Winter

A Novel

Author Ali Smith
Look inside
Shortlisted for the British Book Award—Fiction Book of the Year and the Orwell Prize for Political Writing

Winter is the second novel in the Man Booker Prize–nominated author’s Seasonal cycle; the much-anticipated follow-up to Autumn (a New York TimesWashington Post, NPR, Financial TimesThe GuardianSouthern Living, and Kirkus Reviews best book of the year). 
 
Winter. Bleak. Frosty wind, earth as iron, water as stone, so the old song goes. And now Art’s mother is seeing things. Come to think of it, Art’s seeing things himself.
 
When four people, strangers and family, converge on a fifteen-bedroom house in Cornwall for Christmas, will there be enough room for everyone?
 
Winter. It makes things visible. Ali Smith’s shapeshifting Winter casts a warm, wise, merry and uncompromising eye over a post-truth era in a story rooted in history and memory and with a taproot deep in the evergreens, art and love.
 
“[A] moving mixture of the fantastical and the allegorical. . . . Topical, sweet-natured, something fun to be inside.” —James Wood, The New Yorker 

“Smith alerts us early on to the enormously expansive free-range of her vision. . . . [T]he exploration of consciousness itself constitutes satisfying action. [Winter] at times leaps from era to era, often with surprising bursts of joy. . . . Smith is routinely brilliant, knowing, masterful. . . . Extremely funny and seriously angry and experimental and heartbreaking, but never sentimental. . . . In Winter, the light inside this great novelist’s gorgeous snow globe is utterly original, and it definitely illuminates.” —Meg Wolitzer, The New York Times Book Review 
 
“It is not necessary to read Smith’s Autumn before her Winter; while the two books share a philosophical style and a playfulness with words, they don’t concern the same cast. . . . Winter pays frequent homage to A Christmas Carol, and Sophia is visited by her own ghost. . . . [Smith] spins a fine story. . . .  Winter is a stunning meditation on a complex, emotional moment in history.” —Sarah Begley, TIME 

“Ali Smith is flat-out brilliant, and she’s on fire these days. . . . [Winter] demonstrates yet again Smith’s skill at revealing surprising relationships between seemingly disparate narrative threads. . . . You can trust Smith to snow us once again with her uncanny ability to combine brainy playfulness with depth, topicality with timelessness, and complexity with accessibility while delivering an impassioned defense of human decency and art. . . . Once again Smith has balanced darkness with light, bleakness with hope.” —Heller McAlpin, NPR

“Smith has conjured a kind of dream England in Winter an insubordinate folk tale . . . [and Smith] succeeds, jubilantly. . . . There are few writers on the world stage who are producing fiction this offbeat and alluring.” —Dwight Garner, The New York Times  
 

“Ali Smith’s virtuosic Winter is to pay attention to the world we’ve recently been living in. . . . Smith gives us a potent, necessary source of sustenance that speaks directly to our age. . . . The profound pleasure of these books is their near miracle. . . . [I]n the midst of Winter, each page touched with human grace, you might just begin to believe.” —Laura Collins-Hughes, The Boston Globe 
 
“[Smith is] a really fearless novelist. . . . Her work is as alive as a fish on the end of a line . . . consistently breathtaking.” —Charles Finch, Chicago Tribune 

“Stunning prose. . . . often funny, sometimes wistful. . . . A sprightly, digressive, intriguing fandango on life and time.” —Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

“This second installment in Smith’s seasonal quartet combines captivating storytelling with a timely focus on social issues. Enthusiastically recommended; we’re now eagerly awaiting Spring.” —Library Journal (starred review) 

“[A] seasonal quartet through which British novelist Ali Smith is writing a classic, one mind-blowing installment at a time. . . . The stunningly original Smith again breaks every conceivable narrative rule. . . . It demands and richly rewards close attention.” —Mike Fischer, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel 
 
“The second in Smith’s quartet of seasonal novels displays her mastery at weaving allusive magic into the tragicomedies of British people and politics. . . . A bleak, beautiful tale greater than the sum of its references.” —Boris Kachka, Vulture

