarize but the last chapter about singing exactly paralleled so much I have been thinking about before picking up the book. In general this book along with our house in the woods have almost made winter my new favorite season.
October 22, 2024
I think anyone can find something to enjoy about this book. This takes the title wintering and explains how each of us at some point or another go through either a difficult or extremely hard patch. Either with outside issues or within ourselves.
This is not a heavy book in which we delve into ourselves or want to avoid reading through difficult issues. This book takes a couple of individual's and the writters struggles with a depression or low patches(wintering). In which we go through a period of change. She explains how being prepared for this if we start to feel the effects helps instead of avoiding or leaving it later to deal with. She also has a great way with words and imagery. She talks about other animals and how they approach winter. About how they embrace change,expect it and welcome it as part of life and growth.
The theme throught from one extreme to another is the extremes in temperature. From her time in denmark to being at home in uk. How feeling and embracing the cold weather helps and changes us. How some dread it or want it over quickly to feel the hot sun again.
Having recently moved from scotland to wales i have missed winter. The first ever in my life and i can say it does not feel the same. I look forward to the piercing cold and wrapping up warm and the change for a time. Its not extreme like denmark, finland or other countrys but it is a winter. Although it is not as cold or lasts as long as when i was younger. It has been big part of my life and i felt quite lost or like i have cheated part of the year. Like i have left beind an old friend who props me up and reminds me im alive and to be grateful. Its character building and a comfort.
This book has a great pull towards how winter weather is and feels and how we inside can feel. If we can relate or not it still brings to our attention how much change we/natures goes through every year. Wherever we are. How the key theme is being prepared, adapting and ensuring our survival. Human or animal. The changes in nature from a death like state to the most beautiful collage of colours is facinating.
I found this a very informative book in parts and good for bringing your attention to being kind to yourself.seasons change as do we.
Review written 22/3/22
This is not a heavy book in which we delve into ourselves or want to avoid reading through difficult issues. This book takes a couple of individual's and the writters struggles with a depression or low patches(wintering). In which we go through a period of change. She explains how being prepared for this if we start to feel the effects helps instead of avoiding or leaving it later to deal with. She also has a great way with words and imagery. She talks about other animals and how they approach winter. About how they embrace change,expect it and welcome it as part of life and growth.
The theme throught from one extreme to another is the extremes in temperature. From her time in denmark to being at home in uk. How feeling and embracing the cold weather helps and changes us. How some dread it or want it over quickly to feel the hot sun again.
Having recently moved from scotland to wales i have missed winter. The first ever in my life and i can say it does not feel the same. I look forward to the piercing cold and wrapping up warm and the change for a time. Its not extreme like denmark, finland or other countrys but it is a winter. Although it is not as cold or lasts as long as when i was younger. It has been big part of my life and i felt quite lost or like i have cheated part of the year. Like i have left beind an old friend who props me up and reminds me im alive and to be grateful. Its character building and a comfort.
This book has a great pull towards how winter weather is and feels and how we inside can feel. If we can relate or not it still brings to our attention how much change we/natures goes through every year. Wherever we are. How the key theme is being prepared, adapting and ensuring our survival. Human or animal. The changes in nature from a death like state to the most beautiful collage of colours is facinating.
I found this a very informative book in parts and good for bringing your attention to being kind to yourself.seasons change as do we.
Review written 22/3/22
February 13, 2020
This book was not what I expected. It is titled "Wintering: How I learned to flourish when life became frozen" which I thought meant that it was about how to deal with depression. It does address that subject but it is mainly about how the season of winter is prepared for by people and animals in various places around the world..
The author speaks about how depression has overtaken her but occasionally muses that maybe she is almost revelling in her melancholy. mood.. "I wonder if perhaps I am a little too beguiled in this; whether my sense of malaise is actually a lifestyle choice".It did make me wonder how much she liked the idea of researching a lot of topics to do with winter so that she could write about them for the sake of doing the research and writing and not to help with depression.
There was a section on Gaelic mythology and a hag deity called Cailleach. We also hear of some of the history of druid activity at Stonehenge with the author visiting Stonehenge at winter solstice. There was poetry with John Donne's poem 'A Nocturnal upon St Lucy's Day' being suggested as the perfect reading for the seasonally affected. Really? The book went on to explain the alternative story of St Lucy who on refusing to give up her virginity and renounce her Christian faith was burned, had a spear stuck through her throat and her eyes gouged out. I found this distressing and quite a few things in the book depressing, Not least poems by Sylvia Plath while being reminded that she didn't survive her own 'winter' as she took her own life. It took me a long time to read this book as I could only take it in short bursts as it was sapping my mental strength despite being in a good frame of mind before reading this book.. I was interested in learning some things such as the lifecycle of bees and how they collectively survive winter and the Finnish customs in extreme cold.
This is not a book that I would recommend to, or give a copy to, anyone else and certainly not anyone struggling with poor mental health.
With thanks to NetGalley and Penguin Random House UK, Ebury Publishing. for a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
The author speaks about how depression has overtaken her but occasionally muses that maybe she is almost revelling in her melancholy. mood.. "I wonder if perhaps I am a little too beguiled in this; whether my sense of malaise is actually a lifestyle choice".It did make me wonder how much she liked the idea of researching a lot of topics to do with winter so that she could write about them for the sake of doing the research and writing and not to help with depression.
There was a section on Gaelic mythology and a hag deity called Cailleach. We also hear of some of the history of druid activity at Stonehenge with the author visiting Stonehenge at winter solstice. There was poetry with John Donne's poem 'A Nocturnal upon St Lucy's Day' being suggested as the perfect reading for the seasonally affected. Really? The book went on to explain the alternative story of St Lucy who on refusing to give up her virginity and renounce her Christian faith was burned, had a spear stuck through her throat and her eyes gouged out. I found this distressing and quite a few things in the book depressing, Not least poems by Sylvia Plath while being reminded that she didn't survive her own 'winter' as she took her own life. It took me a long time to read this book as I could only take it in short bursts as it was sapping my mental strength despite being in a good frame of mind before reading this book.. I was interested in learning some things such as the lifecycle of bees and how they collectively survive winter and the Finnish customs in extreme cold.
This is not a book that I would recommend to, or give a copy to, anyone else and certainly not anyone struggling with poor mental health.
With thanks to NetGalley and Penguin Random House UK, Ebury Publishing. for a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
July 19, 2021
I am wintering. That’s the wheel of the year I'm on. As a teacher, I don't get to winter in the actual winter. From September to late May, I sometimes feel that I hang in suspension above the usual round of life. I become a functional being- I sleep, I pour everything I have into work ten hours a day, six days a week, I do whatever I can convince my body and mind to do to recover after that each day, I collapse full out on Saturdays, and start the cycle once more. I feel out of time in the worst way-it's the opposite of the cycle that this book tries to remind you of, to push us all to remember. I don't have time to pause to mark the passage of time- other than by working even more because interim reports are due or papers must be returned. It's the time of the endless to-do list. I sometimes feel I become a human task completion machine for several months a year. It's like I put myself and my life on hold and go into a mental, spiritual sleep for nine months just to keep up with the constant demand, then get thrown abruptly up on shore again and my brain's like, "Oh right then...who are you again? What were we thinking before all that happened to us? What threads did I set down just...when was that? Surely just yesterday?”
And then... I winter all summer. Which is why I recognized what May was talking about almost immediately- and identified with her again and again as she went from "Indian Summer" to "Thaw." The start of the cycle where you can't quite stop yourself from continuing to work although you're actually quite done with your tasks. The next stage of guilt about finally getting yourself to stop- although again, no one is asking you to do otherwise. The stage after that where you go into total mental and physical collapse and all the illnesses that have been lurking just under the surface, suppressed by adrenaline and necessity, come to the surface. The slow, halting first attempts at getting up again, and then falling down again because you tried to 0 to 60 it, because that's how you operate. Then the gradual ability to think again returns- to *really* think- to string thoughts together- and the patience and stillness to notice things worth thinking about. Then the beauty returns again, finally. Slowly. And the self, equally hesitant, haltingly, begins to peek out, and remind you who you really are once more. Or who you think you are? It's hard to tell after nine months. It's all shifted a little bit- and you're not sure why.
I've been through this cycle nine times now. I fought it harder the first few times. My review of Possession is a round of me fighting being utterly subsumed in Year 3 or 4. I have found it harder to fight the last few times- and I worry about the accumulating alterations over the year- how my school year persona, as off to one side as I attempt to keep her..well she seeps in. There are parts of her I like- and lots I don't. I want to fight it harder. I try to like I did in my twenties. It gets harder every year-but I'm determined not to give up.
Anyway- that's why I winter every summer. I didn't have this name for it before this book- but it is the perfect one. It's the language I've wanted to justify how deeply underground I go during this time, the random emotional outbursts I have, the amount of quiet I need, the inconsistent personas I display, the ideas I cycle through and discard. And how, somehow, it puts me back together again ready to face another year of teaching with a serene smile on my face.
What does wintering feel like? Well.. it feels... it feels kind of like this:
"...winter sleeps are the best... when I wake in the night, the dark seems more profound and velvety than usual, almost infinite. Winter is a season that invites me to rest well, when I am allowed to retreat and be quietly separate. .. There is not enough night left for us. We have lost our true instincts for darkness, it's invitation to spend some time in the proximity of our dreams. Our personal winters are so often accompanied by insomnia: perhaps we're drawn towards that unique space of intimacy and contemplation, darkness and silence, without really knowing what we're seeking.. Sleep is not a dead space, but a doorway to a different kind of consciousness- one that is reflective and restorative, full of tangential thoughts. In winter, we are invited into a particular mode of sleep: not a regimented eight hours, but a slow, ambulatory process in which waking thoughts merge with dreams and space is made in the blackest hours to repair the fragmented narratives of our days.
