Spectacular Gifts We Do Not Need —And One We Truly Do
Some of us, I guess we would not call ourselves particularly cheerful or optimistic or “festive” by nature, but even we deeply love this beautiful season—the knitted gloves, the sparkling lights, the roasted chestnuts, the hearty soups, the mulled wine, the buskers on the streets singing completely out of tune, the promise of snow in the wind…. The possibility of a better, fairer, happier world.
It is that time of year again when newspapers, magazines, and websites flood us with articles bearing similar titles: “125 Spectacular Christmas Gifts and Ideas!”
These pieces often come neatly organised into further specialised categories, like “Christmas Gifts for Him,” “Christmas Gifts for Her,” and “Christmas Gifts for Kids.”
There are also “Christmas Gifts For Pets”, ‘Christmas Gifts For Old Friends”, “Christmas Gifts For Grumpy Coworkers”, “Christmas Gifts for Ex-Partners”, and so on.
The lists are packed with an array of whimsical knick-knacks and unessential offerings—things we do not need at all but are endlessly persuaded to believe that actually we very much do.
How many scented candles can one person possibly use?
How many personalised steel pizza cutters can there be in a kitchen?
From polka-dot scarves to fish-shaped lemon squeezers, the essays are brimming with suggestions for curios that often serve little to no purpose.
Yet, it is impossible not to notice that most of these lists somehow manage to overlook one essential, universal and timeless gift—the best gift you can give to anyone, anywhere:
Books.
How is it, and why is it, that the creators of these glossy gift guides so often fail to include poems and novels?
Why do they forget books?
I was raised by my maternal grandmother until I was about 10 years old. That same year, my mother told me that the two of us would be moving abroad to Madrid. I was terrified of the change, the displacement, and the strange new environment. On the way, I cried non-stop. I had already been relocated from France to Turkey after my parents got divorced, and now, once again, I was journeying, this time from Turkey to Spain. I did not speak the language. I did not speak any other language than Turkish. It terrified me, the idea of going to an international school where I would be the only Turkish kid.
It was during that time of loneliness and inner confusion that I received a novel as a gift. It was a children’s edition of Don Quixote de la Mancha. I had not heard of Cervantes before. I had not heard of the iconic tale either. But the book genuinely intrigued me. I wanted to journey with this charmingly crazy, incredibly brave knight and his squire, who seemed both foolish and wise. I wanted to accompany them on their many adventures. They seemed to be just as lost as I was.
And then, a few weeks later, our elderly Spanish landlady gave me a book for Christmas: “The Life and Adventures of Lazarillo de Tormes.”
Now when I look back I realise I learned Spanish much quicker and with far more determination than I would have otherwise been able to, just so I could read these novels. And once I delved into them, once I was able to little by little decode them, an interesting thing happened. I found a kindred spirit. I found a safe haven, a sanctuary, its gates wide open to dreamers. To immigrants. To commuters. To searchers. To introverts. A warm and welcoming place where all the lonely kids could feel at home.
Something shifted in me then. Don Quixote was funny, inventive, daring, and utterly inspiring, and Lazarillo de Torres was emotional, clever, critical and it was my first introduction to picaresque novel, but more than that, they both were an invitation to connect with something bigger than my small, limited self. They opened a door and when I walked through it I found a vast land of endless possibilities and infinite horizons. I found Storyland.
The books we receive as gifts have the power to change our lives forever. I know this because it happened to me.
This season, treat yourself to a novel—and many more.
Despite what those lists of “125 Spectacular Christmas Gifts and Ideas!” go on about, give books to those you love and those you care about.
And if I may add this, consider especially gifting poems and novels—and I’d say poems and novels written by women—to the men in your life.
Let’s spread the love of fiction far and wide.
As a child my favourite presents were always books (sometimes from a list given to my parents) or book tokens. I’m 67 and still have some of those books. They are large books with pictures and short easy-to-read versions of the stories. Their spines have mostly fallen off- but I wouldn’t part with them for the world— Mother Goose Nursery Rhymes, Sleeping Beaty, Alice in Wonderland, Gulliver’s Travels, Don Quixote, around the World in Eight Days, Chinese Fairy Tales, The Brothers Grimm.
I also loved books about famous explorers and a series published by Methuen in the late 1959’s to 1963 of children from around the world— Sia lives on Kilimanjaro, Bala, Child of India, Bamburu, Elle Kari and Mikisoq-The Tale of an Eskimo Boy in Greenland. The books were originally published in Sweden and were illustrated with photographs. Who knew then that I would ultimately go on to do a Ph.D in Sociocultural Anthropology after a Masters in Art History and Museum Studies. But those books were essentially my introduction to anthropology, even though I didn’t know it at the time.
My fathers barber was next to book shop. On the Fridays he went, he would often bring us back books- usually paperbacks but sometimes odd things that would be on the sale table. That’s how I got my first book about Beatles ( the insects not the band). About ten years ago I bought another book on Beatles— with vastly superior and larger photographs of their amazing iridescent carapaces. In case you’re wondering — I can’t stand beetles 🪲 in the flesh— but they are incredibly beautiful when you get past the ick factor.
On a recent trip to England I bought my sister a bi-monthly subscription to Daunts so over the next year she will get six paperbacks to accompany their book bag that came with the gift certificate. They are promoting this now obviously for Christmas. It was the end of November so in my sister’s case, not exactly a Chanukah present- it was mor a ‘just because’ gift. She was absolutely thrilled. She liked the idea that she could give them some perimeters and then wait and see what would come in the post. It’s also possible to gift a book a month, either hardback or paper book, do cookbooks or children’s books. And no, I don’t work for Daunt’s, I just think they are fabulous. It’s where I go when I’m visiting family and need to decompress. Just walking in the door and taking in the smell calms me down.
For me my books are my friends. They are redolent with memories.
I love all your writing but these are especially sacred words. Books are our threshold to a life of meaning. Thank you.