I happened across this book in a junk shop in a tiny Arizona town. Someone was dreaming of winter among the saguaro and cholla, I think. It was a lucky find--I've read this book before, years and years ago, and it was obscure even back then. Volsky doesn't get as much credit as she deserves, but I was glad to snag a copy of The Wolf of Winter from the 50 cent paperback shelf.
This isn't Volsky's best book--I will always love ILLUSION best, I think. But it's interesting. The book's structure is quite non-traditional, and not masculine at all. There are genuinely dual protagonists, both of whom are mostly inactive, or stumble into action when forced by circumstance. And the tension doesn't rise neatly across the pages, it rises and falls, swirls and turns back in on itself...so while I wasn't hugely fond of the level of murder and necromancy, which honestly creeped me out a little bit, I did love the experience of reading it.
Volsky always impresses with her seriously flawed and human protagonists who are brought low, and creates edge-of-my-seat, high drama. Read ILLUSION first!
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