No matter what happens, the earth spins on its axis. The new moon waxes. The sun traces its soundless path through the sky. On the day that path is shortest, the light fades faster. Cold seeps into the soil. We retreat indoors.

Out my window this evening, the sky is dark and moonless. The only lights are electric: street lamps, porch lights, strings of bright bulbs on roofs. The Christmas lights glow red, white, green, blue, and purple. A yellow so bright it hurts.

They are powerless against the cold.

This year was heart-wrenching. It seems to me we’ve lost something crucial. Where did we put it? Can we retrace our steps and find it like a lost set of keys?

Tonight, a candle burns at my desk. Scent of cinnamon, scent of anise. In another room, a tree glows with fairy lights—white and hopeful—branches nestled with pine cones, berries, feathered things. Will we burn a fire tonight? Make Glühwein, eggnog?

The sound of these words in my head is a comfort: a wish, an incantation. A spell to find what we’ve lost.

This poem by Scottish poet George Mackay Brown warms me in a way Christmas lights—even fire—can’t:

Maeshowe: Midwinter

George Mackay Brown

—from Carve the Runes: Selected Poetry, Birlinn 2021

Perhaps this recipe for posset, a 17^th century British precursor to eggnog, will warm your belly:

Adjusted by a third and updated with modern ingredients, the recipe advises:

Spice one pint of thick cream with clove, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Bring the mixture just to a boil. While it cools slightly, beat 3 eggs, add 4 ounces sherry spiced with nutmeg and sugar, then heat it until it’s scalding hot. Pour the cream mixture over the sherry, then stir and cover for fifteen minutes before serving.

This Yuletide, I wish you all warmth.

And then the missionaries came.

Historians say the people of Britain were slow to accept the new faith. But the priests claimed disease wafted into the cities from the bogs, that demons haunted the woods. As the centuries passed, the new faith replaced the old, and when people began to exploit nature for profit, in Britain as elsewhere, the war against magic intensified.

“The world had to be ‘disenchanted,’” as Silvia Federici put it, “in order to be dominated.” Who wants to cut down an enchanted wood?

Especially right now, I want to read stories that re-enchant history. Stories that invite magic back into our world.

The new novel by Louisa Morgan, author of The Age of Witches, does just that. Out today, The Faerie Morgana is a legend made real, conjured from the grey stretches of the past in shimmering and earthy detail. In this book, Morgan le Fay is an otherworldly scryer and sorceress who is rumored—as her name would imply—to have evil fae ancestry.

But she’s also a healer and an herbalist; her character is complex, and the setting feels so real. A good example of this early in the book is when Morgana, an acolyte turned priestess, begins to meet women who come to her temple for help. We not only see the room in vivid detail but also learn the reasons why it’s decorated the way it is:

This level of vivid detail and realistic worldbuilding, combined with the complexity of the novel’s characters, had the effect of suspending my disbelief so completely that I didn’t even think to question it when the magic started to happen.

Continuing my retelling series, I asked Louisa Morgan to answer a few questions about this beautiful book and her inspiration for writing it, and she was gracious enough to agree!

MM: Thank you so much for taking the time to talk with me, Louisa. This book is so fascinating. Most the Arthurian retellings I’ve read are pretty high fantasy, but this one is a bit different. Could you talk about why you decided to write an Arthurian retelling this way?

LM: All my books are heavily character-based. I started thinking about Morgan le Fay, and doing research into how the old stories portrayed her, and I wanted very much to get to her know her in my own way. As usual, feminism runs throughout all my work, and the character of Morgana represents that perfectly—strong, wise, challenged but resilient, proud, independent. I pretty much knew all of that when I began, but it was satisfying to create a character that fits that description, and out of that came the story. Character is plot, as someone has said.

MM: What inspired you to write this retelling? What’s your personal connection to Arthurian legend? Why did you want to reimagine it from Morgan le Fay’s perspective?

LM: It was, surprisingly, my editor who gave me the idea. I have read several of the retelling novels that have come out recently, but it didn’t seem like my usual thing at all, until she mentioned Morgan le Fay, and off I went! Of course, as a youngster, I read all the usual Arthurian stories—A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, The Crystal Cave, The Mists of Avalon and so forth. I had never dug into the many, many levels of how the legend of Arthur developed, and that in itself was an experience.

MM: You connect Morgana with folklore and mythology, as in this passage early in the book when she leaves the temple at night and receives a visitation from a mysterious owl:

I would love to hear about your inspirations and sources for writing Morgana this way.

LM: The tales of Morgana and the other characters have apparently been rooted in Celtic mythology, and as a writer who has been working with pagan themes for some time now, I love seeing Morgana as deeply connected to all things in the natural world, as the old Celtic practices were. There are other stories that feature Morgana as a shapeshifter, but as far as I know, they’re the very old ones, and they use that ability as a way to label her a witch. I most definitely didn’t want to do that! In fact, she has often been portrayed as an antagonist rather than a protagonist, and I set out to do the exact opposite.

MM: How did you go about building the world of this novel? Could you talk about your folkloric and legendary inspirations? I’ve been reading a lot about British fairy folklore for a project of my own, and it seems like you stayed pretty close to the sources, though I don’t know enough about Arthurian legend to be able to tell how much you’ve changed there.

LM: In my (fertile) imagination, my story is set in roughly first century Wales, although it wasn’t Wales at the time. I used the flora and fauna of that area, for example. For the names in the novel (there’s more on this in the Author’s Notes) I dug into the oldest forms. I read a weird and wonderful book about witches and fairies in Scotland, and another about Irish fairies and goblins and brownies. I read a history called The Age of Arthur, although Arthur himself doesn’t feature much in it. That historian believes there was such a person; most others disagree. Morris, the historian, asserts that there was a ruler with a Latin version of that name, but that the man has become a legend, a symbol of English strength and honor.

MM: All your books meld realistic, historical detail with magic. Could you talk about what inspires you to write between genres this way and, well, re-enchant the past?

LM: Of course I love writing about magic, and the people who practice it! But I also am committed to historical facts inasmuch as we know them. I’ve always said I hang my tales on the framework of history—I’m just not into alternate history, which is a different genre.

MM: Can you talk at all about what’s next for you after this? Even a hint would be lovely!

LM: Since you ask . . . a sequel to this book is coming next year. It’s titled The Faerie Handmaid. I just wasn’t done with the beautiful world Morgana lives in! Sometimes I wake up at night thinking about it. It’s always hard for me to say farewell to the characters I love, so fortunately my publisher indulged me in one more novel about them.

Thank you so much, Mary, for these smart questions, and for helping Morgana to find her readers!

MM: No, truly, thank you, Louisa. This was my pleasure. I’m so excited that there will be another book; I’m not done with this world either. It’s so intricate and full of fascinating characters.

If you—like me—love magical, feminist retellings of folklore with mythic and historical elements, and you’d like to get lost in first-century Wales for awhile, The Faerie Morgana is available anywhere books are sold today! Or you can order it directly from the publisher. Let me know what you think!

If you’re in the northern hemisphere, I wish you an autumn equinox full of balance and harmony and gratitude. One of the modern names for this festival, Mabon, was taken from a member of Arthur’s war band in Welsh mythology. Mabon’s mother Modron is said to be inspired by the Celtic mother goddess—as well as an influence on the legend of Morgan le Fay.

Wherever you are, I hope you’re able to take a moment to find magic in the world around you. In the crisp sweetness of an apple, the crunch of leaves underfoot in the woods. In the dog curled around your feet at night, the child reaching up for a hug, the blackberry bush glistening with dew.

In the curve of the moon.

It’s the end of spring: ants, ants, and more ants. Bees bumbling from wildflower to wildflower. I’m fighting weeds in the garden. My baby blackberry bushes are stretching up toward the sun along my backyard fence. Here in Atlanta, there is reliable heat, finally, eighty degree weather. Hopefully, there is change in the air, too. This season, I’m desperately wishing you all—and the whole world, really—a return to the light.

Continuing my series on retellings of classic stories, this year, I’m excited to tell you about a new retelling that came out this week, which I was lucky enough to read in advance. Amy S. Kaufman’s debut, The Traitor of Sherwood Forest, reimagines the story behind the legend of Robin Hood in the 13th century from the perspective of a medieval peasant woman. It’s a novel about, as Kaufman herself wrote, “finding power, especially when you don’t think you have any,” a theme that really resonates with me right now.

You all know how much I love folklore and medieval history, and this book is such a dazzling tapestry that weaves both together. Kaufman is a literal medievalist, and she delivers a Sherwood Forest so real, so full of light and shadows and nuanced characters, you can’t help but wonder if this is what really happened. I mean, look at the way she describes Robin:

And here is one of my favorite descriptions, although there are honestly so many like this, it was hard to choose. Every description is like this, detailed, intensely visual, and so immersive you’re swept away in the world:

On every page, you feel like you’re there, walking through those fabled woods, and this book is a page-turner too: sultry, suspenseful. But that’s enough from me—let’s turn now to Amy S. Kaufman, who was kind enough to answer my questions about this beautiful book!

This interview has been lightly edited for clarity and conciseness.

MM: One of the most striking things about this novel is your portrayal of Robin Hood, which is different from the way he is usually portrayed. He’s charismatic, yes, clever, yes, but your Robin is also selfish and dangerous. He’s a hell of a love interest. You’ve written elsewhere about how the legend of Robin Hood has changed over time. Can you talk about what inspired you to portray Robin as you did? Were you trying to extrapolate what might’ve been before his first mention, or did you have another, perhaps more modern inspiration?

ASK: If you dive into any of the pre-1500 Robin Hood ballads, you’ll find that the charismatic, selfish, and dangerous Robin Hood is right there! From the first time I discovered how dramatically different he was from the Disney fox I grew up with, I was deeply curious about his appeal—because he is appealing. Even though he’s not the morally righteous Robin Hood we love today, medieval people really did go wild for him.

I feel like the class difference between the medieval Robin Hood and the modern one is important to understanding his popularity. Our modern Robin Hood is a disinherited noble who swoops in to save the poor and oppressed, which sends a very different message from the flawed medieval Robin Hood, who has no social standing, and whose goal is to disrupt power and stick his finger in the eye of authority. I can’t help but think that the reason medieval people adored their version of Robin Hood is not that they thought he would rescue them, but that they saw themselves in him. The Robin Hood ballads, as strange and violent as they could sometimes be, were a way people had of imagining their own agency against forces that seemed too powerful and impenetrable to disrupt in real life.

