Postcrossing Blog

Here in Yorkshire, 'tis the season for some cosy reads. It’s chilly outside (…and sometimes inside), and the perfect time to curl up with a hot chocolate and a book. In this case, Sorcery & Cecelia, by Caroline Stevermer and Patricia Wrede. The book has the alternate title of The Enchanted Chocolate Pot (meaning something like a teapot, but intended for serving hot chocolate). It’s not a particularly wintery tale—in fact, it’s set during the London Season in the Regency period, which often meant the months from April to August. Even so, the fact that the plot partially revolves around a chocolate pot means I can’t help but keep thinking about cold days and hot chocolate… Plus, it feels like a very cosy story in general.

Sorcery & Cecelia is a very charming fantasy novel which is narrated entirely by a pair of cousins, writing to each other while one is in London for her first season, and the other remains at home. At first we just read about their day to day activities—new dresses and visits to local clergymen and all the sorts of things respectable young ladies did in the Regency period. But both of them start experiencing unusual events, and as their letters back and forth unfold it becomes clear that their mysteries are linked.

There’s a lot of affection in the cousins’ letters to one another, which is part of what made this such a cosy read to me. They do also each have a romance, which is a little predictable in a way (and one could wish that there were a few letters from the love interests as well, to help round things out)—but there can be something very cosy about that, as well!

The especially fun thing about this novel is how it was written, though! The two authors actually sent each other these letters, building the story up and twining the threads together as they went along. There is a genuine eagerness and excitement about some of the letters, I think, as the authors looked out for the next piece of the story. Obviously the finished product was then edited and tidied up to make it work well, but I still think some of the enthusiasm of the game has been preserved, and it’s great fun.

So if you’re looking for something cosy (whatever season it is for you!) I really think this might do the job. It’s very charming! And as ever, I’d love to hear about the books that feature mail/postcards/etc, fiction and non-fiction in the forum topic I created so people can chat about potential books to review. To view the thread and add your own post, you may need to log into the forum and spend some time browsing and participating in other parts of the forum first, if you haven’t used it before!

I’ve been eager to tell you all about A Letter to the Luminous Deep, a debut novel by Sylvie Cathrall. It’s a fantasy novel (or maybe a little bit sci-fi), and it’s told entirely through the medium of letters sent between the characters. From the start, it’s clear that some disaster has befallen, and piece by piece the letters start filling in the blanks.

The whole story is so full of love and tenderness of all kinds. From the start, we know that two of the main characters, E. and Henery, are gone. E.'s sister, Sophy, and Henery’s brother, Vyerin, are trying to gain some closure and understanding of what happened by pooling together the letters each of them has from their siblings’ personal effects. Almost all the story is told through these letters, though sometimes other bits and pieces are included to give extra context and flesh out the world. The letters between E. and Henery slowly evolve from acquaintanceship to a close friendship, even love, which is a delight to read—and in parallel, Sophy and Vyerin come to understand and mourn their siblings, and also form a friendship of their own with each other.

It probably sounds from that like the whole story is sad, and there is definitely a deep sadness to it, as Vyerin and Sophy grieve and try to come to terms with loss. There’s also a cosiness, though, as we follow E. and Henery’s budding relationship—and there’s a fair bit of intrigue, as well, as all of the letters come together to show that there’s some kind of mystery, something very strange going on. I finished the book feeling enchanted, excited, and eager for the next installment: I won’t give away any spoilers, but the climax of the book reveals even more mysteries, and leaves Sophy and Vyerin feeling pretty hopeful and excited about what’s to come. It doesn’t end on a downer, for sure!

I have two caveats in recommending this book: one, it’s written in a sort of faux-Regency, partially formal style that a lot of readers seem to have struggled with, and two, sometimes the epistolary format doesn’t quite work. For example, to show us Henery and E.'s first meeting, a random piece of paper is included on which they wrote down their conversation; this sort of makes sense because we’re told it was very loud in the room they were in, but it still comes across as a bit stiff and contrived.

That said, I personally didn’t mind the style at all, and overall adored the book. I have no idea how Cathrall will pull off the second book (maybe it won’t be epistolary as well?), but either way I’m very excited for it, and eager to get my hands on it. I have so many questions, and I very much enjoyed the time spent getting to know Sophy, Vyerin, Henery and E. If you give it a shot, I hope you love it too!

