I’m currently reading a fantasy novel for a book club I’m part of that is pure autumnal cosiness. It’s called A Dark and Secret Magic by Wallis Kinney, and it’s perhaps the cosiest book I’ve ever read, barring Legends and Lattes.

When I started it, the level of cosy was almost too much for me… I felt like the author was packing in absolutely every cosy thing you could possibly think of – delicious food and drinks, a quaint cottage, a cat, a fireplace, books, festive decorations, a friendly witch, even some crafty crochet moments – and I wasn’t willing to be wooed by her obvious tricks! Soon enough, however, I found myself falling under the story’s spell and wanting to return to it every evening to mentally curl up next to that warm fire.

All this brought up a question for me that I’ve often pondered and discussed with friends – what, exactly, makes a book cosy?

Cosy elements within non-cosy fantasy books

I find the question of “cosiness” particularly interesting when it comes to books that have cosy scenes or elements without being cover-to-cover cosy.

The classic example that comes to mind is the Gryffindor common room in Harry Potter, when Harry and his friends open Christmas presents or chat in front of the fire. Yet other fantasy books I read as a teen also evoked similar emotions. In the Obernewtyn series, a gothic mansion in the wilderness becomes a haven and sanctuary for the misfit characters to retreat to between adventures. Now I think about it, it was very much a found family situation. Even The Lord of the Rings has cosy sections, for example Tom Bombadil’s house, or the Hobbit houses in the Shire.

What all of these scenes have in common is that they are, largely, set in safe spaces – spaces where the “good” characters can gather and bond while remaining relatively sheltered from the perils of the outside world. They are often also scenes where the characters get to take a breather plot-wise.

In the natural up-and-down pace of a typical fantasy book, with tense or dramatic scenes interspersed with more introspective and restful ones, it’s the latter that provide the opportunity for cosiness. Indeed, it’s these scenes I often look to when I want to inject some cosiness into my own writing, even if the overall story is a darker one.

What all of this tells me is that “cosiness” has a long history in the fantasy genre, even if it hasn’t become a conscious subgenre and focus until more recently.

When cosy dominates

Of course, what differentiates fantasies with cosy scenes from actual “cosy fantasy” novels is the amount of this emotion that the book evokes.

Cosy fantasies are often lower-stakes stories where it’s not about the fate of a kingdom, but rather the fate of a newly opened café, or the main character finding friendship and belonging. This is no surprise. Where traditional fantasies might have offered occasional safe retreats between ventures out into a dark and cruel world, cosy books deliberately choose to keep most of the action within those sanctuaries, and maintain plot interest with lesser perils, puzzles, or character relationships.

And as these stories linger there, they use the five senses to enhance that feeling of comfort and safety, which gives us the tropes we identify with this subgenre: delicious food and drink, appealing scents, warm and pleasant sensations, comforting sounds, pretty scenery and objects. Autumn and winter are especially potent seasons to focus on, because they enhance the sense of warmth and light within by contrasting it with the cold darkness outside.

Regardless of how it’s evoked, be it through crackling hearths, cups of steaming hot chocolate, or the gathering of friends around a plentiful table, a cosy fantasy is ultimately one that lingers in that feeling. It makes you feel safe and comfortable and warm while delighting you with wonders and spells and magical things.

Blending cosy with horror

What I find especially fascinating is books that blend cosy elements with what might appear to be the polar opposite: horror. I sometimes find myself calling a book “cosy” only to suddenly remember all the necromancy and the undead rising from graves and the traumatic ghostly encounters…

Yet the same way Halloween can be both spooky and cosy, there are books that bridge this divide. The two that come to mind for me are Nettle and Bone by T. Kingfisher, and Emily Wilde’s Encyclopaedia of Faeries by Heather Fawcett. Both explore some seriously dark themes, one with necromancy and dangerous ghosts and abused wives, the other with changelings, haunting enchantments, and the kind of fairies who definitely do not wish humans well.

I think the reasons both of these books still manage to feel cosy in spite of their dark content are multifold. The first, quite simply, is that they incorporate a lot of traditional and recognisable cosy tropes amidst the horror: found families, cute animal or magical side kicks, kind witches and fairy godmothers, cottage fireplaces that offer an escape from the winter cold.

The second thing that’s key to this blend, however, is more intangible: style and tone. It’s the same reason a fairy tale can be incredibly dark in content and yet also feel somehow comforting. The trick lies in the way it’s told and the level of removal you feel. Terrible things happen but are treated with a lightness or a humour, or at least a distance, that prevents them from sinking too deep. You are always reminded that this is a story, and you feel sure the main characters are going to be okay.

The character Emily Wilde faces a scene with an axe that could be truly horrific, but her practical, matter-of-fact tone, and her treatment of it all like a fairytale problem, somehow prevents it from feeling too real (indeed, the friend who recommended the book to me didn’t even remember that scene!).

This contrast of dark and light is inherent in many traditional stories of faeries: you find yourself in an enchanting palace filled with beautiful people in front of a banquet of delicious food, but you can’t eat or drink any of it, or you’ll never go home.

Fantasy at the core of it all

I think this cosy-horror blend is where you see the “fantasy” in all this really coming to the fore, and understand why the genre is so suitable for cosiness. Fantasy by its very nature removes us from reality and allows us to explore darkness from the safe position of knowing none of it is, or ever could be, real. It gives us that comforting framework to read within.

And yes, you could have a real story about a person opening a bookshop in their hometown, and you could pack it with cosiness and evoke many of the same feelings (there are probably many contemporary romances out there that do exactly that). But I think, for me, there would still be an ingredient missing: the wonder, the magic, that feeling of settling in by a fire to hear a folk tale. It’s the combination that makes the potion of cosy fantasy so potent – the delight of the magical and otherworldly blended with the everyday comforts we know and love.

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Do you enjoy reading cosy fantasy? And do you have any favourites, or favourite cosy scenes in non-cosy books? I’d love to hear about them in the comments!