I wanted to explore what made the medieval Robin Hood tick, what provoked him to act, if it wasn’t out of altruism (or the desire to get his property back). The historical moment I set his story in helped me build his background. My Robin is someone who feels betrayed by the leaders who sent him to war for their own greed. He’s a man of deep faith who has seen the church turn to avarice and tyranny. He’s looking for justice, but he knows the ruling class is only interested in preserving its power. Obviously, there are parallels to the present day in his story, and it wasn’t too hard to tap into the anger and frustration he might have felt, or the way he would be torn between idealism and cynicism.

MM: Another thing I love about this book is how real the world feels. Before I read this book, Sherwood Forest felt hazy to me, like it couldn’t possibly exist as a real place—and Robin and his men felt like two dimensional characters who had stepped out of a fairy tale. But in this book, I feel like I’m transported to a place in history with complex characters who could’ve actually existed. I know you have a background in medieval history, and that you drew heavily on medieval sources to create this world and story. Can you talk about the sources you drew from to create this story—both legendary and historical—and how you used them to rewrite the legend? Who was your inspiration for Jane?

ASK: I am so incredibly glad that the world and characters of Sherwood Forest feel real to you! They feel real to me too—although I have spent a lot of time with them! Starting from the position of a flawed Robin Hood helped me think through other characters and their motivations with more depth. If Robin wasn’t some perfect hero, then that gives the Sheriff of Nottingham potential reasons to be against him and still think he’s doing the right thing, for example.

My sources were really varied, but I tried to stay close to the medieval ballads most of all, which are collected in Robin Hood and Other Outlaw Tales. I also wanted to understand a peasant’s lived experience for Jane—and a kitchen girl’s! Bridget Ann Henisch’s Fast and Feast: Food in Medieval Society is full of excerpts from medieval sources and gave me a really good sense of how people cooked and ate and celebrated, and how utterly sick of fish they were during Lent. Barbara Hanawalt’s The Ties that Bound: Peasant Families in Medieval England was also really useful. Both of those sources record life a little later in medieval history than I was writing, so I had to dig backwards for some of the finer details, but they were great starting points.

As for Jane herself, I found her between the ballad lines. Medieval literature is full of gaps: anonymous people who appear and disappear—especially women—and story arcs that are dropped or don’t make sense. In the poem “Robin Hood and The Potter,” Robin pretends to be a cookware merchant as a ruse to get inside the sheriff’s house. In one scene, an anonymous girl appears and carries Robin’s pots to the house, and then she’s never mentioned again. Jane was already living in my head by then because I knew I wanted to write Traitor from a woman’s point of view, so rereading “Robin Hood and The Potter” made it all click together for me. This is how Jane would exist in Robin’s world: quietly and anonymously, invisible to all the important people, her name lost to history.

MM: Did you do a lot of research into medieval cooking and baking, like I did for Gothel? Are there any recipes from the book that you could share? I’m super into historical baking and cooking, and I often hear from readers about trying or wanting to try historical recipes…

ASK: Looking for a good recipe to share—as opposed to something like eels in herbolace—has made me realize just how many things Jane hates cooking, but I guess that comes with cooking for a living…

Fruit was precious in medieval England, so I did a lot of research into which fruits and berries would be available in the thirteenth-century, and the way a peasant might preserve it without access to sugar, modern cans or jars, gelatin, or other kinds of common preservatives. Unfortunately, there are no measurements available in medieval recipes, so I’ve adapted this from a cranberry sauce I make for the holidays.

Jane’s Warden Conserves

This will make a condiment similar to a chutney that you can store in the fridge and eat within a few days, but if you’re into canning and jarring, it should also keep well.

5 cups pears, sliced and cored. (Warden pears are hard to come by nowadays, so any good baking pear will do.)
1 cup rowan berries. (Cranberries could be a replacement)
1 cup honey
1 cup sweet wine
1 cup water

Ingredients that Jane wouldn’t have at home but will make your life easier:

1 orange, peeled and chopped, membrane removed
1 T apple cider vinegar
1 T ground ginger
2 cinnamon sticks (remove after cooking)

Combine all the ingredients in a sauce pan and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer until soft and fragrant (at least 30 minutes). You can add a little water at a time if it starts to dry out before the pears and berries are soft.

Rowan berries are bitter, so if you prefer things sweeter, you can add sugar, chopped dates, or more honey to taste. In The Traitor of Sherwood Forest, Jane cleverly adds flower petals to her conserves for flavor—a common trick documented in royal kitchens, if not peasant ones, so you could add violet syrup to this recipe to make it sweeter, but still keep the flavors of Jane’s conserves. I would leave out the ginger if you add the violets…

Violets! That sounds so lovely. Thank you so much for taking the time to answer these questions, Amy. This novel is truly a breathtaking read, especially if you grew up loving the Robin Hood story and want to come back to it as an adult and see it manifested as something that feels true.

If you’re a medieval folklore fan, the novel is out now anywhere books are sold, or you can order it directly from the publisher here! If you read it, let me know what you think!

I won’t send another newsletter out for a while, but the next time I do, I’ll be talking with author Louisa Morgan (A Secret History of Witches) about re-enchantment and melding magic and history in fiction, as well as her upcoming Arthurian retelling, The Faerie Morgana! Stay tuned…

Recently, I promised to share interviews with authors of new retellings I’ve loved, and I want to start with Allison Epstein’s new book, Fagin the Thief. Allison is one of my favorite historical fiction authors. I befriended her on social media years ago when I became obsessed with her debut novel, which I read while I was researching Elizabethan England. A Tip for the Hangman is a gorgeous portrait of the playwright Christopher Marlowe’s last years that manages somehow to be both a beautiful love story and a thriller. I also loved her second novel, Let the Dead Bury the Dead, an alternate history set in St. Petersburg that includes fractured retellings of traditional Eastern European folktales.

Fagin the Thief is a retelling of Oliver Twist from the perspective of one of Dickens’ most famous villains: the ringleader of child thieves who gets Oliver to steal for him. The novel—part villain origin story like Wicked or Circe, part Dickensian ghost story—has been getting a lot of buzz and acclaim, and rightly so. The Wall Street Journal called it “an empathetic saga of troubled souls,” and the Chicago Review of Books called it “a complex exploration of the life of an underdog.” In short, the novel is both heartbreaking and wickedly funny, beautifully written, and the best sort of retelling: one that makes us think about why the original was told the way it was. It offers a nuanced portrait of Fagin, tracing his capacity for compassion as well as his flaws as it corrects Dickens’ caricature. The original portrayal of Fagin is so antisemitic, Dickens was criticized for it in his own time.

But that’s enough from me. Here’s Allison Epstein, generously answering my questions about this brilliant book…

This interview has been lightly edited and condensed for clarity.

MM: For folks who are coming to this interview without much knowledge of Oliver Twist, could you talk a bit about who Fagin is? What inspired you to retell Dickens’ novel from his perspective?

AE: Fagin is one of the main antagonists from Dickens’s novel Oliver Twist, alongside Bill Sikes (who is also in my book) and Oliver’s half-brother Monks (who is not, because I don’t care about him). Fagin is, in Dickens’s unquestionably antisemitic words, the “ugly old Jew” who takes in orphaned children off the streets of London and teaches them how to become thieves, giving them a place to live in exchange for the money and valuables they steal for him. It’s an immediately memorable character in the original, but Dickens repeatedly conflates Fagin’s criminal career, his personal wickedness, and his Jewishness, so much so that at a certain point in each reread I want to throw the book across the room…

I’ve always seen so much potential in Fagin. He’s a scene-stealer, the kind of iconoclastic figure that stays with you long after you’ve closed the book. And there are flashes of possibility throughout Oliver Twist where you can tell Dickens is having a great time writing Fagin—like he’s dancing around the realization that this is a whole person. My favorite example is in the last third of the book where Fagin is running a con on Oliver’s old nemesis Noah Claypole: Fagin’s playing a game of cat-and-mouse with this unsympathetic buffoon, and because Noah is such an odious character, the reader is suddenly on Fagin’s side. In that exchange, you can see what kind of character he might have been under a more sympathetic eye. But those flashes never last long, and before you know it Dickens goes back to [portraying the character he introduces as] “the old, shriveled, villainous-looking, repulsive Jew” hiding his diamonds under the floorboards.

It’s frustrated me for so long! Dickens is brilliant! So much of Oliver Twist is excellent! He clearly had the range! And then he just gave us Nothing….

MM: How long have you wanted to write this book? What’s the backstory? When did you first read Oliver Twist?

AE: This book has been in my head for at least five years, but the vague concept has been ambiently there for much longer. I first read Oliver Twist when I was probably fourteen and going through my parents’ bookshelves looking for something to read that felt adult and impressive. I was familiar with the general story from frequent exposure to Oliver! the Broadway musical, so I was curious to see how the original book would differ from the plot I was familiar with. (Spoiler: it differs a lot. Every day of my life, I’m baffled somebody read Oliver Twist and thought “let’s make this into a musical for children.”)

I first started talking earnestly about writing Fagin the Thief in the early pandemic days. I definitely wasn’t ready to start writing it then, and I was constantly checking Publishers Marketplace emails, certain that someone more talented and famous than me would announce a six-figure multi-language deal for an Oliver Twist retelling any day now. To my surprise, it didn’t happen, which was both exciting and intimidating. If no one else was going to write the book I wanted, I would just have to do the best I could. Finally, I sat down and wrote 40,000 words of the first draft in a month and a half. If you know me or my drafting process, that is not how it usually goes! Not that it eliminated all of the nerves, but it did feel like a good sign that the story wanted to be written.

MM: I’m so glad you were the one who got to write it! You do such a masterful job of making Fagin human. His childhood in particular made me sympathize with him, despite the things he does as an adult—and this isn’t your only book to feature morally gray characters. Your newsletter, Dirtbags through the Ages, goes even further, specifically setting out to highlight the lives of objectively terrible people (in deeply hilarious fashion, I might add). Why do you think you’re so drawn to write about flawed characters? (I ask this sincerely, as someone who is drawn to flawed characters both as a writer and reader...)

