Grief is inevitable and for some unbearable. In The Winter Ghosts by Kate Mosse, grief is both old and ever present. Freddie Watson’s brother George was lost at the Somme; his parents, unable to bear their grief for their beloved son, forgot to comfort or love the younger child.
A decade later, still mired in regret and sorrow, Freddie seeks relief through a change of scene, motoring through the Pyrenees in the late fall. Crashing his car on a lonely, icy road, he has to walk through the woods to a small village, Nulle, where a reserved hotelier takes him in.
Is the rest of the story in Freddie’s mind or is it real? And what is reality? Can Freddie and others struggling with the will to live balance on the boundary of the real world and the world of spirits? Undoubtedly, some of Freddie’s actions are real, because evidence exists. Equally without doubt, he suffers from a severe fever brought on by his injuries and subsequent exposure to the cold and the exhaustion of his walk through the woods.
Grief is almost a way of life in Nulle. The townsfolk are quiet people who mind their own business, yet care for this solitary soul who so obviously needs help. They feel little need to talk about the ghosts, but they all know that their village and their environment are haunted by voices and apparitions. The Winter Ghosts are part of their own existence.
Freddie sees their ghosts and hears their mysterious words. In fever and as he recovers, he threads the wishes of the all-too-real into his own decisions. Growing in faith, and away from his own crippling emotions, he tears the fabric of silence and inaction. His embracing of being alive restores the vitality of both himself and the villagers.