INTERNATIONAL ACCLAIM:

“A capacious, generous shapeshifter of a novel. . . . [A] book with Christmas at its heart, in all its familiarity and estrangement: about time, and out of time, like the festival itself.” The Guardian (The Best Fiction of 2017)
 
“[There are] glimmers of life, laughter and love. . . . Smith threads passages of delicately observed natural beauty throughout the ephemera. She often lets the language itself lead her (hence her love of puns), and the intricate narrative rolls back and forth smoothly in time.” The Times Literary Supplement (London)

Winter is typical of the Scottish writer’s heart-starting (and often heart-stopping) fiction­: all spark, lark and jumper-lead, playful, witty and gloriously challenging. . . . Balancing delicious and irreverent playfulness with deep seriousness, Smith’s engineering of tone and mode is one of many facets of the novel’s appeal.” —The Australian 
 
“Smith’s deceptively unshowy writing evokes every shade of emotion. . . . Themes and experiences entangle, making Winter a dense, satisfying read. . . . It’s to Smith’s credit that Winter works on a number of levels, from a straightforward, quotidian tale about a fractured family to a deeper story packed with symbolism and highbrow literary references: a subtle meditation on loneliness, loss and aging in uncertain times.” The Irish Independent

“The novel is lucid and tightly constructed. . . . [I]ts disparate strands converge tautly to convey and deepen Smith’s powerful political message. . . . This wintry spirit of benevolence animates Smith’s vision of a world where empathy overrides divisions and where animosity can melt like snow. . . . Smith’s voice, so wise and joyful, is the perfect antidote to troubled times: raw and bitter in the face of injustice, yet always alive to hope.” New Statesman
 
“Smith combines her state-of-the-moment themes with a preoccupation for how to behave in a meaningful way in an increasingly technocratic world—and she does so with an effervescent seriousness none of her peers can match.” Daily Mail 
  
“A novel of great ferocity, tenderness, righteous anger and generosity of spirit that you feel Dickens would have recognized. . . . Winter is at its most luminously beautiful when the news fades and merges with recent and ancient history, a reminder that everything is cyclical. There is forgiveness here, and song, and comic resolution of sorts, but the abiding image is of the tenacity of nature and light.” —The Observer (London)
 
“Smith has both a telescopic and a microscopic eye. . . . Her many-layered artistry softens rage or sorrow. . . . If Ali Smith’s four quartets in, and about, time do not endure to rank among the most original, consoling and inspiring of artistic responses to ‘this mad and bitter mess’ of the present, then we will have plunged into an even bleaker midwinter than people often fear.” —Financial Times 
 
“One of Britain’s most important novelists. . . . Winter is narrated with Smith’s customary stylistic brio . . . punctuated with clever word play. . . . Heartwarming.” —The Irish Times 
 
“Smith’s prose—that trademark mischievous wit and wordplay, a joyful reminder of the most basic, elemental delights of reading—makes us see things differently. . . . The entire book is testament to the miraculous powers of the creative arts. . . . Winter firmly acknowledges the power of stories. Infused with some much needed humour, happiness and hope.” —The Independent (London)
 
“Calm, cool and consoling. . . . But still a sparkler. . . . [A] novel of visions, memories and family relationships.” —The Spectator 

“A novel which, in its very inclusiveness, associative joy, and unrestricted movement, proposes other kinds of vision. . . . [A]stonishingly fertile and free. . . . [Smith] finds life stubbornly shining in the evergreens . . . told in a voice that is Dickensian in its fluency and mobile empathy. . . . Leaping, laughing, sad, generous and winter-wise, this is a thing of grace.” —The Guardian 
 

“Combines comedy with social criticism, playfulness with political indictment. . . . Structurally, the book is intricate: a collage of flashbacks, flash-forwards and interior monologues. . . . Smith is a self-consciously aesthetic writer who also has strong political convictions.” —The Sunday Times (London)

“If Ali Smith’s four quartets in, and about, time do not endure to rank among the most original, consoling and inspiring of artistic responses to ‘this mad and bitter mess’ of the present, then we will have plunged into an even bleaker midwinter than people often fear.” —Financial Times
 