AE: In all sincerity, messy characters are so much more interesting than characters who are easy to sort into the category of “good” or “bad.” And beyond that, I find them more real! None of us are driven purely by altruistic motives. We all share those dark, selfish, cowardly, destructive impulses, and some of my most flawed characters reflect parts of myself that I try my very best not to show the world in real life.

My other favorite aspect of writing flawed characters is when their motivations and fears and shortcomings finally click together in my head and, after building this character for weeks or months (or years), I understand them. That was the real joy of writing Fagin the Thief. Oliver Twist shows how these characters behave, but it doesn’t explore why: what drives Fagin to make a living by teaching orphans to steal? What makes Bill Sikes so certain violence is the only answer? Those questions are crunchy and messy, and there’s so much to sink your teeth into as a writer. I know when I’ve got it right because I get this rush of empathy for a character making decisions I fundamentally disagree with—a recognition that even though this person is a disaster, they’re a person, before anything else.

MM: Could you talk about why you included the ghost of Jacob's father in the book? Although your second novel had strong speculative elements, your first, A Tip for the Hangman, was strictly historical. In this novel, the inclusion of the ghost is the single departure from traditional realistic historical fiction, and I'm curious to hear your thinking behind that choice, which I thought was so moving.

AE: I’ve actually thought about Fagin the Thief as a ghost story since the very beginning: my original pitch to my agent was “it’s Oliver Twist retold from Fagin’s point of view and also maybe he can talk to ghosts.” I didn’t know who the ghost was right away, but I knew immediately that Jacob was a deeply haunted character. Once the ghost came together, everything about Jacob’s character made more sense.

He’s being followed by the ghost of his father, who in my version was hanged as a thief before Jacob was born. In that way, it’s both a past and a future haunting: the specter of where he came from, and the sick draw of where everyone in his life thinks he’s headed. It captured the isolation and sense of inescapable fate that I felt throughout Jacob’s story, and it also allowed me to nod to the “ghost” of Dickens’s Fagin, who readers would always have in the back of their minds while reading my character.

Plus, I figured, this is Dickens. If there’s ever a time to sneak the Ghost of Fagin Past into a book, it’s now.

MM: What do you think Dickens would think of this book?

AE: I suspect that Dickens’s gut reaction to my book would be annoyance. Which I’m all right with! Dickens and I have very different goals in mind for our books. In many ways, Oliver Twist is more like a fairy tale than a realist novel: its characters are either good, evil, or tragic, with very little space in between. Dickens uses those characters to make a clear social point, and the story is set up so that each character will receive the fate they “deserve” by the end. I imagine Dickens finding out I wrote a book humanizing his villains and feeling that I missed the moral point he was trying to make.

I like to think, though, that eventually Dickens would appreciate the goal of Fagin the Thief. I tried to stay as faithful to the original text as possible, making changes only when it was necessary to stay true to my version of the character or to keep the book focused on Fagin’s story rather than Oliver’s. And I genuinely admire so much about Dickens that I tried to emulate (as best I could!), whether it’s his incredible ability to create an atmospheric setting or the wicked humor of his narrator. I hope Dickens would see Fagin the Thief the way I see it: as a novel that’s not trying to replace the original, but instead to take the same raw materials and build something different out of it.

Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to me! This book is so beautiful and moving and ambitious, and I hope it finds all the readers it deserves. I turned the last page in an empty room and just said wow to no one at all.

If it sounds like you’d love this book as much as I did, you can order your own (fancy, gold-embossed, hardcover) copy here. In the meantime, stay tuned for the next installment of this interview series, coming at the end of April on the release date of a certain feminist Robin Hood retelling!

I’m of two minds today. It’s spring—still freezing in fits and starts here in Atlanta—but warming quickly. It’s the season of rebirth, growth, beauty. There are daffodils by the mailbox in my front yard. Fragile buds, beautiful sploshes of white and lemon, emblems of hope. But as spring comes, I’m anticipating the months ahead with dread. What lies beneath the dead grass, which will soon shoot upward? What seedlings are unfurling beneath the soil? I’m afraid of what’s being born into the world.

This spring, I’m surprised at my ability to hold anxiety and appreciation for beauty in my heart at once. Sometimes, when I’m watching my toddler son and dog race—furious, gleeful—through the yard, I blink, remember something that’s happening, and feel guilty for smiling.

But the truth is, we can’t get the work we need to get done without spiritual sustenance. Laughter is as necessary as determination, and so is art. That’s why there are songs for planting, songs for harvesting, songs for even the most desperate prayers. In difficult times, we need stories more than anything. Stories to inspire us, to wake us from our metaphysical slumber. Stories to help us understand why we do the things we do, grapple with what it means to be human, rethink the way we see ourselves.

Because retellings are particularly good at that—because they show us new ways of seeing old stories, and thus new ways of seeing ourselves—I’m going to share a couple of interviews with authors of new retellings soon. But I want to give each interview space of its own, so stay tuned!

Today, I want to close with a poem by Andrea Eldridge which we just published in Enchanted Living about beautiful things that grow in the dark.

With love,
Mary

Mycologist calls it
Caloscypha fulgens
Did he sip from a
Dazzling golden cup
Hiding in detritus duff?

Blazing the color of a
Neon nightfall
Bellowing from the bog or
Beneath a fecund log
“I dare you to find me!”

Reach for rare air and
Set forth farther to
Pluck an organic
Original from Eden or
Chihuly’s glass garden.

Our truffle hunter
Wielding his blade with
Microscopic precision
Protects the secret locale of
Another fluorescent kingdom.

seemingly insignificant spores

— Andrea Eldridge, “Forager,” from Enchanted Living #70

It is freezing cold here in the Atlanta area—20 degrees this morning, brrr!—and I am enjoying the 21st century comfort of central heat and very much looking forward to using the fireplace in my new home soon! I’m a day late with this missive because I’ve been utterly immersed in childcare and finishing a revision of a book proposal—more on that soon, I hope—but I wanted to take a moment to wish you all a Happy Yule today!

One of my favorite things to do to celebrate Yule is to make a traditional spiced wine, so I’m sharing two recipes I love, with any luck, in time to include in your seasonal celebrations!

First, this very cool historical recipe for hippocras, which I’ll be trying for the first time this year, and the page from the popular London cookbook it was published in! Hippocras is the Roman name for spiced wine, the first recipes for which appeared in the Holy Roman Empire during about the 14th century.

Traditional Hippocras

Take to a pottle of wine an ounce of cinamon, an ounce of ginger, an ounce of nutmegs, a quarter of an ounce of cloves, seven corns of pepper, a handfull of rosemary flowers, and two pound of sugar.
—Robert May, The Accomplisht Cook, Or, The Art and Mystery of Cookery, 1660

There is nothing here to indicate it should be heated, so I’ll be assuming this recipe is one of the ones that just expects you to let the ingredients sit for a day at room temperature. Hippocras can be served hot or cold. This version appears to be a large batch and very sweet, so I am going to make a smaller batch with a single bottle of red, adding spices to taste, and reducing the sugar drastically.

The wine I usually make during Yule, and—let’s be real, will probably also make this year—is glühwein, the German version of the winter mulled wine that’s still popular today in various incarnations across Europe, though it goes by many different names—svařák in Prague, gløgg in Scandinavia, and so on.

Fun fact: in the version of The Book of Gothel that went to copyediting, several scenes depicted Haelewise drinking glühwein, until the German medievalist who helped me check the book for historical accuracy informed me that exactly zero recipes found in 12th c. German manuscripts mention mulled wine, so it was super unlikely anyone drank it. Especially not peasants, because spices were extremely expensive. Oops!

Regardless of whether it was consumed in the 12th century, I still love glühwein, so I’m sharing the recipe I use, which I’ve cobbled together from several recipes I’ve tried over the years.

Traditional Glühwein

Ingredients
4 cinnamon sticks
8 whole cloves
8 whole star anise
pinch of nutmeg
1/8 cup sugar (or to taste)
1 bottle of spätburgunder or other dry red wine
kirschwasser, the classic German cherry liqueur (to taste)
1 orange, sliced

Instructions
Slice orange into thin wedges.
Put everything except the kirschwasser into a pot.
Simmer for 15 minutes on low, then add the kirschwasser to taste and stir. (You don’t want it to evaporate.)
Let cool slightly, then spoon or ladle into glass mugs.

If you try either of these, let me know what you think in a reply or the comments!

That’s it for this winter! It’s back to my book proposal for me until tomorrow afternoon, when I’ll be starting a much-needed holiday break.

I truly hope that you enjoyed the solstice yesterday, and that you are staying warm and cozy and enjoying time with your families.

Warmly,

Mary

This season is a period of reflection for me because of how many family members I lost early in life. I always look forward to the harvest celebration of my Celtic ancestors, Samhain; the darkening of days; the time when everyone else starts thinking about spirits and ghosts as much as I do.

An author friend recently asked me an intriguing question about whether I thought fairy tales were a precursor to Gothic novels and horror fiction, and I got to thinking about how far back scary stories go. There’s classic gothic fiction, fairy tales, and folktales and legends before them; scary stories have been told around campfires around the globe. There are terrifying Native American legends, monsters in Greek mythology, the frightening daoine sith of Scotland and Ireland, the ghosts of Chinese folklore, and more.

It seems the tendency to take pleasure in scary stories goes back to the beginning of storytelling itself. What is more entertaining—more distracting—from the difficulties in your own life than a story about something unthinkable and terrifying happening to someone else? During some of the most stressful periods of my life, I’ve read horror fiction and binged The Walking Dead.

It’s really difficult to think about your own problems when you’re watching somebody face zombies.

This October, I thought I’d put together a list of four books to read in the dark—to distract you from stressful times, to get you thinking about your ancestral and personal ghosts.

River Woman, River Demon

Jennifer Givhan’s 2022 gothic mystery novel, River Woman, River Demon, contains rich insights into the folk magick that fills its pages. This book is a gorgeous, shadowy thing. The novel follows Eva Santos Moon, a burgeoning artist whose husband is accused of murder, who must confront her past and embrace her magick to find out what really happened. It’s a tense and suspenseful book, a kaleidoscopic thriller that explores the way trauma can fragment memory. But it’s also a hopeful book, the story of a woman confronting her demons, a woman coming into her own power and learning to love—and forgive—herself.