Next time I write a book review, I really should cover Lynne M. Kolze’s Please Write, but I’m always eager to hear about more books about letters, postcards and the mail. You can let me know about books you think would be a good fit in the forum topic I made for that. (To view and post there, you may need to log in and spend some time browsing and participating in the forum first!)

I try to review a range of different kinds of books about post: my own interests are pretty wide-ranging and I read books of all kinds of genres, so it’s fun to seek out new things! So this time I thought I’d read some non-fiction: James Barron’s The One-Cent Magenta: Inside the Quest to Own the Most Valuable Stamp in the World.

Stamps in and of themselves aren’t a huge interest of mine, though I understand the urge to collect things very well, and there are some really amazing designs on stamps. So before reading Barron’s book, I didn’t know anything about the “one-cent magenta”, a stamp now considered probably the rarest in the world. As a stamp issue, it was pretty humdrum: it was issued in British Guiana, as a stop-gap measure when the real stamps didn’t arrive. It was issued along with a 4-cent magenta and a 4-cent blue, which aren’t nearly so famous, and it’s not exactly very attractive. You can make out a signature, and a bunch of smudging, and some very faint printed lines, but really it just looks like a grubby bit of paper to me.

So why has it become the most valuable stamp in the world, and why is it so highly sought after? Solely because it’s the only existing example, as far as we know.

Really, Baron’s book is not about the stamp itself (you can learn as much on Wikipedia), but about the journey the stamp has taken through the hands of collectors and eccentrics. To me, somewhat bemused about the fuss, it’s mostly interesting as a portrait of the value people can put on pretty arbitrary things. It’s absolutely bananas to me to spend so much money in a way that does so few people any good. Some of the owners just kept the stamp and looked at it on rare occasions—could that really give enough pleasure and good in the world to be worth that much money?!

Consider the possibly apocryphal story about an alleged other copy of the stamp, too. An owner of the one-cent magenta was offered another copy of the same stamp and allegedly agreed to buy it, and then immediately burned it to protect the rarity of the well-known version. It seems so bizarre to me that we can even believe it might be true, but… knowing people, I wouldn’t have been terribly shocked if it were.

I found Barron’s book fascinating in a way—I’m more interested by the idea of reading more about the general history of stamps, but one almost can’t look away from the excesses of most of these collectors. And some of them had very dramatic lives in their own right! It does come out more as a biography of the owners of the one-cent magenta and their colourful lives (including a murder), so bear that in mind. It’s less about stamps than just the human tendency toward obsession, writ large!

For my next review, I’ll probably change things up again and review a new fantasy/SF novel which promises to hold intimate letters at its heart: A Letter to the Luminous Deep, by Sylvie Cathrall, which promises a romance initiated via letters, and then uncovered by the writers’ siblings after they disappear, wrapped up in a fantastical world. I’m eager to read it, so hopefully I’ll get the chance soon!

I haven’t forgotten as well that I mentioned planning a review of Lynne M. Kolze’s Please Write—and if you have any other suggestions for books I should read and review, there’s a forum thread for that. (To view and post there, you may need to log in and spend some time browsing and participating in the forum first!)

One of my Christmas presents this year was a book on handwriting: Script & Scribble: The Rise and Fall of Handwriting, by Kitty Burns Florey. It wasn’t a hint about my handwriting, though it’d probably be fair enough if it was: this book has been on my wishlist for a while to review here on Postcrossing’s blog! So that’s what I’ll be talking about this time.

One of the reasons I got curious about handwriting is that, when I look at the postcards I receive, I can sometimes tell what country it’s from just based on the handwriting. Which makes sense: some countries have strong traditions of teaching handwriting in schools, while others don’t, and being taught not just how to write but how to write a specific “hand” tends to produce similarities across those taught. We were taught some degree of handwriting in school, as part of recognising letters and reading handwriting, and I do remember being allowed to use ink for the first time… but I know my handwriting was vastly different to those of my peers (though near-identical with my sister’s as long as I’m using my right hand—my handwriting with my left hand is more like my father’s!).