Yet we are pushing away this innate skill we have for digesting the difficult parts of life. My own midnight terrors vanish when I turn insomnia into a watch: a claimed sacred space in which I have nothing to do but contemplate. Here, I am offered a place in between, like finding a hidden door, the stuff of dreams. Even dormice know how to do it: they sleep, then wake awhile and tend to business, before surrendering back to sleep.
Over and over again, we find that winter offers us liminal spaces to inhabit. Yet still we refuse them. The work of the cold season is to learn to welcome them."
I found it so telling she acts on this first by attending a St. Lucy's Day mass in London- a ritual that's not her own, in a language she doesn't quite understand literally, but understands completely symbolically, a place that forces her to be quiet and notice beauty all around her. I just... this is what I do, to try to hold onto myself in the early part of the school year. I've become a pointed, giant fan of Michaelmas and St. Crispin's Day every year. I bake a blackberry pie or make jam and share the Michaelmas story every year- I've felt the need to share that story, in fact, every year since my first year of teaching. I started baking a few years after that. I share the Henry V Crispin's Day speech every year in late October- just before Halloween, in fact. I always end up connecting with everyone I know online who is a Shakespeare fan- it's the one day a year we check in with each other, on that post. I set reminders on my phone- it's my last desperate gasping attempts to hold onto time before it gets away from me. I love these rituals- I'm still me, a little bit, in fall. It hasn't quite all faded out yet. One of my first free days around the winter break is almost always the solstice. My ritual is to surround myself with poetry on the winter solstice (a genre that I rarely read the rest of the year, by the way)- It's a big deep breath in as I welcome myself back for two weeks. I'm Catholic- I always thought it had to do with that. I stopped practicing a long time ago, but it runs deep- but now I think maybe it's about wintering. It's about pushing out as much life as I can before I feel totally snuffed out.
Anyway- this is a long way of saying... I felt her. I felt this. I am doing this. July 4th was my small light in the dark- my St. Lucy's. I'm probably somewhere around the solstice in the cycle of wintering now. I have turned the year, as they say then. The glimmers of life are returning. Now, slowly, and in fits, I hope, comes the thaw.
And then... I winter all summer. Which is why I recognized what May was talking about almost immediately- and identified with her again and again as she went from "Indian Summer" to "Thaw." The start of the cycle where you can't quite stop yourself from continuing to work although you're actually quite done with your tasks. The next stage of guilt about finally getting yourself to stop- although again, no one is asking you to do otherwise. The stage after that where you go into total mental and physical collapse and all the illnesses that have been lurking just under the surface, suppressed by adrenaline and necessity, come to the surface. The slow, halting first attempts at getting up again, and then falling down again because you tried to 0 to 60 it, because that's how you operate. Then the gradual ability to think again returns- to *really* think- to string thoughts together- and the patience and stillness to notice things worth thinking about. Then the beauty returns again, finally. Slowly. And the self, equally hesitant, haltingly, begins to peek out, and remind you who you really are once more. Or who you think you are? It's hard to tell after nine months. It's all shifted a little bit- and you're not sure why.
I've been through this cycle nine times now. I fought it harder the first few times. My review of Possession is a round of me fighting being utterly subsumed in Year 3 or 4. I have found it harder to fight the last few times- and I worry about the accumulating alterations over the year- how my school year persona, as off to one side as I attempt to keep her..well she seeps in. There are parts of her I like- and lots I don't. I want to fight it harder. I try to like I did in my twenties. It gets harder every year-but I'm determined not to give up.
Anyway- that's why I winter every summer. I didn't have this name for it before this book- but it is the perfect one. It's the language I've wanted to justify how deeply underground I go during this time, the random emotional outbursts I have, the amount of quiet I need, the inconsistent personas I display, the ideas I cycle through and discard. And how, somehow, it puts me back together again ready to face another year of teaching with a serene smile on my face.
What does wintering feel like? Well.. it feels... it feels kind of like this:
"...winter sleeps are the best... when I wake in the night, the dark seems more profound and velvety than usual, almost infinite. Winter is a season that invites me to rest well, when I am allowed to retreat and be quietly separate. .. There is not enough night left for us. We have lost our true instincts for darkness, it's invitation to spend some time in the proximity of our dreams. Our personal winters are so often accompanied by insomnia: perhaps we're drawn towards that unique space of intimacy and contemplation, darkness and silence, without really knowing what we're seeking.. Sleep is not a dead space, but a doorway to a different kind of consciousness- one that is reflective and restorative, full of tangential thoughts. In winter, we are invited into a particular mode of sleep: not a regimented eight hours, but a slow, ambulatory process in which waking thoughts merge with dreams and space is made in the blackest hours to repair the fragmented narratives of our days.
Yet we are pushing away this innate skill we have for digesting the difficult parts of life. My own midnight terrors vanish when I turn insomnia into a watch: a claimed sacred space in which I have nothing to do but contemplate. Here, I am offered a place in between, like finding a hidden door, the stuff of dreams. Even dormice know how to do it: they sleep, then wake awhile and tend to business, before surrendering back to sleep.