I devoured it in forty-eight hours, and it only took me that long because I was caring for a five-month-old infant! I still vividly remember the afternoon I was reading the climax, when every single noise in my house made me jump—in the middle of the day, mind you. Jenn is a gifted poet, and each sentence she writes is like an incantation. If you love lyrical, sharp prose, or if you’re interested in brujería, I highly recommend reading this novel this month.

The Haunting of Hill House

As a diehard Shirley Jackson fan, I firmly believe that no October reading list would be complete without the haunted house novel that literally inspired a genre. This is a story about personal ghosts and trauma, a story about the conditions that might lead us to lose touch with reality. If you haven’t read it, Hill House is a novel about a young woman with a history of non-ordinary experiences, Eleanor Vance, who has been existentially lonely for a very long time while taking care of her ailing mother. When parapsychologist Dr. John Montague hears of a house that’s supposed to be haunted, he invites Eleanor and a few other supernaturally gifted people to stay there for a weekend, so he can study them.

I was introduced to parapsychology by my beloved uncle who wrote his master’s thesis on out-of-body experiences in the 1970s and was later diagnosed with schizophrenia. He lived with us while he was recovering from psychotic symptoms when I was a child, and I read his thesis as a teenager. His experiences, as well as my own tendency to experience reality a bit differently than others—I have bipolar disorder—make the themes of this book fascinating to me. Like River Woman, I read Hill House in a two-day period during which I did not want to do anything other than read. If you haven’t read it, please visit your local independent bookstore and procure it promptly.

The Devil and Mrs. Davenport

Speaking of parapsychology, author Paulette Kennedy’s latest novel, The Devil and Mrs Davenport, follows a 1950s suburban housewife named Loretta Davenport whose life changes utterly after a local girl is murdered and she suffers a series of strange fevers. She begins seeing ghosts—spiritual shadows of the past—who whisper secrets. Loretta is married to an ambitious assistant professor at a local evangelical college, and she has tried very hard all her married life to please her husband. But Pete dismisses her visions as products of her fevered imagination, at first, and later condemns them as demonic. I am sure everyone on this newsletter list will be as pleased as I was when Loretta started to defy him, opening herself to her visions in the hopes that she can solve the murder.

Yes, that’s right—a parapsychologist, a supernaturally gifted woman, and a murder mystery set in the 1950s—if you love Shirley Jackson as much as I do, you will no doubt devour this one as quickly as I did. It’s not only a gripping portrait of stifling mid-century society, but a story of a woman coming into her power.

The ending, by the way, is deeply satisfying.

Her Body and Other Parties

Her Body and Other Parties is a famously subversive, realistic, and creepy short story collection. I highly recommend it if you haven’t read it yet! One of the short stories, “Eight Bites,” is among my top three short stories ever; it’s a story about a woman who has bariatric surgery and is haunted by her former self. There’s also “The Resident,” a story about a writer who goes on a haunted writing residency, and “The Husband Stitch,” a play on the urban legend retold by Alan Schwartz, which is probably responsible for traumatizing an entire generation of Gen X readers, “The Girl with the Green Ribbon.”

Carmen Maria Machado is a master of lyrical prose, nuanced characterization, suspense, and building realistic worlds that seem like ours—until, slowly, you realize with a creeping sense of dread, they are something else altogether. If you haven’t read this book, treat yourself.

That’s all for now, though of course I would be remiss if I didn’t mention The Book of Gothel and A Rose by any Other Name, also great reads for October, if you haven’t read them yet! Both are stories about brave women and witches who confront the shadows inside them and come out stronger.

Let me know what scary books you’d recommend this October—the sort of thing that will keep me up at night!

Mary

The day has come! A Rose by Any Other Name is making her way out into the world, and I’m feeling very emotional about letting her go. One moment I’m so excited I want to scream, and the next I feel strangely sad, as if in giving her to you I am losing her myself. Rose is a prickly, fierce woman—but she has a softness at her core, and I love how difficult and wild she is. She reminds me of my younger self.

If you preordered, you should be receiving your copy very soon. It’s also not too late to order from Charis Books and get a signed copy with the official bookmark and a golden astrological seal! But my launch event is tomorrow, Wednesday, July 17, at 7pm, so you’ll need to order soon of you want me to sign your copy at the event. If you prefer to order from another bookstore, you can sign up to have me mail you the preorder incentives and a signed bookplate here. The deadline for that is Saturday, July 21.

And about that event! If you’re in Atlanta, I’ll be in conversation with Sara Cleto of the Carterhaugh School of Folklore and the Fantastic tomorrow at the Georgia Center for the Book in the Decatur Public Library!

Finally, if you’re on Instagram, I’ll be talking about History, Romance, and Dark Magic on Instagram Live, Thursday, July 18 at 7pm EDT with the wonderful Constance Sayers! I would love for you to join us—we’re going to be pretty casual, have fun, and take questions!

I’m happy that the novel is the SFF/Horror/Romance Editor’s Pick for the week over at Publishers Weekly, a huge honor and wonderful surprise in the crowded book market. But second novels are less publicized than debuts, so I’ve been asked by friends and family how they can help during launch week. I’ll share that here in case any of you want to help too. This applies to any of your favorite authors’ books, by the way:

• Request the book at your local library.

• Tell your friends about the book—share a launch graphic, this newsletter, or an image of you with the book on social media or in email.

• Share, like, or comment on my posts on Facebook, Instagram, X, or Threads.

And of course, once you do read the book, please don’t forget to rate or post a review on Amazon or Goodreads, where the algorithm will help the book find its readers!

As always, I am incredibly grateful to each and every one of you for accompanying me on this journey—for your words of enthusiasm, for reading my books, and for your support. I probably won’t post for a while since I’ve been sending newsletters far more often than I usually do in support of the novel (sorry!), but I’ll be returning to my quarterly seasonal meditation schedule this fall when I also hope to share news about what’s next!

I’ll tell you a secret: one of my new projects is a folkloric historical fantasy in the vein of The Book of Gothel, exploring a Scottish legend I wrote about years ago in these poems…

Let me know what you think!

Warmly,

Mary McMyne

I cannot believe we are two weeks out from the release of A Rose by Any Other Name. I am having all the feelings!

Today I thought I’d share the preorder incentives you’ll get if you order the novel early, as well as the second scene that was chosen when I offered to share exclusive excerpts: the scene in which Rose meets Will for the first time!

First, the incentives! If you preorder, you will get the official bookmark with classic portraits selected to represent all four main characters, a golden astrological seal, and either a signed bookplate if you preorder from a bookstore of your choice and fill out the campaign form, or a directly signed copy if you preorder from Charis Books!

And now, the scene…

When I started this novel, I wanted to imagine a full life for Shakespeare’s Dark Lady. Less than thirty of Shakespeare’s 152 sonnets are about her, and I didn’t want this novel to only be about him. This means Rose doesn’t meet Will until the end of the third chapter, when she and Cecely are searching for Rose’s grandmother’s brothel in Shoreditch.

Imagine it. Twelfth Night, 1592. The streets are full of masked revelers. Excitement is in the air.

We drifted down the street, looking for places to ask about the brothels’ owners’ names. There was a theatre with a dim sign advertising a reprise of Tamburlaine, a brutal play that I had seen the previous summer in Gravesend.

As we tried to decide whether we should enter a tavern without an escort, we saw a masked woman in a gaudy cream gown approach the one across the street. Her bodice was tight, its neck adorned with silvery embroidery, so low it showed the tops of her shapely breasts. Her sleeves were rosy velvet, her skirts damask. Her mask—feathered, pearled, pink—towered over her face. Her hair was dyed a bright golden red. I couldn’t tell if she was a duchess or a courtesan.

When Cecely nudged me, I had my answer. “She might know the place we’re looking for.”

We followed her into the bustling tavern, where she sat at a brightly lit table with three men in their late twenties. They weren’t in festival costume, but we could only see two of their faces. A blond man with tempestuous brown eyes was glaring at a man with shoulder-length brown hair. The brown-haired man’s eyes were an unusual hazel, light brown with flecks of gold that made them glow like the eyes of a cat. He was straddling a chair that he’d turned backward, watching the blond man with a complicated expression that appeared to be a mixture of admiration and contempt.

Between them was a scatter of loose papers covered with writing and splotches of wine. The blond man was smoking a pipe; the scent of tobacco filled the air.

The courtesan peered over their shoulders as if she were reading. A jug of wine sat on the table. The serving woman had given up on keeping their cups filled. They were gentlemen judging by their apparel, or the sons of wealthy merchants at least.

My gaze was drawn to the brown-haired man for reasons I didn’t then understand. He was not especially handsome, though his features were pleasing enough. Perhaps it was his insolent posture, the impression he gave of confidence. His eyes were deep-set, and his shoulder-length hair shone in the candlelight. His eyes were the most interesting thing about him: that gold-flecked brown, aloof and intelligent.

“Enter a messenger, with two heads and a hand,” the blond man said in a disdainful voice. He had the same accent as the Underhills, as if he’d been to Oxford. He smirked, projecting an air of amusement, but I thought I saw a subtle insult in his eyes. “Is this satire?”

The brown-haired man smiled faintly, his eyes flickering with cold amusement, like a cat that climbs onto a tall shelf to watch the world from above. I expected him to speak in an educated manner like the blond man, but he had the accent of a rustic. “Perhaps it is,” he teased, smirking subtly. “Or perhaps not. Who can tell?”

The pull I felt toward him startled me.

“Don’t provoke him, Will,” the third man said. “And for Christ’s sake, Kit, please, content. There are echoes of your work, to be sure, but only because we want Titus to rouse theatregoers as Malta and Tamburlaine did. We want your opinion.”

Tamburlaine. Was this Kit the dramatist? He searched the other two men’s faces, then shifted in his seat, apparently satisfied with what he’d seen. “Aaron is interesting,” he said finally. It took me a moment to realise he was referring to a character. “But unless you intend this to be satire, I don’t think you’ve sufficiently examined his motives.”