“Refracted through the lens of a broken family in a broken home, Smith’s vision is almost without redemption, but not quite; beneath the frozen ground, some hope exists.” —The Times (London)
 

“[A] novel of great ferocity, tenderness, righteous anger and generosity of spirit. . . . Winter is at its most luminously beautiful when the news fades and merges with recent and ancient history, a reminder that everything is cyclical. There is forgiveness here, and song, and comic resolution of sorts, but the abiding image is of the tenacity of nature and light.” —The Observer
 
“(Smith) is cresting across the contemporary in a manner few novelists can manage. . . . Winter is a novel in which the cold also reveals clarity. Things crystallize. They become piercing and numbing at the same time. It is a book about being wintry in the sense of supercilious and hibernal, in its sense of wanting to shut the world out. The characters have to deal with both impulses, and deal with them in different ways. But the end result is a book that makes one think, and thinky books are rare as hen’s teeth these days.” —The Scotsman
On a late summer day in 1981 two young women are standing outside a typical ironmonger’s on the high street of a southern English town. There is a sign above the door in the shape of a door key, on it the words KEYS CUT. There’ll be a high smell of creosote, oil, paraffin, lawn treatment stuff. There’ll be brushheads with handles, brushheads without handles, handles by themselves, for sale. What else? Rakes, spades, forks, a garden roller, a wall of stepladders, a tin bath full of bags of compost. Calor gas bottles, saucepans, frying pans, mopheads, charcoal, folding stools made of wood, a plastic bucket of plungers, stacked packs of sandpaper, sacks of sand in a wheelbarrow, metal doormats, axes, hammers, a camping stove or two, hessian carpet mats, stuff for curtains, stuff for curtain rails, stuff for screwing curtain rails to walls and pelmets, pliers, screwdrivers, bulbs, lamps, pails, pegs, laundry baskets. Saws, of all sizes. EVERYTHING FOR THE HOME.
 
But it’s the flowers, lobelia, alyssum, and the racks of the bright coloured seed packets the women will remember most when they talk about it afterwards.
 
They say hello to the man behind the counter. They stand by the rolls of chains of different widths. They compare the price per yard. They calculate. One of them pulls a length of slim chain; it unrolls and clinks against itself, and the other stands in front of her pretending to look at something else while she passes the chain around her hips and measures it against herself.
 
They look at each other and shrug. They’ve no idea how long or short.
 
So they check how much money they’ve got. Under £10. They consider padlocks. They’ll need to buy four. If they buy the smaller cheaper type of padlock it’ll leave enough money for roughly three yards of it.
 
The ironmonger cuts the lengths for them. They pay him. The bell above the door will have clanged behind them. They’ll have stepped back out into the town in its long English shadows, its summer languor.
 
Nobody looks at them. Nobody on the sleepy sunny street even gives them a second glance. They stand on the kerb. This town’s high street seems unusually wide now. Was it this wide before they went into the shop, and they just didn’t notice?
 
They don’t dare to laugh till they’re out of the town and back on the road walking the miles towards the others, and then they do. Then they laugh like anything.
 
Imagine them arm‑in‑arm in the warmth, one swinging the bag jangling the lengths of chain in it and singing to make the other laugh, jingle bells jingle bells jingle all the way, the other with the padlocks complete with their miniature keys in her pockets, and the grasses in the verges on both sides of the road they’re on summer-yellow and shot through with the weeds, the wildflowers.
  • LONGLIST | 2018
    Orwell Prize
  • SHORTLIST | 2018
    Orwell Prize
© Christian Sinibaldi

ALI SMITH is the author of many works of fiction, including, most recently, SummerSpring, Winter, Autumn, Public library and other stories, and How to be both, which won the Baileys Women's Prize for Fiction, the Goldsmiths Prize, and the Costa Novel of the Year Award. Her work has four times been short-listed for the Man Booker Prize. Born in Inverness, Scotland, she lives in Cambridge, England.