Over and over again, we find that winter offers us liminal spaces to inhabit. Yet still we refuse them. The work of the cold season is to learn to welcome them."
I found it so telling she acts on this first by attending a St. Lucy's Day mass in London- a ritual that's not her own, in a language she doesn't quite understand literally, but understands completely symbolically, a place that forces her to be quiet and notice beauty all around her. I just... this is what I do, to try to hold onto myself in the early part of the school year. I've become a pointed, giant fan of Michaelmas and St. Crispin's Day every year. I bake a blackberry pie or make jam and share the Michaelmas story every year- I've felt the need to share that story, in fact, every year since my first year of teaching. I started baking a few years after that. I share the Henry V Crispin's Day speech every year in late October- just before Halloween, in fact. I always end up connecting with everyone I know online who is a Shakespeare fan- it's the one day a year we check in with each other, on that post. I set reminders on my phone- it's my last desperate gasping attempts to hold onto time before it gets away from me. I love these rituals- I'm still me, a little bit, in fall. It hasn't quite all faded out yet. One of my first free days around the winter break is almost always the solstice. My ritual is to surround myself with poetry on the winter solstice (a genre that I rarely read the rest of the year, by the way)- It's a big deep breath in as I welcome myself back for two weeks. I'm Catholic- I always thought it had to do with that. I stopped practicing a long time ago, but it runs deep- but now I think maybe it's about wintering. It's about pushing out as much life as I can before I feel totally snuffed out.
Anyway- this is a long way of saying... I felt her. I felt this. I am doing this. July 4th was my small light in the dark- my St. Lucy's. I'm probably somewhere around the solstice in the cycle of wintering now. I have turned the year, as they say then. The glimmers of life are returning. Now, slowly, and in fits, I hope, comes the thaw.
February 2, 2020
Katherine May uses 'Wintering' as a metaphor for depression. She describes how depression is something she has regularly experienced and, as she feels the next one coming, she aims to prepare for it in the same way that people in Norway prepare for actual Winter. She also compares how creatures like bees prepare for winter.
Despite talking about interesting traditions in other countries and describing the Northern Lights in fantastic, captivating detail, this was not a great read for me. I suspect that other people will love it, it's just not really for me. The two stars are for the parts that I found interesting and engaging. I am into the idea of preparing for depression and preparing for winter to give ourselves the best chance of survival. However, I was not fully immersed in a 'can't put it down' fashion, and actually felt quite low while reading the book (because of the book), and found myself constantly checking for how long I had left.
Take away message is, if you currently feel like the world is getting darker round the edges, or you are struggling to see the sunshine through the clouds... if you are struggling with life at the moment give this book a read. It might help you create some tools to pull yourself through; but please also visit your GP because this book alone is company rather than remedy. If you are not feeling like that right now don't bother with this book. There are better books to read if you want an account of the Northern Lights or want to learn about Bees.
Thank you to #NetGalley which is where I got a free, pre-release copy of the book #Wintering in exchange for an honest review.
Despite talking about interesting traditions in other countries and describing the Northern Lights in fantastic, captivating detail, this was not a great read for me. I suspect that other people will love it, it's just not really for me. The two stars are for the parts that I found interesting and engaging. I am into the idea of preparing for depression and preparing for winter to give ourselves the best chance of survival. However, I was not fully immersed in a 'can't put it down' fashion, and actually felt quite low while reading the book (because of the book), and found myself constantly checking for how long I had left.
Take away message is, if you currently feel like the world is getting darker round the edges, or you are struggling to see the sunshine through the clouds... if you are struggling with life at the moment give this book a read. It might help you create some tools to pull yourself through; but please also visit your GP because this book alone is company rather than remedy. If you are not feeling like that right now don't bother with this book. There are better books to read if you want an account of the Northern Lights or want to learn about Bees.
Thank you to #NetGalley which is where I got a free, pre-release copy of the book #Wintering in exchange for an honest review.
March 14, 2021
Memoir/Self-help/Personal Essays. I made it 2/3 through the book before I set it down. I don't love self-help books, but memoirs can be interesting and I love essays about the natural world. I thought I would give this a try. The author suffers health problems which she identifies as her winter, she puts forward that we all have our personal winters, I believe this is true and yet, I wasn't moved. She flies off to Iceland during a fragile pregnancy because she needs the cold. She decides to have only one child because of her deep need to sleep. The author often sounds self indulgent. Comparisons to Elizabeth Gilbert make sense, I think the author was going for the same thing, reader identification that leads to epiphany.
Festivals, personal history and culture from September to March, it is all here under one umbrella, some of it is beautiful and entertaining but, I was looking for a new way to see winter, something deeper. Maybe I set my sights too high.
Festivals, personal history and culture from September to March, it is all here under one umbrella, some of it is beautiful and entertaining but, I was looking for a new way to see winter, something deeper. Maybe I set my sights too high.
January 4, 2023
How could I not pick up a book with this title? Right after the Winter Solstice seemed like the perfect time to dip in.