“Interesting,” the brown-haired man—Will, I supposed—echoed. His chuckle was forced, and his eyes weren’t laughing.

“Indeed.” Kit shot him an apologetic smile. “I don’t think the script is finished, truth be told. The ending is better than the beginning.”

“If we thought it was finished,” Will said with a tight smile that barely concealed his displeasure, “we would not have sought your advice.”

“Anything else?” the third man asked Kit.

 “It’s no masterpiece, but it’s bloody enough to sell tickets. And it’s set in Rome, or at least some vague approximation of the place,” he said dismissively, “so you won’t have trouble with the censors.” He lowered his voice and spoke in the tone of someone offering valuable advice. “If you set something in England, be kind to the Tudors until you have a patron.”

Before Will could respond, Cecely pulled me toward the table. “Pardon me,” she said.

The courtesan gave us an irritated look. “Before you ask, no, I don’t know your ’usbands.” Her voice was the deepest voice I’d ever heard come out of a woman’s mouth, throaty, seductive.

“We’re not here to speak of husbands,” Cecely laughed, as the men stopped bickering to watch our exchange. “We have a question about a subject in which you may have expertise.”

She looked surprised. “Well, then. Out with it.”

Cecely turned to me. I cleared my throat. The woman looked me up and down, her eyes lingering on my clothes, her expression shrewd. I met her eyes squarely, removing my mask. “I’m looking for an Italian bawd whose last name might be abbreviated M-N-L. Would you happen to know such a woman?”

She stared at me, unblinking. For a moment I thought she wouldn’t answer. Then she dissolved into laughter. “Give me a moment, sweeting,” she said, shoulders shaking. “That is not what I expected you to say at all.”

Will caught my eye, his lips quivering with amusement. “Nor I. You are full of surprises.”

When the courtesan stopped laughing, I addressed her. “Well? Do you know such a woman?”

She shook her head. “But that doesn’t mean she don’t exist. I keep to Shoreditch. No doubt you realise, bawds don’t exactly advertise their legal names.”

I drew a deep breath, disappointment making me shaky. “Do you know anyone who might know of her?”

She shook her head. “Try the other districts, love. Smithfield. Southwark. Clerkenwell.”

Will stood. For the first time I noticed his apparel. A fitted, dark-buttoned doublet that emphasized his narrow waist. Black breeches, lace-up sleeves, dark hose beneath black knee-high boots. Simple, but he wore it with dignity.

“I am often in those wards. I’m an actor,” he said with as much pride as someone might state an aristocratic title. “A gentlewoman like you would no doubt do everything in her power to avoid entering such establishments herself.” His eyes danced, as if he were daring me to admit otherwise. “It would be easy for me to visit on your behalf. Tell me where you live, and I’ll call if I find your woman.”

I considered his offer, trying to see the risks from every angle. Cecely caught my eye, giving a subtle shake of her head. I knew what she meant. We didn’t know this man at all. It was foolish to tell him where we lived when he was no doubt trying to extract the information. But something in me wanted to see him again.

“Underhill House, Bishopsgate. Come to the servants’ entrance. Ask for Cecely.” I nodded at my friend. “I don’t want the master of the house to know I was here.”

At the mention of a master of the house, I thought I saw Will’s eyes narrow with—not disappointment, exactly, but interest, as if the possibility that I was with someone else enticed him. “Of course,” he said quickly. “It wouldn’t be proper for you to be in Shoreditch without your father—or is it husband? Forgive me. I didn’t catch your name.”

“She didn’t give it,” the third man said.

“Signora Irraggiungibile,” said Kit.

Will rolled his eyes, either hiding his ignorance of Italian or ignoring the implication that I was above him. His reserve had transformed into an amorous defiance, as if he wanted to challenge me to a contest. Something about the way he looked at me—his wantonness, the promise of misrule—made me want to rise to the challenge.

“Mistress Rose Rushe,” I replied.

“Not Underhill?”

I shook my head. He waited for me to say more, but I didn’t.

“I would’ve expected baronessa, duchessa,” he said. His Italian accent was terrible, but I found his attempt to impress me charming nonetheless. He bowed, pretending to kiss my hand. His movements were graceful, almost elegant. “Will Shakespeare.”

Cecely smiled stiffly.

This novel imagines a very particular character for Will, based on how bawdy and people-pleasing his plays are, the way he wrote Katarina and Petrucchio and Richard III. There’s a rumor that Will seduced a fan of actor Richard Burbage and taunted him about it. It was a challenge to try to capture his arrogance and sexiness and brilliance, combined with the dangerous need to be liked that you see here.

I have been really honored by some of the reviews the novel has been getting—one of my favorites will appear in the July 16 issue of BookPage! Here’s an excerpt:

In A Rose by Any Other Name, author Mary McMyne explores a question that scholars and English teachers have debated for centuries: Who was the “Dark Lady” depicted in some of Shakespeare’s most iconic sonnets? McMyne gives this mystery woman shape, autonomy and desire in the figure of Rose, whom she guides through a dark Elizabethan England… The original world that McMyne has created shines. Her descriptions of magic are rich with heavy, cloying scents and skin-tingling sensations. Her streets feel full of possibility and danger. And Rose and her imperfect, wild compatriots seem to spring from the page. A captivating blend of forensic literary analysis and dark magic, A Rose by Any Other Name is a fascinating exploration into the world of “what if.”

In between launch preparations, I’m starting to think about what’s next after the release. I turned in a book proposal recently, so fingers crossed I’ll have more news for you on that in the months to come!

That’s all for this week, and as always, let me hear from you! Is there a final scene from the novel you’d like a peek at next week? Do you have a request for some subject you’d like me to talk about in this newsletter? Let me know in email or the comments. I’m happy to answer questions about my books, my writing process, or even hear your book recommendations! I was in a reading slump for a bit there after devouring The Secret History, but now I’m reading Constance Sayers’ A Witch in Time, which is absolutely absorbing!

Thank you for reading!

Mary

Cultures across northern Europe celebrate the middle of summer at different times. The summer solstice this year is today, June 20, at 4:51 PM ET. Midsummer (Old English midsumor) is traditionally celebrated the night of June 23-24. This time of year, I always think about the spinning of the earth and sun and heavens, and how, although time seems to slow down with the heat and long days, nothing ever truly stands still.

We may find ourselves dazed by sunlight filtering down through a canopy of green, but there are always dust motes spinning in it like tiny angels, a whispering breeze, the subtle movement of leaves. Grass is growing, ever so slowly. Clouds are drifting. The Earth is turning at 1,037 miles per hour, and the universe is expanding at astonishing speed. Like the stars, we are aging, moving, changing.

I have always loved Carl Sagan’s claim that we are stardust, children of the stars. Thinking of myself that way makes the wonder I feel on solstice and equinox seem perfectly rational.

Shakespeare and Elizabethan magical beliefs

For many centuries, people in northern Europe believed that the world is thinnest at Midsummer, and Elizabethan England was no different. I wrote an article for this summer’s issue of Enchanted Living on Elizabethan flower magic and the magical roots of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and while researching it, I was reminded why Shakespeare chose to set the famous fairy play on this particular night.

The play celebrates the legend that the world is thinnest on Midsummer night, when the creatures who dwelt in the shadow realm came out to dance. Oberon famously claims to “know a bank where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, with sweet musk-roses and with eglantine…” (Act 2, Scene 1). To the modern reader, his reference to a bank of thyme

might seem like a throwaway sylvan detail, but thyme, like bluebells, was associated with fairies. According to Richard Folkard’s Plant Lore, Legends and Lyrics, a bank of thyme was a common location for fairy revels…. Emily Carding notes that period herbals and grimoires categorized most of the other flowers in Oberon’s speech—oxlips, violets, woodbine, and musk roses—as being ruled by the planet Venus, evoking the play’s focus on love.

— “Elizabethan Flower Magic: A look at the magical roots of Oberon’s trick in A Midsummer Night’s Dream” in Enchanted Living

In Elizabethan England, ancient mythology, astrology, and written magical tradition were not seen as separate. Physicians consulted astrological almanacs before prescribing treatment. Cunning women, alchemists, and aspiring magicians believed that the hidden properties of herbs and metals came from their corresponding stars and planets.

Shakespeare seems to have taken the character of Oberon at least in part from a spirit named Oberyon, who appears in magical manuscripts of the period. In the Book of magic, with instructions for invoking spirits, Oberyon is described as “kinge of the fayries” who “teacheth a man knowledge in phisicke and sheweth the nature of stones herbes and trees and of all mettall” (Folger MS Vb26, p. 80, 1583). He is illustrated with the sun and moon around him, the symbols for several planets beneath him.

I wanted the magic in A Rose by Any Other Name to reflect this belief in the connection between the world above and the world below. When Rose casts a spell, she notices the scents of flowers and planetary metals. Every spell in her mother’s grimoire is aligned with the phases of the moon, marked with an optimal time for casting. Here is a fortnight spell that must be cast while the moon is waxing—from the new moon (●) to the full moon (○):

Giveaway to Subscribers Only

To celebrate the solstice today and full strawberry moon tomorrow, as well as the coming release of A Rose by Any Other Name next month, I’m giving away three free Google Play audio codes to subscribers only. I’m listening to the audiobook now using one of them, and I have been blown away by the performance of the voice actress, Suzie Rai! Reply to this email or comment on Substack if you want one—I’ll select three winners at random! All I ask is that if you receive one, you please post an honest review on Goodreads or Amazon (or both) when you finish.

Preorders and Launch Event

Finally, if you haven’t preordered yet, please consider doing so! Preorders mean so much to the success of a book, dictating everything from how many copies are printed to how many bookstores choose to carry it. Here is the link to the preorder page at Charis Books, the independent feminist bookstore that is hosting my launch event in conjunction with Georgia Center for the Book on July 17 at 7pm!

And here is the page to sign up for preorder incentives!

As always, thank you so much for sharing this journey with me—and for your continued support!

Mary

We are one month out from the release of A Rose by Any Other Name, and I am giving away a signed copy and the ring from the cover!

To enter, reply to this email, comment on Substack, or head over to Instagram or X to enter there. You can enter on multiple platforms.

