Dear readers, “Though I would never turn down a four-star meal (or even a two- or three- one) at some fancy place,” Laurie Colwin writes in “Home Cooking,” “on a cold night after a hard day I would reverse my steps if someone offered me a homemade vegetable fritter with catsup, Welsh rabbit or some real creamed spinach.” I can’t pretend guests at my home will be served any of the above, but I firmly share Colwin’s belief that nothing beats a home-cooked meal with friends. It’s always seemed to me that, perhaps particularly in a moment when it feels like so very little is within our control, there is real pleasure in creating a welcoming environment, sharing food and company and taking care of people, if only for a few hours. These books make an argument for hospitality, in all its varieties. —Sadie “Entertaining Is Fun!,” by Dorothy DraperNonfiction, 1941
I have spoken before of my love for Draper’s bracing motto: “‘The Will to be Dreary’ is a morose little imp which whispers to us that something which we know would be fun would be too much trouble, will take too much time, is too expensive and probably wouldn’t be as amusing after all as just now you think it would be. Now don’t listen to that voice. Tune it out.” Draper, a decorator known for her bold pronouncements and bravura maximalism, brought with her the confidence of a woman born, in 1889, to one of New York’s most socially prominent families. She decorated everything from the Carlyle hotel to the townhouses of Sutton Place to Chicago’s Drake to the Greenbrier, which still boasts her hallucinatory riot of print and color. None of which is why you should read “Entertaining Is Fun!” This book, reissued by Rizzoli and a jolly objet even unopened, has a cult following that by now more closely resembles a sect. Yes, Draper is the kind of old-school grande dame who recommends sawing the legs off heirloom Chippendale and gives highly specific prescriptions for “flocks” of “good-looking ashtrays” and towering vases of laurel leaves. But the joy to be found here is not merely time-capsule camp. It’s a bigger, and more serious, project than that. Draper, who after her divorce lived for several years with her daughter in a studio apartment, was deeply committed to the idea that everyone could live happier lives — single women, especially. Her syndicated column “Ask Dorothy Draper” and her regular dispatches in Good Housekeeping featured advice not for her Park Avenue clientele, but for regular people. The book itself features chapters like “If You Haven’t a Home” and “Making Your House Say Welcome” (she recommends a friendly dog, among other things), interspersed with madcap vignettes: “Case History of a Lady Who Conquered Her Mother-in-Law” and “How Great-Grandmother Went to Bermuda.” But this is how she opens: “This is a book about making living fun. On having your friends to the house, and on how to give them a good time.” Self-help through polka dots. If I were a doctor, I’d prescribe it — one of many reasons I am not, in fact, a doctor. Read if you like: “Cold Comfort Farm,” by Stella Gibbons; the TV show “The Gilded Age”; shelter magazines; Diana Vreeland. “Withered Hill,” by David BarnettFiction, 2024
To change gears completely, may I direct your attention to another book about hosting? Countless authors describe literal dinners or parties, but I would argue that the aesthetic certainty of the Draper pairs well, in a strange way, with this tale that the publishers describe (accurately) as “a dark and unsettling folk-horror novel.” Barnett’s twisty, inventive, disturbing and utterly addictive narrative begins with our heroine, Sophie Wickham, arriving in the remote Lancashire village of Withered Hill naked: filthy, terrified and lacking any memory of who she is or how she got there. The villagers take her arrival in stride; indeed, they act as though they were expecting her, welcome her into their homes and lives, feed and clothe her and matter-of-factly induct her into the ancient rites of their community. Chapters set in the prosperous village, where Sophie integrates with local characters and learns about Withered Hill’s pagan customs and veneration for nature, are interspersed with glimpses of her old life, as a London career woman with a messy personal history. As the story unspools with unhurried menace, questions arise: Is Sophie a guest — or a prisoner? And why? But there are larger questions at play, too: about how to live a good life, and what that means. About the nature of morality. And, of course, about the element of control inherent in having someone in your home and life. “She doesn’t want to leave. She can’t wait to leave. She says out loud, her voice hoarse and strangled, ‘I must be mad. Or I wouldn’t have come here.’” Besides being a plain old excellent read, this is a book that understands the dark side is a natural part of the light — and that everything, really, is about power dynamics. Read if you like: The 1973 movie “The Wicker Man”; “The Loney,” by Andrew Michael Hurley; “The Golden Bough,” by James George Frazer. We hope you’ve enjoyed this newsletter, which is made possible through subscriber support. Subscribe to The New York Times. Friendly reminder: Check your local library for books! Many libraries allow you to reserve copies online. Like this email? Sign-up here or forward it to your friends. Have a suggestion or two on how we can improve it? Let us know at books@nytimes.com. Plunge further into books at The New York Times or our reading recommendations.
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