And at first I was delighted, nodding along, and highlighting sections as I read. And then, the author seemed to lose her way. What would have been a powerful essay got diluted and strung out as the author struggled to stretch it out to book length. Self-help? Memoir? The author could not seem to decide. A random, disjointed collection of personal anecdotes do not a strong book make.
Bailed at about the 70% mark. Too bad, as I 100% endorse the premise of this book.
And at first I was delighted, nodding along, and highlighting sections as I read. And then, the author seemed to lose her way. What would have been a powerful essay got diluted and strung out as the author struggled to stretch it out to book length. Self-help? Memoir? The author could not seem to decide. A random, disjointed collection of personal anecdotes do not a strong book make.
Bailed at about the 70% mark. Too bad, as I 100% endorse the premise of this book.
February 26, 2021
May’s sympathetic memoir considers winter not only as a literal season, but also as an emotional state. Although “depression” could be substituted for “wintering” in most instances, the book gets much metaphorical mileage out of the seasonal reference as she recounts how she attempted to embrace rather than resist the gloom and chill through rituals such as a candlelit St. Lucia service and an early morning solstice gathering at Stonehenge. Wintering alternates travel and research, and mind and body. Cold-water swimming becomes the author’s primary strategy for invigorating a winter-fogged brain and frozen limbs. (My full review appeared in the Times Literary Supplement last year.)
January 7, 2021
THIS BOOK!!! EVERY. SINGLE. WORD. And what comfort there is in discovering the camaraderie we share with our fellow human beings and all of creation. There couldn't have been a more perfect first read of the year, perfect for me right now.
January 23, 2021
4.5 stars
Near the very end of this book, the author confesses that when she had conceptualised writing about 'winter' (and the physical/emotional/philosophical state of 'wintering'), she had intended on visiting 'exotic' locations and interviewing people who struggled with and survived 'extreme' winter. I suspect she was referring to temperature, and not winter in its more metaphorical sense. But then, as she admits ruefully, 'life happened': bad health, unhappiness, career shifts, money worries, depression, insecurity. At these nadirs - and there is no escaping them, which is the entire point of this book - a form of hunkering down and hibernation is required. Life has to be pared back to the minimum. We enter survival mode - which can be brutal, or comforting and cosseting. This survival mode, this paring back to essentials, is what the author broadly describes as 'wintering'.
I read this book in January, during the long Coronavirus year of 2020/2021. At the time of writing, London has been in Lockdown for nearly three months with no end in sight. A 'best-case scenario' (that I read in The Times today) suggests we might start emerging from Lockdown in May. Truly, there is the sense of hunkering down, or hibernation, of survival mode. It is frightening to think of the uncertain future, and yet there are times when the future is almost all I can think of. It is very tempting to get into the mindset of: when Lockdown is over, I can begin to (travel), (have fun), (see friends), experience life again. As this book reminds us, life is now. Life is only ever in this moment.
I like this author very much for her vulnerability and honesty. Although this book covers wintering topics related to sociology, myth, nature writing, science and literature, at nearly all times this is a work of memoir. She offers up her own experience - including moments of frailty and mental anguish - to expound on her topic.
Something which will definitely stick with me is a reference to the philosopher Alan Watts and his book The Wisdom of Insecurity.
This struck me as an important thought to hold in my mind, but what really resonated was the author's admission that she can never hold onto this thought for very long. She has to learn it over and over again. As do I. As do most of us, I suspect.
I don't know if I would be particularly drawn to this book in summer - not just the actual season, but also in the sense of when life is going well - but it was absolutely 'the right book at the right time' in January 2021.
At its base, this is not a book about beauty, but about reality. It is about noticing what's going on, and living it. That's what the natural world does: it carries on surviving. Sometimes it flourishes - lays on fat, garlands itself in leaves, makes abundant honey - and sometimes it pares back to the very basics of existence in order to keep living. It doesn't do this once, resentfully, assuming that one day it will get things right and everything will smooth out. It winters in cycles, again and again, forever and ever. For plants and animals, winter is part of the job. The same is true for humans.
Near the very end of this book, the author confesses that when she had conceptualised writing about 'winter' (and the physical/emotional/philosophical state of 'wintering'), she had intended on visiting 'exotic' locations and interviewing people who struggled with and survived 'extreme' winter. I suspect she was referring to temperature, and not winter in its more metaphorical sense. But then, as she admits ruefully, 'life happened': bad health, unhappiness, career shifts, money worries, depression, insecurity. At these nadirs - and there is no escaping them, which is the entire point of this book - a form of hunkering down and hibernation is required. Life has to be pared back to the minimum. We enter survival mode - which can be brutal, or comforting and cosseting. This survival mode, this paring back to essentials, is what the author broadly describes as 'wintering'.
I read this book in January, during the long Coronavirus year of 2020/2021. At the time of writing, London has been in Lockdown for nearly three months with no end in sight. A 'best-case scenario' (that I read in The Times today) suggests we might start emerging from Lockdown in May. Truly, there is the sense of hunkering down, or hibernation, of survival mode. It is frightening to think of the uncertain future, and yet there are times when the future is almost all I can think of. It is very tempting to get into the mindset of: when Lockdown is over, I can begin to (travel), (have fun), (see friends), experience life again. As this book reminds us, life is now. Life is only ever in this moment.