I also have some good news—A Rose by Another Name has been getting glowing reviews from trade journals like Publisher’s Weekly and Booklist! These are the journals that help libraries and bookstores decide what to order for their shelves, so starred trade reviews are amazing news for an upcoming book. Here are snippets from each with links:

“A delightfully impish heroine… a tempestuous erotic connection… a captivating imagining of the life of the Dark Lady, the illusive inspiration for Shakespeare’s later sonnets.” ★ Publisher’s Weekly (starred review)

“A fascinating fictional exposé [with] a touch of mysticism and an LGBTQ+ twist.” ★ Booklist (starred review)

The preorder campaign is well underway! If you haven’t preordered already, that link is here. Be sure to save your receipts and get signed up to receive swag and a bookplate here! Thank you to everyone who has already ordered. Preorders mean so much to the success of a book!

SNEAK PREVIEW

In my last newsletter, you all voted on what you’d like to read in a sneak preview excerpt, and the most popular option was “Rose and Cecely cast a spell.” Without further ado, here it is—

Flipping to the back of the spellbook, I found a double fortnight spell to increase an unwilling subject’s sympathy and dissolve their hatred. As I read the incantation, the letters blurred and I thought I saw glyphs.

“What?” Cecely asked.

“It invokes Regina Caeli, the ‘queen of heaven,’ like many of her spells. I always thought that was St. Mary, but the spell uses wolfsbane. Poison. I keep seeing symbols behind the words."

Cecely touched the page, her expression so hopeful it hurt to look at her. "Are you sure you don't have your mother's gift?"

I swallowed my doubt, memorised the incantation, and taught it to her, then pried up a floorboard in the antechamber where we could leave the candle undisturbed. We knelt on either side of the candle, pressed the coin into the wax, and lit it, hurrying to finish before anyone woke.

The flame brightened the room just enough for me to see Cecely bending her face over the candle. Its pale light set her cheeks aglow. The candle guttered as I pulled out the pouch of wolfsbane from the trunk. “O Regina Caeli, roudos--" I chanted, working hard to hide my self-doubt. "Huat haut haut. Fugite, odium."

The wolfsbane was difficult to handle; even dried it could only be touched with gloves, which made my fingers clumsy. I pinched half a foreboding purple petal into the flame. I thought I felt something as the petals blackened, giving off a thin smoke. Something dark. A sizzling hatred in the air. My throat constricted. I wanted this to work so badly. When the smoke dissipated, I put the first shred of lemon balm leaf down to ring the candle.

“Nox enmortos,” we whispered. Our voices rose, stirring something subtle within me. My voice trembled as I reached the last line of the spell. “Roudos, roudos. Fiat sympathia.” Beneath the scent of wolfsbane and lemon balm, I thought I could smell roses. Not the ghost scent like before, but sweet and true and dark. And beneath that, so faint I couldn’t be sure it was real, the faintest whiff of copper. I couldn’t help but think of Venus, but the glyphs weren’t Latin or even Greek.

Across from me, Cecely knelt in her cream bodice, its fabric barely distinguishable from her skin. I became painfully aware of her plunging neckline, the shadowy curves beneath it. The aura of roses lingered between us, intoxicating. I couldn’t tell if it was coming from within or without me, but it was real. The spell was working.

I breathed it in, shivering, all my senses heightened. “Do you feel that?”

She nodded. “The queen of heaven.”

Stay tuned for more news as we approach release! As always, thank you so much for all your support and for sharing in this journey with me. I will report back soon with more info about my launch event!

I am so excited for you to read this book!

Mary

We are officially three months out from the release of A Rose by Any Other Name, and I just received my advance reader copies (ARCs)! Although I only have a limited number, I want to do a giveaway of a signed ARC for subscribers to thank you for all the support and love you’ve been giving the book!

All you have to do to enter is reply to this email, or leave a comment on Substack. Let me hear from you!

I’m floored by what some of my favorite authors have been saying about the novel:

“The must-read romantic historical fantasy of the summer.” —Constance Sayers, author of A Witch in Time

“A triumph of feminist imagination. Rose Rushe is the Dark Lady we've all been waiting for.”—Allison Epstein, author of A Tip for the Hangman

“A sensual and witchy look at Shakespeare’s England, as well as a compelling and singular take on the Bard himself… a masterful tale full of magic, poetry, and intrigue that will keep readers turning the pages into the dark of the night.” —Alyssa Palombo, author of The Spellbook of Katrina Van Tassel

“Timely, feminist, and wonderfully original.”  —Olesya Salnikova Gilmore, author of The Witch and the Tsar

Here’s a sneak preview of the first page!

Prologue

My name has only been whispered, heretofore, so that is where I’ll start. Rose, my mother christened me, for the thorny blooms in her garden. Rose Rushe. Her name for me was prescient. I grew to be much like those flowers: petaled, prickly, blood dark. Delightful to look at from a distance but like to make you bleed if touched.

Let no man fault the barbs in my disposition. I came of age during the latter years of Queen Elizabeth on the southeast coast of England, a time and place where women like me were especially scorned. I was the daughter of an ill-starred astrologer and a witch who refused to hide her Catholicism. A flower that grows in such a garden needs thorns.

Though my identity be hidden, much has been written of my character. It is true I am a wanton woman, no virgin, no goddess. It is true I broke my bed-vow; I loved my friend too much, my husband too little. I stand accused of using my wiles, or worse, some hellish power, to plague a certain poet with lust. 

The truth is, that poet—a pox on it, I’ll say his name—Will Shakespeare pursued me freely, of his own choosing. And the sonnets he wrote of our encounters, the bitter spew of a jealous lover, nearly ruined me. 

Stay tuned for another sneak preview for subscribers only later this year, and help me choose which excerpt to share below!

Of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t include a preorder link. Preorders mean so much to the success of a book, helping the publisher decide how many copies to print, which in turn helps determine how well-distributed a book is and ultimately how many copies it will sell. Please consider preordering if you can! And if you can’t afford to pre-order, you can help support me and the book by requesting A Rose by Any Other Name at your local library!

Save your receipts—as with Gothel, I’m running a pre-order campaign which will include a signed bookplate, a gorgeous bookmark with classic portraits representing Rose, Cecely, Will, and Henry, and a couple of surprises! All you have to do is fill out the preorder campaign form.

As always, thank you so much for your support!

Warmly,
Mary

A Rose by Any Other Name has an official release date. The novel will be available wherever books are sold on July 16, 2024!

Today is the official cover reveal and preorder launch, so I am sharing with you here. Please feast your eyes on this stunning design. I am a very, very lucky author:

Design by Lisa Marie Pompilio, cover photos by Blake Marrow/Shannon Associates (IG/X @shootblake)

Isn't it stunning? My publisher involved me very closely in the cover design and every single element evokes details from the story. The rose, candle, and jar of dried herbs are components in spells that Rose finds in her mother’s grimoire. The celestial details evoke Rose’s astrology business, and the spherical object in the foreground is a ring Rose’s father gives her before he dies. Armillary sphere finger rings like this one, which unfold into a miniature model of the heavens, were status symbols for 16th century astrologers. They were associated with instrument maker Gemma Frisius, one of the teachers of the famous occultist John Dee, who is a character in the novel along with his wife Jane. My editor was obsessed with the ring and wanted to put it on the cover so much she had my publisher buy a replica to shoot in studio!

In all respects, it’s the perfect cover for a witchy novel with three entangled love stories. If you’re familiar with the sonnets, the gothic, romantic vibe shouldn’t surprise you. If you’re not…

Shakespeare’s sonnets address two characters: a beautiful young man called the Fair Youth, and a mysterious woman called the Dark Lady. There is a centuries-long debate over whether these characters are fictional or inspired by real people, and the majority of modern critics insist they’re made up. But that hasn’t stopped many famous readers and critics from wondering. There are theories that the Fair Youth was Henry Wriothesley Earl of Southampton or William Herbert Earl of Pembroke, that the Dark Lady was poet Aemilia Bassano or a brothel owner named Luce Morgan.

The first seventeen poems encourage the Fair Youth to marry and produce an heir, a theme so different from the hundred-plus poems that follow, many critics think they were written on commission. Something changes at sonnet eighteen. Shakespeare starts writing the Fair Youth gorgeous, passionate love poems—over a hundred of them.

There are only twenty-six sonnets about or addressed to Shakespeare’s infamous mistress. Some of those poems praise her dark beauty and declare the speaker’s love for her, but others are more ambiguous, and many have deep veins of bitterness and misogyny running through them. The speaker blames his mistress for stealing the Fair Youth away from him, accuses her of giving them venereal disease, and even insinuates that she might have made a pact with the devil…

This novel was born of my fascination with the woman who might have inspired those poems.

Here is the official jacket copy:

From the author of The Book of Gothel comes the lush, magical story behind Shakespeare's sonnets, as told by one of his most famous subjects—the incendiary and mysterious Dark Lady.

My name has only been whispered, heretofore…

England, 1591. Rose Rushe’s passion for life runs deep—she loves mead and music, meddles with astrology, and laughs at her mother’s warnings to guard her reputation. When Rose’s father dies and a noble accuses her and her dear friend Cecely of witchcraft, they flee to the household of respected alchemists in London. But as their bond deepens, their sanctuary begins to feel more like a cage. To escape, they turn to the occult, secretly casting charms and selling astrological advice in the hopes of building a life together. This thriving underground business leads Rose to fair young noble Henry and playwright Will Shakespeare, and so begins a brief, tempestuous, and powerful romance—one filled with secret longings and deep betrayals. 

In this world of dazzling masques and decadent feasts, where the stars decide futures, Rose will write her own fate instead. 

If you pre-order the novel, you will receive my endless gratitude, a signed bookplate to put in your copy, and a limited edition bookmark featuring gorgeous historical portraits I’ve chosen to represent the four main characters:

Image credits, left to right: Cecely Weaver as La Bella (Woman in a Blue Dress) by Titian (Tiziano Vecellio, 1536); Henry Wriothesley as painted by Nicholas Hilliard (1594); Rose Rushe as Self-portrait at the Virginal with a Servant by Lavinia Fontana; and William Shakespeare in Hombres y Mujeres Celebres (1877).

Preordering early will help support the book and me as author; the more copies sell early, the better the book’s print run will be, and the more publicity the book will have. It will also help my prospects at selling another book. (Yes, I’m working on one, but it’s very new, too new to talk about yet—more on that later!)