View titles by Ali Smith

About

Shortlisted for the British Book Award—Fiction Book of the Year and the Orwell Prize for Political Writing

Winter is the second novel in the Man Booker Prize–nominated author’s Seasonal cycle; the much-anticipated follow-up to Autumn (a New York TimesWashington Post, NPR, Financial TimesThe GuardianSouthern Living, and Kirkus Reviews best book of the year). 
 
Winter. Bleak. Frosty wind, earth as iron, water as stone, so the old song goes. And now Art’s mother is seeing things. Come to think of it, Art’s seeing things himself.
 
When four people, strangers and family, converge on a fifteen-bedroom house in Cornwall for Christmas, will there be enough room for everyone?
 
Winter. It makes things visible. Ali Smith’s shapeshifting Winter casts a warm, wise, merry and uncompromising eye over a post-truth era in a story rooted in history and memory and with a taproot deep in the evergreens, art and love.
 
“[A] moving mixture of the fantastical and the allegorical. . . . Topical, sweet-natured, something fun to be inside.” —James Wood, The New Yorker 

“Smith alerts us early on to the enormously expansive free-range of her vision. . . . [T]he exploration of consciousness itself constitutes satisfying action. [Winter] at times leaps from era to era, often with surprising bursts of joy. . . . Smith is routinely brilliant, knowing, masterful. . . . Extremely funny and seriously angry and experimental and heartbreaking, but never sentimental. . . . In Winter, the light inside this great novelist’s gorgeous snow globe is utterly original, and it definitely illuminates.” —Meg Wolitzer, The New York Times Book Review 
 
“It is not necessary to read Smith’s Autumn before her Winter; while the two books share a philosophical style and a playfulness with words, they don’t concern the same cast. . . . Winter pays frequent homage to A Christmas Carol, and Sophia is visited by her own ghost. . . . [Smith] spins a fine story. . . .  Winter is a stunning meditation on a complex, emotional moment in history.” —Sarah Begley, TIME 

“Ali Smith is flat-out brilliant, and she’s on fire these days. . . . [Winter] demonstrates yet again Smith’s skill at revealing surprising relationships between seemingly disparate narrative threads. . . . You can trust Smith to snow us once again with her uncanny ability to combine brainy playfulness with depth, topicality with timelessness, and complexity with accessibility while delivering an impassioned defense of human decency and art. . . . Once again Smith has balanced darkness with light, bleakness with hope.” —Heller McAlpin, NPR

“Smith has conjured a kind of dream England in Winter an insubordinate folk tale . . . [and Smith] succeeds, jubilantly. . . . There are few writers on the world stage who are producing fiction this offbeat and alluring.” —Dwight Garner, The New York Times  
 

“Ali Smith’s virtuosic Winter is to pay attention to the world we’ve recently been living in. . . . Smith gives us a potent, necessary source of sustenance that speaks directly to our age. . . . The profound pleasure of these books is their near miracle. . . . [I]n the midst of Winter, each page touched with human grace, you might just begin to believe.” —Laura Collins-Hughes, The Boston Globe 
 
“[Smith is] a really fearless novelist. . . . Her work is as alive as a fish on the end of a line . . . consistently breathtaking.” —Charles Finch, Chicago Tribune 

“Stunning prose. . . . often funny, sometimes wistful. . . . A sprightly, digressive, intriguing fandango on life and time.” —Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

“This second installment in Smith’s seasonal quartet combines captivating storytelling with a timely focus on social issues. Enthusiastically recommended; we’re now eagerly awaiting Spring.” —Library Journal (starred review) 

“[A] seasonal quartet through which British novelist Ali Smith is writing a classic, one mind-blowing installment at a time. . . . The stunningly original Smith again breaks every conceivable narrative rule. . . . It demands and richly rewards close attention.” —Mike Fischer, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel 
 
“The second in Smith’s quartet of seasonal novels displays her mastery at weaving allusive magic into the tragicomedies of British people and politics. . . . A bleak, beautiful tale greater than the sum of its references.” —Boris Kachka, Vulture

INTERNATIONAL ACCLAIM:

