It seems like everything these days has “cozy” as a descriptor added to it. Cozy mystery, cozy fantasy, cozy games. As a cozy mystery writer, naturally I don’t mind this. Wikipedia defines a cozy mystery as “a sub-genre of crime fiction in which sex and violence occur offstage, the detective is an amateur sleuth, and the crime and detection take place in a small, socially intimate community. Cozy mysteries thus stand in contrast to hardboiled fiction, in which more violence and explicit sexuality are central to the plot. The term “cozy” was first coined in the late 20th century, when various writers produced work in an attempt to recreate the Golden Age of Detective Fiction.[1]”
I like this description because I cut my teeth on the Golden Age of Mystery. My mom was a huge fan of Agatha Christie, Margery Allingham, Ngaio Marsh, Dorothy L. Sayers, Patricia Wentworth and more. Lord Peter Wimsey was one of my first fictional crushes, and to this day, I feel sad for the pre-teens who grew up crushing on Edward Cullen instead. I write cozy mysteries because I love this subgenre and long to recreate that vibe in my own storytelling. I like the descriptor because when I pick up a book in that subgenre, I have a pretty good idea of what to expect. That’s the value of genre reading.
That doesn’t mean that I never desire to read something grittier or more graphic. Lord Peter resides cheek-by-jowl next to Eve Dallas on my bookshelves. I’ve recently fallen in love with cozy fantasy, and I adored The Spellshop by Sara Beth Durst. (I have the second book, The Enchanted Greenhouse, sitting on my TBR stack like the prize gem in a dragon’s hoard). This doesn’t mean I don’t own a copy of Jurassic Park, or that I’d never re-read the Lord of the Rings.
For me, “cozy” is more of a mood than anything. It’s a certain vibe I’m seeking when I pick up a book. It’s because I want the banter between Amelia Peabody and Radcliffe Emerson. It’s because I wish to battle wits with Miss Marple, or soak in the atmosphere of a deadly cruise down the Nile. I do think this is a large part of the appeal of the subgenre–people talk about cozies as being low stakes books, but the stakes are still there for the protagonists. It’s just that our female amateur sleuth is not likely to be targeted by a serial killer and the dog always lives. The magic-using protagonist hiding out from the anti-spell casting government might be in danger, but the village will stand up to protect them.
Cozy reads aren’t necessarily my comfort reads, though they can be. I can be happy with a ridiculous amount of violence if I love the characters and I know everything will turn out all right in the end. What makes it a comfort read is I know these criteria will be met when I pick up the book to read it again. I love the Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells, and re-read them frequently. Ditto scores of other sci-fi and urban fantasy books. Ilona Andrews is an autobuy for me, and I have everything they’ve published in print.
But when I’m browsing online, in a bookstore or library, trying to decide what to read next, quite often I’m going to gravitate toward something with “cozy” as a descriptor. I don’t know about you, but I need a lot of soothing these days. The news is a constant bombardment of all the ways in which we are going to die (and suffer while doing it), so yeah. I’m re-reading and re-watching a lot of old favorites. The last thing I need is for my entertainment to wound me. The “cozy” descriptor (mostly) allows me to choose new material without bracing myself for an unseen blade being shoved into my ribs.
Even in my embrace of all things cozy, I admit, I get a little tired of the majority of books in this genre being set in bakeries or craft stores. I get it–baking and crafting are how many people immerse themselves in coziness. I am doing a lot of baking now myself, having discovered 3 Doughs 60 Recipes by following @mostlybree on bluesky. I’ve also revived my old bread starter recipe, and while I am still working the kinks out of it (I get fabulous tasting bread that won’t rise), I take pleasure in doing something besides doomscrolling on the weekends. But as someone who is a terrible baker and doesn’t craft, I find myself longing for cozy mysteries set in other environments.
There appears to have been a recent complaint in the gaming community, however, that gaming is taking cozy too far by introducing cozy versions of popular, violent games. That “cozy” is somehow a disease poisoning their good times. Now, I’m not a gamer; I only heard this referenced through a blog post on The Book Wyrm’s Hoard, so I don’t have all the facts. But the blogger’s talking points are sound:
- If you don’t like “cozy” you don’t have to consume it. It’s not for you.
- “Cozy” as a descriptor is associated with people who identify as female. And we deserve to have our space, too.
Cozy is not a “dirty” word. For one thing, cursing isn’t allowed in cozies. 😉
If you don’t like it, that’s fine. It wasn’t meant for you anyway.