I finally figured it out—why they still build houses with fireplaces. I mean, when you think about it, it’s 2021. We have furnaces—hell, the Earth sets itself on fire every other day now. I think we’re a bit past the days of huddling around a fire, swaddled in blankets that resemble a well-intentioned chokehold more than a snuggly embrace. And before you start talking my ear off about aesthetics or prestige or property value—I get it. Fireplaces certainly look nice. At least they used to. Gone are the fireplaces of yore: roughly laid brick and stone framing a chasm meant for a roaring inferno that would warm your toes from across the room. These days it’s all about minimalism—avant-garde—clean lines—monochromatic. It's too clean. Lacks character. The fireplace too. You’re really gonna have parties just so you can show it off? You paid how many extra thousands for an ornamental façade you’ll never use? It might as well be electric—you could eat off that hearth! But look, I’ve thought about it, dismissed every conceivable rationalization, every self-deluded contradiction, and finally, I get it now. It’s pretty simple all things considered. They still build houses with fireplaces for nights like tonight.
I finally figured it out—why they still build houses with fireplaces. I mean, when you think about it, it’s 2021. We have furnaces—hell, the Earth sets itself on fire every other day now. I think we’re a bit past the days of huddling around a fire, swaddled in blankets that resemble a well-intentioned chokehold more than a snuggly embrace. And before you start talking my ear off about aesthetics or prestige or property value—I get it. Fireplaces certainly look nice. At least they used to. Gone are the fireplaces of yore: roughly laid brick and stone framing a chasm meant for a roaring inferno that would warm your toes from across the room. These days it’s all about minimalism—avant-garde—clean lines—monochromatic. It's too clean. Lacks character. The fireplace too. You’re really gonna have parties just so you can show it off? You paid how many extra thousands for an ornamental façade you’ll never use? It might as well be electric—you could eat off that hearth! But look, I’ve thought about it, dismissed every conceivable rationalization, every self-deluded contradiction, and finally, I get it now. It’s pretty simple all things considered. They still build houses with fireplaces for nights like tonight.
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| Photo by Glenn Carstens-Peters on Unsplash |
Nights where the rain lashes the windows, testing their fortitude before sealing them shut. Nights where the shadows seem to shift of their own accord, intermittent lightning providing cover for them to swap places. Nights in the middle of November when the temperature has dropped too much too quickly. When you tremble at the thought of the furnace, with its echoing rumbles and sharp clangs. Nights where you’re constantly holding your breath. With every audible fidget, every quick sweeping glance, every flicked light switch, every footstep, every strange outside knock. Nights where it's just you. Maybe a friend or two, maybe a lover. But no one senior. No one to translate the night into something safe or familiar. Nights where you hole up in the second largest room; the room lit solely by the TV and, if you’re lucky, a fireplace.
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| Photo by Timothy Eberly on Unsplash |
Because that’s what a fireplace brings: light, comfort, nostalgia. It literally and figuratively is a rock, there when we need it and there when we don’t. When you feel the urge to bask in its glowing warmth, to curl up by the flickering mantel with evolutionary closeness, in what can you find a better companion than a good book? There are few activities I find more safe and comfortable than reading. Perhaps it’s the disconnect from reality: engrossment leaving little room for intrusive thoughts and spine-connected covers acting as a partition against outside noise. As the autumn wind pierces with increasing bitterness and nights like tonight become more commonplace, I hope the below book recommendations help you enjoy the season with maximum comfort and coziness.