“A capacious, generous shapeshifter of a novel. . . . [A] book with Christmas at its heart, in all its familiarity and estrangement: about time, and out of time, like the festival itself.” The Guardian (The Best Fiction of 2017)
 
“[There are] glimmers of life, laughter and love. . . . Smith threads passages of delicately observed natural beauty throughout the ephemera. She often lets the language itself lead her (hence her love of puns), and the intricate narrative rolls back and forth smoothly in time.” The Times Literary Supplement (London)

Winter is typical of the Scottish writer’s heart-starting (and often heart-stopping) fiction­: all spark, lark and jumper-lead, playful, witty and gloriously challenging. . . . Balancing delicious and irreverent playfulness with deep seriousness, Smith’s engineering of tone and mode is one of many facets of the novel’s appeal.” —The Australian 
 
“Smith’s deceptively unshowy writing evokes every shade of emotion. . . . Themes and experiences entangle, making Winter a dense, satisfying read. . . . It’s to Smith’s credit that Winter works on a number of levels, from a straightforward, quotidian tale about a fractured family to a deeper story packed with symbolism and highbrow literary references: a subtle meditation on loneliness, loss and aging in uncertain times.” The Irish Independent

“The novel is lucid and tightly constructed. . . . [I]ts disparate strands converge tautly to convey and deepen Smith’s powerful political message. . . . This wintry spirit of benevolence animates Smith’s vision of a world where empathy overrides divisions and where animosity can melt like snow. . . . Smith’s voice, so wise and joyful, is the perfect antidote to troubled times: raw and bitter in the face of injustice, yet always alive to hope.” New Statesman
 
“Smith combines her state-of-the-moment themes with a preoccupation for how to behave in a meaningful way in an increasingly technocratic world—and she does so with an effervescent seriousness none of her peers can match.” Daily Mail 
  
“A novel of great ferocity, tenderness, righteous anger and generosity of spirit that you feel Dickens would have recognized. . . . Winter is at its most luminously beautiful when the news fades and merges with recent and ancient history, a reminder that everything is cyclical. There is forgiveness here, and song, and comic resolution of sorts, but the abiding image is of the tenacity of nature and light.” —The Observer (London)
 
“Smith has both a telescopic and a microscopic eye. . . . Her many-layered artistry softens rage or sorrow. . . . If Ali Smith’s four quartets in, and about, time do not endure to rank among the most original, consoling and inspiring of artistic responses to ‘this mad and bitter mess’ of the present, then we will have plunged into an even bleaker midwinter than people often fear.” —Financial Times 
 
“One of Britain’s most important novelists. . . . Winter is narrated with Smith’s customary stylistic brio . . . punctuated with clever word play. . . . Heartwarming.” —The Irish Times 
 
“Smith’s prose—that trademark mischievous wit and wordplay, a joyful reminder of the most basic, elemental delights of reading—makes us see things differently. . . . The entire book is testament to the miraculous powers of the creative arts. . . . Winter firmly acknowledges the power of stories. Infused with some much needed humour, happiness and hope.” —The Independent (London)
 
“Calm, cool and consoling. . . . But still a sparkler. . . . [A] novel of visions, memories and family relationships.” —The Spectator 

“A novel which, in its very inclusiveness, associative joy, and unrestricted movement, proposes other kinds of vision. . . . [A]stonishingly fertile and free. . . . [Smith] finds life stubbornly shining in the evergreens . . . told in a voice that is Dickensian in its fluency and mobile empathy. . . . Leaping, laughing, sad, generous and winter-wise, this is a thing of grace.” —The Guardian 
 

“Combines comedy with social criticism, playfulness with political indictment. . . . Structurally, the book is intricate: a collage of flashbacks, flash-forwards and interior monologues. . . . Smith is a self-consciously aesthetic writer who also has strong political convictions.” —The Sunday Times (London)

“If Ali Smith’s four quartets in, and about, time do not endure to rank among the most original, consoling and inspiring of artistic responses to ‘this mad and bitter mess’ of the present, then we will have plunged into an even bleaker midwinter than people often fear.” —Financial Times
 
