Rosamunde Pilcher

I have never been to Scotland, but I feel as though I have. The Highlands are one of Europe’s last untamed wildernesses; of mountains, moorland, coasts and lochs. And since Scottish blood run through my veins, I relate to Scotland and its people.

I am again reading Winter Solstice, by Rosamunde Pilcher. I’ve been hooked on this talented Scottish writer since my sister, Eva, recommended her first bestseller, The Shell Seekers. Her heartwarming stories are set in England and Scotland and are woven with history, glowing descriptions, and strings of unforgettable characters. Unlike many books of today, with terse sentences and snappy new words, a Pilcher book is old-fashioned reading; something to be savored while curled up with a cup of tea on a cold winter afternoon, or lolling in the front-porch swing during the lazy days of summer.

If you are looking for books filled with violence, sex and infidelity, you should look elsewhere (although there is usually a love affair or two in her books). Like her previous works, Winter Solstice is simply a story of ordinary people, doing ordinary things. But, oh, how she strings her words together! She creates people and places so real that I feel I have known them for years. When reading her books, I want to be there, doing that.

Although I am not a fan of frigid weather, Pilcher’s vivid descriptions of grey skies, howling winds and sparkling frost of a Scottish winter take me there. Dressed in heavy corduroy trousers, a thick woolen sweater, and a hooded coat, I walk with the Scots through the snow-packed Highlands, my breath making white puffs in the frozen air.

I am with them as they take off their Wellingtons, boil a kettle on the Aga for tea, and sit at the scrubbed pine kitchen table, discussing the day’s events. I watch from the shadows as they light a fire, “to take a bit of chill out of the air,” and I stand in front of that crackling fire, a tumbler of Scotch in my hand, watching them draw the curtains against the night. (And I don’t even like Scotch!)

I ride along with them as they fill their cars with petro, run errands in the village, and chat with the colorful townspeople. And I shiver at the doorway as they let their dogs out (always a dog or two in her stories) to take their “wees.” She paints a picture so well that I’m as relieved as the dogs!

Rosamunde Pilcher was born in Lelant, Cornwall on September 22, 1924. She began writing when she was seven years old and sold her first short story when she was 18. After attending secretarial college, she served for three years with the Women's Navel Service during WW II. She married wealthy textile entrepreneur, Graham Pilcher, in 1946, and they moved to Dundee, Scotland, where she still lives.

Pilcher began her writing career in 1949 as an author of Mills and Boon romances under the name of Jane Fraser. She once said writing saved her marriage; while bringing up her four children, she wrote hundreds of short stories and more than a dozen novels, mostly at her kitchen table. (I'm betting it was scrubbed pine!) Her last was The Keeper’s House, in 1963.

Pilcher did not achieve her international break-through until she was 63 years old. The Shell Seekers sold five million books and topped the New York Times bestseller list in 1990, kicking Tom Wolfe off the lead. In the United States and the UK, The Shell Seekers became the most sold paperback of the decade. Winter Solstice, Coming Home and September were also bestsellers, and she is now internationally recognized as one of the most-loved and prolific storytellers of our time.

I must admit Pilcher's books are not for everyone. Some readers might find her descriptions way too long and drawn out. But that is why I enjoy her books so much. When reading her stories, I forget I am reading a story; I am there, every step of the way. And that is a real feat, one that only a remarkable storyteller like Pilcher can pull off.

Although I will never be in a league with Pilcher, we do have something in common. For years I hesitated to tell people I was a writer. And when I did, they often responded with, “I’ve thought about writing a book, but I just don’t have the time.” (As I told Suzanne, you would think we were talking about baking cookies!) So I was more than a little taken aback when, in an interview with Publishers Weekly, Pilcher encountered the same thing.

"All my life I've had people coming up and saying, 'Sat under the hair dryer and read one of your little stories, dear. So clever of you. Wish I had the time to do it myself,'" she recalled. "I just say, 'Yeah, fine, pity you don't.' I've been beavering away." She sat back and smiled, "And now I'm hoping that nobody will ever, ever say that again."

Well, I think it is safe to say nobody will ever, ever say that again to Rosamunde Pilcher!