Pre-order incentives will be mailed when the campaign closes on Saturday, July 20. You can participate in the campaign by preordering and filling out this form!

If you have any questions about the novel or preorder campaign, I’d love to answer them. Just drop a reply on Substack in the comments or shoot me a reply in email!

I am, as always, deeply grateful for your support!

Warmly,

Mary

It’s Scorpio season, a time of death and rebirth, of transformation. Change is in the air.

There is so much wrong with the world right now. But there is also beauty. Last night, I showed a child the moon for the very first time.

An excerpt from A Rose by Any Other Name

To honor the season, I thought I’d share a brief passage from my upcoming novel. But first, some news. The book I’ve been calling Mistress, the story of Shakespeare’s Dark Lady, has a new title: A Rose by Any Other Name. The projected release date is August 2024. I’ve seen a draft cover, and it’s breathtakingly gorgeous: romantic and shadowy and magical. Preorders should be coming soon.

Like Shakespeare’s sonnets, the novel explores attitudes toward darkness and light. Shakespeare describes his mistress’ eyes as beautiful, raven-black, becoming of their woe. She’s gorgeous, despite the fact that she’s the physical opposite of his fair youth. But he condemns her spiritually by calling her as black as hell and dark as night. Those similes have always bothered me. Why is darkness evil and light good? It’s never been that simple. Even the name of the embodiment of evil in Christianity, Lucifer, derives from the Latin word for light. Evil is a fallen star.

There is nothing inherently good about light, or evil about darkness. Nor is there anything inherently evil about the thinning of the veil. They say ghosts appear on the last night of October, but my heart is full of ghosts all year. I welcome the presence of those I love who’ve left the world. Death is transformation, no matter what you believe, and change is beautiful.

Darkness and light are part of a whole.

In the below passage, slightly edited to remove spoilers, Rose must face the shadows her mother invokes. Her mother, Katarina, is an Italian cunning woman who uses prayer and herbs to cast healing spells and love charms.

Katarina is not afraid of the dark.

Chapter Three

The door slammed shut, leaving our kitchen as still as the frozen marsh. Apart from my mother’s candle, the kitchen was black. I blinked, trying to make sense of what had just happened. In a moment, everything had changed. We were in grave danger.

Mother reached into the pocket of her wrapping gown and pulled out her myrtlewood rosary, murmuring a Latin prayer. “Regina Caeli,” she whispered, “santificetur nomen tuum.”

She stared into the candle flame, eyes narrowed, her expression cold and furious. Just outside the candle’s penumbra, something drew my eye, a subtle movement. The shadows seemed almost to shiver, rolling around my mother in a ring.

It was the second time that day the shadows had drawn attention to themselves. I shuddered, stricken with a sudden chill. Mother was holding a rosary, and her prayer had addressed the queen of heaven, but those shadows didn’t seem holy. Mother’s gaze seemed distant, faraway, as if she were staring through the flame into hell or heaven.

The candle flickered, reflected in her pupils—now orange, now red—making her eyes glow. She put the rosary back in her pocket, her expression resigned.

“Pack your portmantle,” she said in a cold voice. “We have too many enemies here. We need to be on the first wherry to London tomorrow.”

A shiver ran through me. The night seemed to change shape, transforming into a new version of itself. Still dark, but full of confusion, the creeping horror of dreams realised. This was not how I meant to achieve my goal. “London?”

“I see no other choice.”

That voice. It chilled me. I should've been happy about the prospect of going to the city where I’d always wanted to live. In other circumstances, I would’ve welcomed it. But all I could think about was the look on my mother’s face, the shadows that still seemed to be moving around her. I took an unwitting step backwards, overcome with an eerie certainty that it was she—not our enemies—whom I should fear.

October 30 Event In New Orleans

I’m looking forward to being in conversation with Ava Morgyn at Blue Cypress Books at 6pm on October 30 in New Orleans. We’re going to talk about our inspiration for our novels, autumn, and the history of witchcraft. If you’re local, I would love to see you there!

A Witchy Giveaway

Ava and I are also doing an Instagram giveaway this week in advance of the event. Stop by for a chance to win copies of both our books!

That’s all for now, although I’m looking forward to sharing the final cover of A Rose by Any Other Name and a preorder link sometime soon. I cannot wait to share this book with you…

Sending you all best wishes for a beautiful Samhain,

Mary

I’m celebrating this week not only because of the arrival of summer—which some celebrated on the solstice and others celebrate on Midsummer tomorrow—but also because I finally turned in my first draft of Mistress to my editor! Yes, it’s official. The Dark Lady novel I’ve been dreaming of since grad school is actually happening! Stay tuned for the official publication date and other news…

The final scene in the novel takes place at a Midsummer celebration, so this week seems a fitting time to finish the book. In many cultures, this time of year is seen as a lucky time to find a lover, a celebration of love and romance, a generative time of wild energy. The veil between worlds is thinner, they say, around solstice. Intuition is stronger. Bonfires are burned to boost the sun’s energy for the coming year’s harvest. People leap over the flames, seeking happiness or luck in love. And Mistress is at heart a love story. A story about the fires that burn inside us—creative and romantic—our passions and our hidden desires.

I’ve been getting questions about Mistress from readers lately, so I thought I’d share a bit here. The novel is a mirror of Shakespeare’s sonnets from the perspective of Rose Rushe, his Dark Lady. It’s a tangled love story—as you might expect if you know the story of the sonnets—but it also follows Rose’s inner journey to know and accept herself. Her intuitive powers, her forbidden longings, the hidden softness beneath her prickly exterior. Part of that journey comes from her relationship with Shakespeare, but it also comes from her mother’s witchcraft and unhinged attempts at marrying her off, her relationship with her friend Cecely, her astrology practice, a scandal at court…

Here are four classic paintings depicting the main characters as I imagine them so you can get the vibe. There’s musician and astrologer, Rose Rushe, Shakespeare’s Dark Lady. The young poet, Will. Cecely Weaver, Rose’s best friend, a dancer. And, last but not least, Henry Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton, Shakespeare’s Fair Youth.

I don’t usually feel very confident about first drafts—mine are usually quite messy—but the self-doubt I experienced while writing this one caused me to be so critical that my first draft came out surprisingly close to my vision for it. Which is a feat, as you know, if you’re a creator. To not just call your first attempt “done for now” but have it turn out basically as you meant it to be.

I hope the wild summer energy of this week brings you similar success in your creative endeavors, and luck—if you want it—in love. While I wait for my developmental edits on Mistress, I’m going to put that energy into working on my next book!

Warmly,
Mary

Happy Spring! I’ve been thinking about the stars and new beginnings this week. The vernal equinox was on Monday, and with it, the sun passed into Aries, the first sign of the Zodiac. The new moon—another time of reset and transformation—was on Tuesday. By the Julian calendar, the one used in Elizabethan England where my current novel is set, the new year wouldn’t begin until Saturday, March 25.

Winter is ending. Grass is growing. Leaves are budding. Flowers are blooming. Ants are trying to get into my house…

In my novel, Mistress, the main character—Shakespeare’s Dark Lady—is an astrologer. Rose believes, like many Elizabethan-era occultists, in a deep connection between our world and the heavens. Superiora de inferioribus, the ancient Emerald Tablet states, inferiora de superioribus. Here’s the version of the famous alchemical tract that Rose might know, translated into English:

Elizabethan astrologers saw the stars as influences on our personalities and instincts, swaying our inner lives like the moon sways the tide. Not a deterministic template that foretold one’s temperament completely, but a complex system of influences that built upon environmental factors like inherited traits, ancestry, and wealth. In other words, they thought the stars influenced rather than defined us. We could even struggle against them…

Rose sees the stars as fragments of the human psyche, scattered—like pennies, or the shards of a broken vase—across the sky. She would say the sun’s transit through Aries heightens our foolishness, our pioneering spirit, our overconfidence and pride. Our minds prance out of the dark like sheep from a winter barn, giddy at the warming weather, ready to begin the new astrological year.

I never understood ouroboros growing up, but as an adult, the seasons have become dizzying. Time passes more quickly as you get older; your own childhood memories become blurry, indistinct.

If you’d like more witchcraft in your life, I’m doing a Women’s History Month giveaway with four other novelists whose books explore the history of women’s magic. The winner will receive signed copies of our novels, all of which are about witches from history and myth. It only takes a moment to enter.

I wish you the best this spring, as we all prance out of the winter barn into new green pastures. I plan to spend the season deep in the world of Mistress, where Rose is in the midst of her intense affair with Shakespeare.

Warmly,
Mary

I’m sending this quick missive to let you know about an amazing giveaway from Orbit that started two hours ago and ends in only two days! The theme for the book bundle is fairy tale adventure, and The Book of Gothel is in amazing company. (Seriously, this sort of thing never ceases to feel absolutely surreal to me.)

To enter, head on over to the Orbit Instagram profile now by clicking the link below or here.

Also, although I was too deep in writing Mistress to let you know on the day of the cover reveal, The Book of Gothel is getting a gorgeous new look for the trade paperback! The soft-cover will be released on September 6, 2023. I absolutely love the way this design nods to the manuscript conceit of the book, both with the gorgeous gold-decorated initials and with the subtitle, “Memoir of a Witch.” Look!

Also: that leafy, curling font! The magical ivy up Haelewise’s sleeve! The whole vibe is just perfect. If you would like a copy, you can pre-order now!

It’s a gorgeous, rainy day here in Atlanta, and I’m spending it writing an intense love scene between my main character Rose and Shakespeare…

I hope you’re having as magical a day as I am!

Mary

This will be a really quick note because I am hard at work on Mistress. I’m about halfway finished with the first draft, having written 42,000 of 84,000 words. The novel was recently given a tentative publication date: April 16, 2024. Just in time for Shakespeare’s birthday, the Dark Lady will tell all!

VIRTUAL/IN-PERSON SAN DIEGO EVENT AT MYSTERIOUS GALAXY
Next Thursday, December 8, 7pm PST with Jennifer Givhan!

I’ll be doing a hybrid virtual/in-person event in San Diego on Thursday Dec. 8 at 7pm PST at Mysterious Galaxy Books with Jennifer Givhan, whose gorgeous witchy novel, River Woman, River Demon was featured on CBS Morning last month.

