Contrary to ethnic and religious stereotypes, I am not celebrating this Christmas Day with a Chinese meal despite my fondness for the cuisine.
But as publisher of TeleRead, I will wish everyone to whom it applies a Merry Christmas from Alexandria, Virginia, just outside Washington, D.C., where, in the middle of the night, it’s 63 degrees. Nate got it right. This is our Australian Christmas.
Paul St. John Mackintosh has treated us to Thomas Hardy’s words on the holiday. Now, if the spirit moves you, why not share your own favorite literary mentions of Christmas within the limits of copyright law? Yes, keep it extra-short unless your gem is in the public domain. If you’re reading this after Christmas, no problem. Share anyway.
I’ve got dibs on an F. Scott Fitzgerald snippet from The Great Gatsby:
“When we pulled out into the winter night and the real snow, our snow, began to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and the dim lights of small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild brace came suddenly into the air. That’s my middle-west—not the wheat or the prairies or the lost Swede towns, but the thrilling returning trains of my youth and the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty dark and the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by lighted windows on the snow.”
Note: This is a holiday of course for TeleRead staffers. The Joanna essay I’m about to post was written earlier this week.
Credit for Fitzgerald photo: Here.