I was put off this book for a long while by the twee illustration in the cover, but I eventually let a nagging curiosity win and the negative reviews lose, feeling that I ought to read it during an actual winter. Reviews in the press had offered the promise of a different take on the season, a reframing which would restore joy and meaning to the dullest and most difficult part of the temperate year, and I was drawn to what sounded to me like a refreshing thesis.
It began well. The first chapter calls for a realignment of our approach to the annual cycle, seeing winter as the time to rest and recharge, to ease off the gas, and to do so from January to March, not just the short peri-Christmas pseudo-winter we tend to perceive. The festive season is only the vestibule that leads to to a calm period of positive capitulation, and comforting adaptation, to the challenges of darkness and cold. The intent is that the year proper begins in April and the Spring, with ambition and goals aligned to start then, not in bleak January. It is suggested but never explored that symptoms of SAD are a kind of hormonal imperative to do all this which are only worsened by pathologising and resisting them.
SADly from there the book never really does anything more than offer trite advice, based on no further examination of the core idea, and certainly with very minimal evidence, or even argument. A ‘wallowing hippo’ analogy was a particular nadir for me, but there were many other meaningless ‘argument from analogy’ moments, lots of unreferenced and uncritically-cited pseudoscience, and … those drawings! With no sense of privileged irony is a winter holiday to Thailand seemingly suggested, and several other ‘as overheard in Waitrose’ moments, which frankly just made me cringe. I did no more than skim the second half, but sadly found no redemption in those pages. I rather resent the cynical trading on the author’s ‘Dr’ title and the neuropsychology credentials which have no relevance to the entirely unscientific writing to be found here.
Clearly, this book wasn’t for me, and it may be my fault for mistakenly considering myself its intended audience. I can understand some finding the well-meant practical advice helpful, but unfortunately for me it was merely self-helpy, just-so, very kitsch, poppycock which has left me feeling more depressed about winter than ever. Cheers!