What are the most “wintery” books you can think of? The ones that almost embody Winter?
The two books that come to mind are about as diametrical as you can get.
Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s description of the conditions in which the gulag prisoners work in One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich has stayed with me since I first read the book years ago. Being a denizen of what can often feel like the frozen tundra (and has this year), the imagery seemed to especially resound with — and amaze — me.
A man who’s warm can’t understand a man who’s freezing.
Alexander Solzhenitsyn, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich