海角大神

Val McDermid, the popular Scottish writer whose intricately plotted 鈥渢artan noir鈥� crime novels are awash in gore, took a break from what she calls 鈥渕y usual gig of murderous fiction鈥� to write 鈥淲inter: The Story of a Season.鈥� 聽

It鈥檚 a lovely, gentle little book, a warming meditation on the coldest, darkest time of the year. 鈥淲inter鈥� celebrates how local Scottish traditions take the bite out of short, frosty days and long, windblown nights. These include not just holidays and festivals, but excursions to the three iconic bridges of the Firth of Forth in Queensferry (which are usually overrun by tourists in the warmer months), and comforting suppers of homemade soup, which she touts as 鈥渃entral heating for the soul.鈥� Philip Harris鈥� beautiful drawings complement the author鈥檚 resonant blend of personal memories and cultural history.

McDermid notes that on the winter solstice, Dec. 21, the sun doesn鈥檛 rise in Edinburgh until 8:43 a.m., and sets at 3:39 in the afternoon, a mere seven hours later. 鈥淣othing says 鈥楽cotland in winter鈥� like walking to school with dawn barely broken, then walking back in the dark,鈥� she writes, recalling her childhood in Fife in the 1960s.聽

It鈥檚 no wonder, McDermid writes, that Scots love Christmas lights, sparklers, and the fireworks that brighten the sky on Bonfire Night, Nov. 5, a holiday that commemorates Guy Fawkes鈥� failed attempt to blow up the Houses of Parliament in England in 1605. Such festivities, she writes, 鈥渢ake our minds off the privations of the season鈥� and serve as reminders that brighter, longer days will return.聽

Among the celebrations McDermid extols is Hogmanay, 鈥渢he signature Scottish festival in the eyes of the outside world,鈥� which begins on the last day of the year聽鈥� Auld Year鈥檚 Day. She says that when she was growing up, Dec. 31 was traditionally a day of housecleaning, baths, haircuts for the men, and 鈥渟omething tartan-and-shortbread Scottish鈥� on television 鈥� often featuring kilted dancers. After the New Year was rung in, everyone eagerly anticipated the First Foot 鈥� the first friend or neighbor to cross one鈥檚 threshold, bringing good cheer and good fortune. 聽

These homey traditions have ebbed over the past few decades, replaced by large outdoor celebrations such as the annual giant street party that takes over Edinburgh.聽

More to her liking is Burns Night, Jan. 25, which celebrates the national bard, Robert Burns, at a banquet featuring a dinner of 鈥渉aggis, neeps and tatties.鈥� She helpfully translates the dishes as 鈥渟heep鈥檚 offal cooked in a sheep鈥檚 stomach with oatmeal and spices, including a lot of white pepper; mashed swede/rutabaga; [and] mashed potatoes.鈥澛� McDermid, an admirer of the poet, has given the ceremonial toast at the event. 聽 聽

鈥淲inter鈥� is spiced with local dialect, some obscure, like neep, or swede for rutabaga, others needing no translation, such as dooking for apples, jeely pan, and Loony Dook, a fundraiser for charities that involves a dunk or plunge into the bitterly cold waters of South Queensferry.

The plunge McDermid takes each January is of a different sort. After the holidays, she hunkers down to begin writing that year鈥檚 book. (She has written more than 40 so far.) McDermid extols the satisfactions of burrowing into her work.

But when she needs a break, she hies over to the National Gallery of Scotland to see the annual display of 38 of the 19th-century English painter J.M.W. Turner鈥檚 finest watercolor sketches, exhibited free of charge during the month. The collection, funded by a man who made his fortune in hatmaking, reminds McDermid 鈥� a miner鈥檚 granddaughter who graduated from Oxford University and became a successful writer 鈥� 鈥渙f the power of dreaming, of holding fast to ambition even when its realisation seems against the odds.鈥澛�

Back at her desk, McDermid spends the winter laboring happily. And as the days grow longer, so does her new book.