I like this author very much for her vulnerability and honesty. Although this book covers wintering topics related to sociology, myth, nature writing, science and literature, at nearly all times this is a work of memoir. She offers up her own experience - including moments of frailty and mental anguish - to expound on her topic.
Something which will definitely stick with me is a reference to the philosopher Alan Watts and his book The Wisdom of Insecurity.
Watts makes a case that always convinces me, but which I always seem to forget: that life is, by nature, uncontrollable. That we should stop trying to finalise our comfort and security somehow, and instead find a radical acceptance of the endless, unpredictable change that is the very essence of this life.
This struck me as an important thought to hold in my mind, but what really resonated was the author's admission that she can never hold onto this thought for very long. She has to learn it over and over again. As do I. As do most of us, I suspect.
I don't know if I would be particularly drawn to this book in summer - not just the actual season, but also in the sense of when life is going well - but it was absolutely 'the right book at the right time' in January 2021.
February 10, 2022
Dieses Buch hat mich in meinem persönlichen Winter gefunden. Es hat gut getan und mir wertvolle Denkansätze gegeben.
October 29, 2021
Whether the weather be fine,
Or whether the weather be not,
Whether the weather be cold,
Or whether the weather be hot,
We'll weather the weather
Whatever the weather,
Whether we like it or not!
I was put in mind of this classic little children's poem while reading "Wintering," which is essentially the poem in book form ... but without the rhyming and with a good deal more whining.
Sometimes when I read something only to find that it was not at all what I was expecting, I find that I managed to forget what I actually had been expecting. Then I look at the title.
"Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times." Ah! That was it then. I wanted to understand the power of rest and retreat in difficult times. There can be no disputing that the past year has been a very difficult time, for all of us, except for Jeff Bezos and his ilk, who sound as if they're doing better than ever.
Unfortunately, though, this book doesn't do an especially good job of explaining the power of rest and retreat in difficult times. If anything, the author does not seem to be particularly moved by the retreats she takes here — to see the Northern Lights, the Blue Lagoon — none of it really seems to impress her. Though she'll certainly write all about it, when the Blue Lagoon was opened, for instance, and the impact it's had on Icelandic tourism.
This puts me in mind of other books that don't quite do what they say on the tin, like What Doesn't Kill Us: How Freezing Water, Extreme Altitude, and Environmental Conditioning Will Renew Our Lost Evolutionary Strength, which is about as exhausting a read as that title makes it out to be (at least the review was fun to write!)
I love the concept of "wintering," which essentially consists of shifting your perspective from "damn, I'm depressed and everything sucks" to "I'm just wintering and the weather is bound to clear up soon enough." The author spends several pages here going over what insects and various animals do in order to prepare for the winter, as though to say, "they have a plan! so should you!"
There you go. Take that information and run with it. You're welcome.
Because I think that's all very sound advice and such a shift in how we look at things can only bring with it benefits. But all that can be nicely summed up in an article or an interview on NPR, can't it? What more can a book say on the subject?
Not much, it seems. "Wintering" is a travelogue/memoir of sorts, with May delving into various details of her life that, truth be told, I would have rather done without. There's a message there, somewhere, but it requires a good deal of sifting to get to (which I did for you, see above).
If "Wintering" were a cake, in other words, it would be a relatively bland one, with far too little icing. You might eat it, whether to just have something with your tea or because you're suffering from kuchisabishii — a lovely Japanese word that means "lonely mouth" as in, "my mouth is lonely and wants to chew something" — but like so many books with pleasant write-ups and words like "Hygge" in the title, I do not believe it to be worth the calories.
Or whether the weather be not,
Whether the weather be cold,
Or whether the weather be hot,
We'll weather the weather
Whatever the weather,
Whether we like it or not!
I was put in mind of this classic little children's poem while reading "Wintering," which is essentially the poem in book form ... but without the rhyming and with a good deal more whining.
Sometimes when I read something only to find that it was not at all what I was expecting, I find that I managed to forget what I actually had been expecting. Then I look at the title.
"Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times." Ah! That was it then. I wanted to understand the power of rest and retreat in difficult times. There can be no disputing that the past year has been a very difficult time, for all of us, except for Jeff Bezos and his ilk, who sound as if they're doing better than ever.
Unfortunately, though, this book doesn't do an especially good job of explaining the power of rest and retreat in difficult times. If anything, the author does not seem to be particularly moved by the retreats she takes here — to see the Northern Lights, the Blue Lagoon — none of it really seems to impress her. Though she'll certainly write all about it, when the Blue Lagoon was opened, for instance, and the impact it's had on Icelandic tourism.
This puts me in mind of other books that don't quite do what they say on the tin, like What Doesn't Kill Us: How Freezing Water, Extreme Altitude, and Environmental Conditioning Will Renew Our Lost Evolutionary Strength, which is about as exhausting a read as that title makes it out to be (at least the review was fun to write!)
