Susanna Clarke’s The Wood at Midwinter is a short story set in the world of Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, though it requires no knowledge of the bigger book to enjoy. The story, easily readable in one sitting, weaves a wintry and ambiguous tale with mysterious vibes.
19-year-old Merowdis Scot leaves her sister at the treeline and wanders into the woods in the midst of a snowy winter. Her two dogs and pet pig accompany her as she convenes with nature. Merowdis communicates with nature and grapples with her desire to have a child. While in the woods, Merowdis receives a vision of herself with a bear cub, a child of the wilderness. By the end of the tale, Merowdis disappears once again into the woods and leaves readers to wonder what, exactly, happened to her. Our only clue is artwork in the nearby church that displays Merowdis holding a bear cub.
I read The Wood at Midwinter in one sitting shortly after I read (and loved) Susanna Clarke’s Piranesi. I fancied another quick foray into her excellent prose and immaculate atmosphere. The Wood At Midwinter certainly delivered both of those things, coagulating them into a sharp narrative with a choice at its heart. I like when a story gives me options to believe in or cast aside, as The Wood at Midwinter does. Merowdis is caught between two equally bad choices (from her perspective, though I tend to agree). She can opt for a loveless marriage or a life of religious dedication she doesn’t believe in. Rather than choose one of those two evils, she becomes one with the wood instead. It’s a baller move to take the third choice when a false dichotomy hangs before you, each like a rotten carrot dangling in front of a miserable donkey.
The theme of choice and its false rigidity is nicely accompanied by other ideas throughout the story. There’s a distinct humanity vs. nature theme here. Merowdis braves the forest with her domesticated housepets and soon sees the dangers and wonders of an untamed place. The Wood at Midwinter relished the interplay between constructed roles set forth by society and the allure of untamed, wild possibility. Clarke’s prose and the whimsical illustrations of Victoria Sawdon work together to drive these themes home, even when they aren’t readily nipping at the surface. You can feel the wilderness creeping in like the sweet relief of air rushing into your lungs after a long-held breath.
As soon as the wood’s branches start to caress your mind with their fleeting ideas, the story draws to a close. The Wood at Midwinter is a small journey with big implications. It presents its ideas, grapples with them briefly, then leaves the reader to parse them after the back cover is closed. Its quick pace and elegant prose pair beautifully with the fantastic illustration. It’s a delectable morsel of a short story that’s bound to please fans of Clarke’s other work.
Rating: The Wood at Midwinter – 8.5/10