We’ll be talking about our books, and then doing a Q&A and booksigning. Come hang out! Both virtual and in-person attendees will be able to participate in the Q&A! The free registration for the virtual portion of the event and the link to order signed/personalized copies is here.

ORBIT NEW VOICES GIVEAWAY

You can win FOURTEEN NEW BOOKS from Orbit Books in their December Loot giveaway, which closes December 31, 2022.

REDDIT AMA December 8-9

Finally, I’ll be doing an AMA (Ask Me Anything) with the thirteen other Orbit New Voices whose books are pictured above from December 8-9. Check back here for the link on Reddit. You can also follow me on social media to get the update there: Instagram, Twitter.

That’s it for now. Thank you so much, as always, for your interest and support!

Mary

This is just a quick note to let you know that…

✨THE BOOK OF GOTHEL is a Kindle Daily Deal! ✨

For today only, the eBook is $2.99 in the U.S.!

If you don’t have a copy yet, now is the time to buy! If you already own the book and enjoyed it, please help me spread the word. The more sales the eBook gets today, the more exposure the novel will get over the next few weeks on Amazon due to the algorithm, and the more readers Haelewise will meet!

Okay, that’s all I have to share! I hope you had a lovely Samhain.

Mary

Tonight is the new moon, and the end of October is almost here, so I thought I would share a bit of seasonal inspiration and news.

Samhain Greetings

Autumn is my favorite time of year, when the days grow shorter and leaves are falling. I always associate Samhain with a thinning of the veil between this world and the next, with ancestors, with darkness. Every year around this time, I reread this poem by Annie Finch about what can happen when you peel back that veil. If you missed it when I shared it on Instagram, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do:

Samhain

In the season leaves should love,
since it gives them leave to move
through the wind, towards the ground
they were watching while they hung,
legend says there is a seam
stitching darkness like a name.

Now when dying grasses veil
earth from the sky in one last pale
wave, as autumn dies to bring
winter back, and then the spring,
we who die ourselves can peel
back another kind of veil

that hangs among us like thick smoke.
Tonight at last I feel it shake.
I feel the nights stretching away
thousands long behind the days
till they reach the darkness where
all of me is ancestor.

I move my hand and feel a touch
move with me, and when I brush
my own mind across another,
I am with my mother’s mother.
Sure as footsteps in my waiting
self, I find her, and she brings

arms that carry answers for me,
intimate, a waiting bounty.
“Carry me.” She leaves this trail
through a shudder of the veil,
and leaves, like amber where she stays,
a gift for her perpetual gaze.

—Annie Finch, from Eve (Carnegie Mellon University Press, 1997)

That ending always leaves me breathless. It’s one of my favorite poems ever.

Louisiana Book Festival

Recently I was invited to make an appearance at the Louisiana Book Festival in my hometown, Baton Rouge. I’ll only be in town briefly, but I would love to see you if you happen to be in the area for the event!

I’ll be on the panel “Enchanted Worlds: Reimagined Fairytales and Everyday Magic” moderated by Fatima Shaik from 11-11:45 am with fellow Redhook author Alex Jennings, discussing our debuts, The Book of Gothel and The Ballad of Perilous Graves.

I’ll also be signing books at the Cavalier House tent from 12-12:45 pm! Learn more about where specifically to find these events at the festival here.

Deleted Scene from The Book of Gothel

In the spirit of the season, I thought it would be fun share a deleted scene from The Book of Gothel that’s set in the days leading up to Halloween. Yes, Halloween, the modern holiday. Once upon a time, in early drafts, the story of Dr. Gertrude Eisenberg—the academic from the prologue and epilogue—was threaded throughout the book.

The modern sections were about Gert’s struggle to decide what the manuscript meant and the story of how and where the manuscript got published, but ultimately I decided to center the drama around Haelewise and keep the modern part of the book shorter and more hopeful.

Think of this scene not as bonus content for The Book of Gothel, but a spooky peek into my writing process, exploring what might happen if an academic tried to publish a manuscript like this… and experimented with what she learned from its contents.

The scene takes place at Gert’s house. It’s a couple years after Gert was given the manuscript. She’s finished translating it, but the manuscript has been rejected by peer reviewers. When Gert doesn’t show up to give a workshop at the public library, her friend Phyllis is concerned enough to drive by her house and do a welfare check.

Phyllis parks the car, gets out. She hurries up the drenched walkway, gripping the railing, doing her damnedest not to slip on the steps leading up to the porch. Gert’s three-story Victorian Queen Anne towers over her like some kind of urban gingerbread house, all red paint and stone, the apex of each of its two third-floor lookout windows slick with rain. Phyllis makes her way to the front porch. Usually, it’s decorated with gourds and gothic lanterns this time of year. But this year, nothing.

The prospect that Gert hasn’t concerned herself with celebrating her favorite season makes Phyllis uneasy. She pulls the knocker back and lets it fall. The wind catches the fabric of her palazzo pants, rippling their geometric pattern, sending a chill up her legs. She straightens her scarf. A minute passes. Two. She knocks again. 

Phyllis fumbles in her purse for her keys. There they are, jangling, metal, beneath her sunglasses case. She pulls them out, locates the spare key Gert gave her the last time her friend went to Germany so she could feed Gert’s cats. 

The door creaks open. “Gert?” she calls out. Her voice echoes up the stairs.

The front room is still except for the dust motes drifting in the twilight and the faint clanking of pipes below the floor. Last year Gert hung an autumn wreath in the hallway, but the only signs of seasonal activity are the disorganized bushels of herbs drying above the apothecary cabinet. At least Gert hasn’t abandoned that. 

In the center of the dining room table, a large wrought-iron birdcage stands empty, its door open. What the hell kind of decoration is this?

“Gert!” she calls out again. “I left a message. You missed your workshop. I let myself in!”

The only response is the clanking of pipes.

Then she hears a bang like the slamming of a closet door, but muffled, as if it’s coming from upstairs. Phyllis hurries to the stairwell, followed by Jacob, Gert’s sociopathic black cat, who plops down from where he was sleeping on the windowsill to pad upstairs after her. His brother, Wilhelm, mewls mournfully and jumps down to hide under the divan. 

At the second floor landing, Phyllis can tell a window is open on the top floor from the draft on the staircase. She hears the sound again, like a door slamming shut, only louder than before and followed by the creak of a hinge. 

Her boots echo against the hardwood floor.

On the third floor, Gert’s study is a wreck. Both windows are open. The wind is swinging the shutters this way and that. One of them claps shut in its frame, then swings back open, creaking eerily. The windowsills glisten with rain. There are papers everywhere, strewn about all over the floor, whirling around in sudden gusts.

As Phyllis watches, the wind catches an open book on the desk and turns a few of its pages. She freezes in place, goosebumps prickling her arm. The wind changes direction. The pages of the book fall flat. It’s a bound photocopy of the original Middle High German manuscript Gert was studying, which her friend would never show her.

It was just the wind, she thinks. Get a hold of yourself. 

It would be a crime if the wind carried away Gert’s work. Phyllis hurries to close the windows. Where is she? Did she go for a walk? 

The keyboard of Gert’s computer has been knocked over. Her desk is a mess. The English ivy she keeps on its edge has fallen off, its soil spilled all over the floor. Among the dirt she sees the bird-woman figurine Gert brought back from Germany. Phyllis kneels down to pick it up, turning it over in her hand. Her stomach fluttering at the sight of those wide set eyes, those three-fingered hands, that beak. Gert showed it to her the day she came home, but wouldn’t explain what it was or where she got it.

Her first thoughts are of superglue, of brooms and dustpans, the greenhouse on the other side of town that sells ceramic pots. She can’t stand to see Gert’s office so untidy, her work so disorganized.

It’s not until she stands back up that she sees Gert, lying on the chaise longue on the other side of the desk in silk pajamas, her eyes closed. 

“Oh, for goodness sake,” she says. “Gert, wake up, you scared me.”

Her friend does not stir on the chaise longue. 

“Gert?” she says again, her heart beginning to pound in her ribcage. Who could sleep in this noise, this storm? She isn’t even wearing a robe. “For the love of God, wake up!”

Phyllis hurries to the chaise longue, overwhelmed by the queasy feeling in her stomach, as she grips Gert’s shoulder to try to shake her awake. One of Gert’s hands slides to the floor, the silver leaf-pendant bracelet that Phyllis gave her around her wrist. The bracelet jingles as it hits the floor, a cheerful sound completely at odds with the stillness of the room. Phyllis looks closer at Gert’s face, the way her cheek is pressed to the pillow. Her heart beats faster as she reaches out to touch Gert’s hand. 

It’s cold. Her chest is still. 

Gert’s brown hair falls to the pillow, flowing from her scalp in waves. Her spectacles hang around her neck.  She looks beautiful, peaceful, almost as if she were sleeping, in her best pajamas.

Jacob the cat pads up and hisses. 

“Not now,” Phyllis mutters, her voice trembling as she tries to brush him aside with her boot.  

A sob rises in her throat. She tries hard to swallow it.

The cat hisses and glares at her, then rakes his claw through her pants.

“You little shit!” she shrieks, stepping out of his reach.  

She looks at Gert, her throat constricting. Forgets to breathe, remembers, blinks. The sob escapes, bursting out of her throat in tiny uncontrollable gasps. She catches her breath and gazes with new eyes at the room. Why is everything in such disarray? Why are the windows open?  

Phyllis picks up the phone, dials 911, describes her emergency. She eyes the pages on the floor. Hanging up the phone, she picks one up. It’s a photocopied page from the translated manuscript. She picks up another page. This one is part of Gert’s preface to her translation. She skims a passage Gert struck through and revised in red pen. 

A tapping sound draws her gaze to the window. There’s a raven perched on the exterior windowsill, looking in. The light glints off the top of its jet black head-feathers. Its eyes are beady, intelligent.

She thinks of the birdcage downstairs and opens the window, backing carefully away from the sill. The air outside is wet and crisp.

The raven hops through the window, cocks its head, and meets her eyes.  They glitter, an eerie amber. Then it hops back onto the sill and flies away. 

That’s it for this week. I hope you enjoy the chill!

Mary