Haunted Legends
Edited by Ellen Datlow and Nick Mamatas
Beginning as tales passed down orally from generation to generation, folklore has been part of the culture of humanity for millennia. The "urban legend" may be the closest bit of modern folklore we have to those ancient verbal traditions. The first urban legend I remember hearing was Bloody Mary. Kids would say that if you went into the school bathroom, turned off all the lights, and said "Bloody Mary" three times in the mirror, then she would appear. What was supposed to happen afterward is a bit foggy. Haunted Legends continues the storytelling tradition with an anthology of twenty varied and chilling tales. The book delves primarily into psychological ghost stories and local legends, but there’s something for everyone—from Chucky Comes to Liverpool by Ramsey Campbell, an account of moral panic and children led astray, to Tin Cans by Ekaterina Sedia, a hauntingly sad tale based on the sordid acts of past Russian autocracies. The strength of this book is how well-written the legends are. The authors aren’t just writing run-of-the-mill scary stories; they seek to manifest a slice of human nature. While not every story is a hit, all are interesting reads, and I cannot recommend this book enough for a late evening by the fireplace.
A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder
By Holly Jackson
You know that kind of book. The so-called “page-turner”. The one you pick up at 6PM and set down at 2AM, feverish with delirium and exhaustion. A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder is that kind of book. The young adult mystery follows high school senior Pippa Fitz-Amobi (absolute rockstar name) as she unravels the six-year-old alleged murder of a former student. The novel is excellently plotted—a veritable funhouse of twists and turns—but what elevates A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder from great to amazing is how vivid its characters are. Pippa and Ravi, her partner in crime, so to speak, are compelling leads that you come to root for. The cast of side characters are distinctive and well-rounded—not just faceless names only there to be used as suspects. One of my favourite aspects of this book is how Jackson uses the weather to denote the passage of time. Her subtle descriptions of the changing seasons from August to October add an intimate, immersive quality to the novel. I remember one instance near the book's exhilarating climax where I could almost taste the frosty October air she was depicting. These climate-related hallmarks of autumn's passage sold the book to me as not just a great murder mystery but a great autumn novel.
Chasing the Boogeyman
Richard Chizmar
“And did they really ever explain why Hannibal Lecter liked to eat people? Don't think so. You see, it's scarier when there's no motive, Sid.”
- Billy Loomis, Scream (1996)
These days we overanalyze everything. Serial killers are no exception. We dissect them, trying to get into their heads and find the one shining, resounding reason why they do what they do. But in the vein of Skeet Ulrich’s Billy Loomis, sometimes it’s scarier when you don’t know the motive. Chasing the Boogeyman is a cross between an 80’s slasher movie and a modern-day true-crime podcast. It spins the harrowing tale of a small-town killer who seems to slaughter with preternatural ease. Written as if a real-life retrospective from author Richard Chizmar, the novel will have you doubting whether it is truly a work of fiction. This intimate perspective allows you to immerse yourself in the small town of Edgewood, Maryland and witness the unfolding story as if a citizen. Chizmar uses his real-life hometown as the novel's setting, his delicately written prose delivering a depiction of a town only known to those that grew up there. There's no omniscient detective in this story; we, the reader, know just as much about the killer as Chizmar does. The mystery is eventually revealed (no spoilers intended) at the very end of the novel. Even then, it's as if the explanation, the motive, is incidental to the story. The journey, the experience, the uncertainty, the fear—that’s where Chasing the Boogeyman thrives.
Those Across the River
Christopher Buehlman
Vampires, witches, werewolves, white-sheeted ghosts—there’s a reason that these figures loom so large in today’s Halloween season. They are classic. Eternal. I’ve always had a soft spot for these archetypal Halloween ghouls and love new media that can reinvent the legend while respecting the fundamental lore of the characters. Enter Those Across the River. A [SPOILER?] werewolf story that captures the essence of what it means to be cursed. After Frank Nichols inherits a house from his late Aunt, he and his fiancé, Eudora, move from Chicago to the quiet Southern town of Whitbrow, seeking to subdue their demons and start anew. Buehlman blends poetry and prose in building an evocative atmosphere rife with tension. It feels as if life in Whitbrow is brimming with the past—whether Frank's resurfacing memories of WWI, insecurities begat by past lovers, or the secrets lurking in Whitbrow's outcast shadows. The reader is continually reminded that the past does indeed affect the present. A creative take on the werewolf mythos that I dare not spoil too much about, Those Across the River is a lazy-afternoon book whose explosive ending extends into frenetic evening reading.
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