Is Netherford Hall a Cozy Romantasy?

We are now deep in the throes of ARC reviews for Netherford Hall, and while I try not to throw myself on the mercy of reviews, one observation from some readers has made me rethink this book a little. (The people who love this book really love this book and this post is not for them.)

The end of the book is certainly fast-paced, but the majority of the book is not. Like the world of Jane Austen, from which it was inspired, the focus isn’t on high action, complex plotting, or angst and danger. It’s about relationships between characters, establishing their connections, demonstrating their problems, and seeing what happens when they all run into each other.

More than anything, though, it’s about giving the reader a chance to visit their world. Netherford is a quaint Kentish village abutting a few great houses–Netherford Hall, of course, as well as Burkley House. It’s a cross-section of all the people who made up the town: the old guard, including the Molly and Basil Hode; the more recent tenants, the Brightwells; and the returning gentlewitch family, the Rookwoods (including Auden Garcliffe, who does not inherit the Rookwood name, but serves as a non-magical member of the house).

It is slice of life. There are quite a few quiet scenes in gardens, in kitchens, in withdrawing rooms, and in town. The focus, for me, has always been on building character dynamics in the story rather than hammering on plot, because that’s how Jane Austen’s books are and it’s something I love tremendously in reading.

One of my favorite scenes was actually inspired by an assignment from Fran Wilde, which required writing a scene with characters making tea. It turned into an adorable kitchen moment between Poppy and Edith, each very conscious of the other’s presence, and struggling to work their way around a kitchen. It was an opportunity to describe that kitchen, the kettle, the smell of the tea, the feeling of the table, all while watching that delicate dance of people falling in love together.

And really, the first 70% of the book is just that. It’s getting to know the inhabitants of Netherford, focusing in on details like fashion and atmosphere, language and society. It’s costume details and embroidery, architecture and banter, flowers growing and settling into the rhythm of the world.

That works for a lot of folks, I’m happy to report. And it’s totally okay if it doesn’t work for you.

So yes, I think, looking at this now, that Netherford Hall is quite cozy. And so, too, are the books that follow (to greater and lesser degrees depending on the stakes of the game). The goal, for me, was to bring you to Netherford, to open the door to this world where witches and mortals, vampires and werewolves, and people of all kinds, love and live.

You can request Netherford Hall on NetGalley now.

And, of course, pre-orders are available in anticipation of the August 13 release!

From the aforementioned tea scene…

Three big water crocks stood side-by-side by the back door, the worn old wooden ladle resting across the top. A safe place for Poppy to begin, as she’d snuck many as sip in her childhood from this very contrivance, and the first step to brewing tea was water. She popped open the stopper, but realised that she did not have a suitable container into which she could pour the water, and spilling half of it on her way to the stove was unlikely to make the best impression. 

“What kind of tea do you prefer?” Poppy asked, taking a detour to the shelf where the teapots sat in neat order. “We have a little bohea left, which is Papa’s favourite, but at a time like this I’d think something like simple chamomile might suffice. I collect it in the summer, and Mrs. Pratt dries it for me.” 

“Delightful,” said the gentlewitch, her eyes never leaving Poppy’s form as she moved—which Poppy found she did not mind. “You are quite the botanist.”

“Hardly,” said Poppy. “Viola is the expert. I am just cursed with a perpetually curious mind. That, and I can’t see the point of such delicious tea being left to trample by the local flocks. Seems such a waste, really.”

The old copper kettle in the middle row up on the shelf was rather battered, but lighter than the cast iron—which would, at any rate, have required stoking the fire rather than using the remaining heat of the stove. Poppy could almost see the old design etched on the kettle’s burnished sides; the interlacing sweet-pea vines had been worn nearly indistinguishable by use.

“We got the cooktop stove only last year,” Poppy continued, now that she’d chosen her implement. “So I’m afraid I’m a little unused—”

“Here, let me help,” said Liege Rookwood, standing immediately, as if glad to be of service. “Perhaps you’re not used to such advances at Harrow House, but in London we had one like this, and as I endured many a night awake, I learned its mysteries—not wishing to bother the staff, of course.”

For a highborn gentlewitch, Liege Edith Rookwood moved about the stove with remarkable familiarity. Poppy had noted how athletic the gentlewitch was, of course. But it was the ease with which she carried herself that was truly remarkable. She removed her jacket, rolled up her sleeves and buttoned them, then located the kindling and matches, and had started a low, crackling fire in minutes.

“There, I think it’s warm enough to begin the kettle,” said the gentlewitch, standing and clapping her hands together. “It’s been a while since I’ve done such a thing, but it’s good to know that my abilities haven’t vanished altogether.”

“Marvellous,” said Poppy, putting the kettle on. “You will have to show me. I cannot always rely upon the staff.”

“I hardly think they’d allow such a thing,” said Liege Rookwood with a grin. “But you do not strike me as a woman who will be swayed once her mind is made. If I do not teach you, you will find some other helpless wretch to pass on the knowledge.”