Kitty Burns Florey’s book digs into some of this, mostly from the point of view of the US. It starts off back with styluses and Phoenician characters, discusses gothic script, etc, but quickly gets onto chapter two: “The Golden Age of Penmanship”. This features Platt Rogers Spencer (“the father of American handwriting”) in 1800, A.N. Palmer in 1904 or so, and a few related teachers. Not even really a peek of whether Spencer and Palmer’s methods were used outside the US as well, which was a bit disappointing—this part of the book could really have addressed the stuff I’m curious about, but the geographical limitation didn’t help here.

The next part of the book discusses graphology: whether personality peeks through your handwriting, and whether your character can be analysed by looking at what you write. This makes a certain amount of sense to me—people who write with flourishes and exuberance always seem more extroverted, while a rounded hand always looks almost cuddly to me… But obviously I don’t think anyone should be convicted as a criminal based on their handwriting (unless it matches a forged cheque or something), or denied housing because of it! (Apparently a thing in some countries!?) So this section was pretty interesting, though it feels to me like graphology goes too far.

The last two chapters try to deal with a big question: is handwriting still important in a digital age? Well, I think most of us here would say that handwriting isn’t exactly dead yet, given the number of handwritten postcards we receive! And probably I should improve my handwriting (especially for my left hand)… There are some lovely examples included which make me feel pretty jealous.

Overall, it was a quick read, and it was definitely interesting to learn a bit more about the ways handwriting has developed, even if it was pretty focused on the US. Not an absolute favourite for me, though!

My next book review will probably be of a new fantasy novel called A Letter to the Luminous Deep, by Sylvie Cathrall. It’s due out soon, and it sounds wonderful, and features a romance between penpals. After that, I’ll probably write up a review of Lynn M. Kolze’s Please Write, which she kindly sent me a copy of. But I’m always keen to hear ideas for my next reads, so feel free to drop by the forum thread for making book suggestions! You might need to spend some time browsing the forum before that section opens up, but after that we’d love to hear your suggestions there.

Happy reading!

I promised I’d review E.C.R. Lorac’s Post After Post-Mortem next, a book by one of my favourite British writers from the “Golden Age” of crime fiction (think Agatha Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers, Ngaio Marsh, etc). This particular book was published in 1936 (and republished recently by the British Library in 2022, so it’s fairly easy to get hold of!), and features Lorac’s series detective, Chief Inspector Macdonald. The title refers to the fact that the whole mystery turns on a letter sent by a woman who rather suddenly died, revealing that her death was highly unlikely to be a suicide (which is what it is originally assumed to be).

Before digging in further, I ought to mention first that I found this one a little bit heavy-going due to the subject matter. Because the death is initially thought to be a suicide, the victim’s family suffer quite a bit as a result—and then again when they learn that she was actually murdered, and through being unable to quite trust one another. Unlike some writers of that period, Lorac had quite a gift for writing about places and people that you instinctively care for, so the distress of the characters and the strained feeling in their home all ring quite true for the reader as well. This definitely didn’t feel “cosy” to me in the way that people sometimes call Golden Age crime cosy. It’s not gory or anything, nor gratuitous in any way, but I couldn’t take it lightly.

Anyway, to turn back to the story itself, it fits our theme of books about the mail because the crime is only discovered because the victim happened to send a cheerful letter to her brother right before she supposedly killed herself. I won’t “spoil” the details too much, but it feels like the author thought about the way the postal service works to work out the mystery. In sending a letter or a postcard, you never quite know when it will arrive, and how things will look when it lands on the recipient’s doormat. It’s a little bit creepy to think about receiving a letter from someone after they’ve died, to be honest; it’s a clever story device, but it also provides that human touch for the characters, in showing her brother’s strained reaction.

So I think it’s possible some people might find this one a bit too upsetting, especially as the discovery that it was a murder is at least a third of the way into the book, if not more. I think it was worth it, but in the end, it was a book I appreciated a lot but didn’t love: it is well-written, with characters I cared about and an outcome that mattered to me as the reader, but perhaps less escapist than a lot of the Golden Age crime fiction. If you’d like to give E.C.R. Lorac’s work a try but feel you’d rather skip this one, Death of an Author (also recently reissued by the British Library) had me riveted! The postal service features somewhat less prominently in that book, though. (Boo!)

I’m not sure now what the next book to review should be; if you have any suggestions, then let me know via the forum (you may need to spend some time looking around the forum before that section unlocks). Until next time, happy reading!