I love the concept of "wintering," which essentially consists of shifting your perspective from "damn, I'm depressed and everything sucks" to "I'm just wintering and the weather is bound to clear up soon enough." The author spends several pages here going over what insects and various animals do in order to prepare for the winter, as though to say, "they have a plan! so should you!"
There you go. Take that information and run with it. You're welcome.
Because I think that's all very sound advice and such a shift in how we look at things can only bring with it benefits. But all that can be nicely summed up in an article or an interview on NPR, can't it? What more can a book say on the subject?
Not much, it seems. "Wintering" is a travelogue/memoir of sorts, with May delving into various details of her life that, truth be told, I would have rather done without. There's a message there, somewhere, but it requires a good deal of sifting to get to (which I did for you, see above).
If "Wintering" were a cake, in other words, it would be a relatively bland one, with far too little icing. You might eat it, whether to just have something with your tea or because you're suffering from kuchisabishii — a lovely Japanese word that means "lonely mouth" as in, "my mouth is lonely and wants to chew something" — but like so many books with pleasant write-ups and words like "Hygge" in the title, I do not believe it to be worth the calories.
January 9, 2021
In her prologue Katherine May introduces her topic by talking of how "winter is not the death of the life cycle but its crucible." It is a time for withdrawing from the world at large to reflect and replenish to restore and transform.
She's selling winter and I'm buying it!
Meaningful quotes:
"Winter is a time for the quiet arts of making: for knitting and sewing, baking and simmering, repairing and restoring our homes."
"In Summer I want big splashy ideas and trashy novels devoured in a garden chair or perched on one of the wave breaks on the beach. In winter I want concepts to chew over in a pool of lamplight slow spiritual reading a reinforcement of the soul."
"Winter is a time for libraries the muffled quiet of book stacks and the scent of old pages and dust."
She's selling winter and I'm buying it!
Meaningful quotes:
"Winter is a time for the quiet arts of making: for knitting and sewing, baking and simmering, repairing and restoring our homes."
"In Summer I want big splashy ideas and trashy novels devoured in a garden chair or perched on one of the wave breaks on the beach. In winter I want concepts to chew over in a pool of lamplight slow spiritual reading a reinforcement of the soul."
"Winter is a time for libraries the muffled quiet of book stacks and the scent of old pages and dust."
Read
March 30, 2021LOVED loved loved
February 23, 2021
Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May is a quiet book that reminds us that we are in charge of taking care of ourselves. Paying attention to our body and mind leads to recognizing when we need more care and to doing something about it. I listened to the audiobook version and enjoyed the peaceful reading of the book, as sound and logical advice is put forward. Highly recommended, especially in these difficult pandemic times.
February 21, 2021
(DNF: 35% completed)
Oh. My. Gosh. So boring, it almost made me annoyed. I was expecting a “hygge” book with nuggets of wisdom and prompts for reflection. I felt hopeful when she talked about being in Iceland, talking to a Finnish friend about their concept of wintering, and animals who hibernate.
But most of what I read was random, meandering stories about herself where I thought “where is she going with this??” and it would catapult somewhere else. It felt like getting together with a friend who doesn’t stop talking and constantly getting sidetracked. Maybe I didn’t give it enough of a chance...just not my thing, I guess!
Oh. My. Gosh. So boring, it almost made me annoyed. I was expecting a “hygge” book with nuggets of wisdom and prompts for reflection. I felt hopeful when she talked about being in Iceland, talking to a Finnish friend about their concept of wintering, and animals who hibernate.
But most of what I read was random, meandering stories about herself where I thought “where is she going with this??” and it would catapult somewhere else. It felt like getting together with a friend who doesn’t stop talking and constantly getting sidetracked. Maybe I didn’t give it enough of a chance...just not my thing, I guess!
December 19, 2020
Thoughts soon.
November 26, 2021
M-am tot apropiat de cărțile de memorii în ultima vreme, însă nu am nici măcar un singur regret: sunt pline de înțeles, au rost.
”Iernile sufletului” e o metaforă, desigur. Nu este o carte motivațională, nici nu știu dacă aș avea răbdare cu astfel de cărți, mai ales în timpul unei pandemii. E o carte scrisă just, fără ”sclipiciul” pe care îl vedem pe rețelele de socializare în care toată lumea are familia perfectă, vacanțe de vis și o viață frumoasă ca o vară cu cer senin. De-acolo e exclusă iarna, pentru că iarna înseamnă frig, introspecție, alb și singurătate. ”Iarna sufletului” poate fi oboseala cruntă, frica, depresia, senzația de inadecvare, revolta, nefericirea, neputința de a ne accepta așa, imperfecți cum suntem. De fapt, ”iarna” face parte din viață, la fel ca și nefericirea. Viața nu e o vară fără sfârșit, și nici hohot de râs prelungit nu e. E alcătuită din contraste, iar echilibrul constă în a le accepta și a ne bucura de fiecare în parte. Totul are un rost, chiar și tristețea.