“Refracted through the lens of a broken family in a broken home, Smith’s vision is almost without redemption, but not quite; beneath the frozen ground, some hope exists.” —The Times (London)
 

“[A] novel of great ferocity, tenderness, righteous anger and generosity of spirit. . . . Winter is at its most luminously beautiful when the news fades and merges with recent and ancient history, a reminder that everything is cyclical. There is forgiveness here, and song, and comic resolution of sorts, but the abiding image is of the tenacity of nature and light.” —The Observer
 
“(Smith) is cresting across the contemporary in a manner few novelists can manage. . . . Winter is a novel in which the cold also reveals clarity. Things crystallize. They become piercing and numbing at the same time. It is a book about being wintry in the sense of supercilious and hibernal, in its sense of wanting to shut the world out. The characters have to deal with both impulses, and deal with them in different ways. But the end result is a book that makes one think, and thinky books are rare as hen’s teeth these days.” —The Scotsman

Excerpt

On a late summer day in 1981 two young women are standing outside a typical ironmonger’s on the high street of a southern English town. There is a sign above the door in the shape of a door key, on it the words KEYS CUT. There’ll be a high smell of creosote, oil, paraffin, lawn treatment stuff. There’ll be brushheads with handles, brushheads without handles, handles by themselves, for sale. What else? Rakes, spades, forks, a garden roller, a wall of stepladders, a tin bath full of bags of compost. Calor gas bottles, saucepans, frying pans, mopheads, charcoal, folding stools made of wood, a plastic bucket of plungers, stacked packs of sandpaper, sacks of sand in a wheelbarrow, metal doormats, axes, hammers, a camping stove or two, hessian carpet mats, stuff for curtains, stuff for curtain rails, stuff for screwing curtain rails to walls and pelmets, pliers, screwdrivers, bulbs, lamps, pails, pegs, laundry baskets. Saws, of all sizes. EVERYTHING FOR THE HOME.
 
But it’s the flowers, lobelia, alyssum, and the racks of the bright coloured seed packets the women will remember most when they talk about it afterwards.
 
They say hello to the man behind the counter. They stand by the rolls of chains of different widths. They compare the price per yard. They calculate. One of them pulls a length of slim chain; it unrolls and clinks against itself, and the other stands in front of her pretending to look at something else while she passes the chain around her hips and measures it against herself.
 
They look at each other and shrug. They’ve no idea how long or short.
 
So they check how much money they’ve got. Under £10. They consider padlocks. They’ll need to buy four. If they buy the smaller cheaper type of padlock it’ll leave enough money for roughly three yards of it.
 
The ironmonger cuts the lengths for them. They pay him. The bell above the door will have clanged behind them. They’ll have stepped back out into the town in its long English shadows, its summer languor.
 
Nobody looks at them. Nobody on the sleepy sunny street even gives them a second glance. They stand on the kerb. This town’s high street seems unusually wide now. Was it this wide before they went into the shop, and they just didn’t notice?
 
They don’t dare to laugh till they’re out of the town and back on the road walking the miles towards the others, and then they do. Then they laugh like anything.
 
Imagine them arm‑in‑arm in the warmth, one swinging the bag jangling the lengths of chain in it and singing to make the other laugh, jingle bells jingle bells jingle all the way, the other with the padlocks complete with their miniature keys in her pockets, and the grasses in the verges on both sides of the road they’re on summer-yellow and shot through with the weeds, the wildflowers.

Awards

  • LONGLIST | 2018
    Orwell Prize
  • SHORTLIST | 2018
    Orwell Prize

Author

© Christian Sinibaldi

ALI SMITH is the author of many works of fiction, including, most recently, SummerSpring, Winter, Autumn, Public library and other stories, and How to be both, which won the Baileys Women's Prize for Fiction, the Goldsmiths Prize, and the Costa Novel of the Year Award. Her work has four times been short-listed for the Man Booker Prize. Born in Inverness, Scotland, she lives in Cambridge, England.

View titles by Ali Smith