Iubesc vara cu toate metaforele ei și recunosc, am avut o relație destul de complicată cu iarna. După ce am trecut de vârsta de 30 de ani, am învățat însă să mă apropii de ea, să o descopăr și să o accept, exact precum autoarea cărții acesteia. De fapt, chiar am dezvoltat o relație specială cu ea, mai ales pentru liniștea nopților lungi, pentru mirosul de ”rece” de pe rufele uscate afară, pe ger, pentru plimbările locuite de scârțăitul zăpezii, pentru sentimentul pe care îl experimentez în dimineața primei ninsori.
”Iarna este un anotimp al retragerii din lume (..) Când nu mai tânjim după vară, iarna poate fi un anotimp superb. Lumea se umple de o frumusește aparte și chiar și trotuarele strălucesc. E vremea reflecției și a recuperării, a refacerii lente, a organizării casei.”
”Nu mă deranjează să stau în casă. Îmi dau seama că pentru mulți oameni pare o restricționare brutală a libertății lor, dar mie mi se potrivește mănușă. Iarna este o casă liniștită în lumina veiozei, o tură prin grădină ca să vezi stelele luminoase într-o noapte cu cer senin, zgomotul făcut de soba în care ard lemnele și mirosul de lemn ars care-l însoțește. Este încălzirea și pregărirea cănilor cu cacao amară (..) Iarna înseamnă șosete groase și înfofolirea într-un pulover larg.”
”Uneori ar trebui să fim recunoscători pentru solitudinea adusă de o noapte, de o iarnă. Ne salvează de la expunerea în fața lumii a celor mai rele versiuni ale noastre.”
”Până la urmă, nefericirea are un rost: ne spune că ceva nu funcționează bine. Dacă nu ne permitem să fim fundamental onești cu privire la propria noastră tristețe, atunci ratăm un indiciu important precum adaptarea noastră. Părem să trăim într-o epocă în care suntem bombardați cu rugăminți de a fi fericiți, dar suferim de o avalanșă de depresie. ”
”Iernile sufletului” e o metaforă, desigur. Nu este o carte motivațională, nici nu știu dacă aș avea răbdare cu astfel de cărți, mai ales în timpul unei pandemii. E o carte scrisă just, fără ”sclipiciul” pe care îl vedem pe rețelele de socializare în care toată lumea are familia perfectă, vacanțe de vis și o viață frumoasă ca o vară cu cer senin. De-acolo e exclusă iarna, pentru că iarna înseamnă frig, introspecție, alb și singurătate. ”Iarna sufletului” poate fi oboseala cruntă, frica, depresia, senzația de inadecvare, revolta, nefericirea, neputința de a ne accepta așa, imperfecți cum suntem. De fapt, ”iarna” face parte din viață, la fel ca și nefericirea. Viața nu e o vară fără sfârșit, și nici hohot de râs prelungit nu e. E alcătuită din contraste, iar echilibrul constă în a le accepta și a ne bucura de fiecare în parte. Totul are un rost, chiar și tristețea.
Iubesc vara cu toate metaforele ei și recunosc, am avut o relație destul de complicată cu iarna. După ce am trecut de vârsta de 30 de ani, am învățat însă să mă apropii de ea, să o descopăr și să o accept, exact precum autoarea cărții acesteia. De fapt, chiar am dezvoltat o relație specială cu ea, mai ales pentru liniștea nopților lungi, pentru mirosul de ”rece” de pe rufele uscate afară, pe ger, pentru plimbările locuite de scârțăitul zăpezii, pentru sentimentul pe care îl experimentez în dimineața primei ninsori.
”Iarna este un anotimp al retragerii din lume (..) Când nu mai tânjim după vară, iarna poate fi un anotimp superb. Lumea se umple de o frumusește aparte și chiar și trotuarele strălucesc. E vremea reflecției și a recuperării, a refacerii lente, a organizării casei.”
”Nu mă deranjează să stau în casă. Îmi dau seama că pentru mulți oameni pare o restricționare brutală a libertății lor, dar mie mi se potrivește mănușă. Iarna este o casă liniștită în lumina veiozei, o tură prin grădină ca să vezi stelele luminoase într-o noapte cu cer senin, zgomotul făcut de soba în care ard lemnele și mirosul de lemn ars care-l însoțește. Este încălzirea și pregărirea cănilor cu cacao amară (..) Iarna înseamnă șosete groase și înfofolirea într-un pulover larg.”
”Uneori ar trebui să fim recunoscători pentru solitudinea adusă de o noapte, de o iarnă. Ne salvează de la expunerea în fața lumii a celor mai rele versiuni ale noastre.”
”Până la urmă, nefericirea are un rost: ne spune că ceva nu funcționează bine. Dacă nu ne permitem să fim fundamental onești cu privire la propria noastră tristețe, atunci ratăm un indiciu important precum adaptarea noastră. Părem să trăim într-o epocă în care suntem bombardați cu rugăminți de a fi fericiți, dar suferim de o avalanșă de depresie. ”
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