Essay by Lynda La Rocca
Books – December 2005 – Colorado Central Magazine
I LOVE CHRISTMAS. Not the crowded malls filled with stressed-out shoppers and definitely not the hurriedness and commercialism associated with contemporary merrymaking. I love the spirit of Christmas. Frankly, what’s not to love about a holiday that, at its purest and best, epitomizes peace on Earth and good will to … everyone?
Traditionally, I supplement my own seasonal supply of good will by rereading special Christmas books plus another book that is only peripherally connected to the holiday. The latter, The Catcher in the Rye, is included in my selections because, to quote its narrator, it “killed me” when I first read it at age 16, and it still kills me today.
But I’ll begin with the Christmas books. When Charles Schulz, creator of the beloved comic strip Peanuts, died in 2000, the world lost one of its funniest and most profound chroniclers of the human condition. From the ever-optimistic Charlie Brown–who keeps trying to boot one through the goalposts of life no matter how often know-it-all Lucy yanks the football away–to deep-thinking Linus and that incredibly confident and accomplished beagle, Snoopy, Schulz’s characters are at once innocent yet wise beyond their years. They make us laugh, sometimes until we cry.
RELEASED SHORTLY AFTER Schulz’s death, The Joy of a Peanuts Christmas: 50 Years of Holiday Comics follows Charlie Brown and his pals from the 1950s through the ’90s as they stage their annual Christmas pageant, hang stockings by the chimney, and figure out how many gifts a fortunate maiden received from her suitor during the twelve days of Christmas. (“All in all, he gave her twenty-two turtle doves, thirty French hens, thirty-six calling birds … and twelve partridges in pear trees!” Linus announces.)
One of my favorite cartoons shows Linus writing a letter to Santa that begins, “How have you been? How is your wife?” Charlie Brown’s ditzy little sister Sally also takes pen in hand to recount the adventures of “Santa and his rain gear,” a tale equaled only by her recitation of a version of Clement Moore’s classic “A Visit from St. Nicholas” that includes the line, “The stockings were hung by the chimney with care . . in hope that Jack Nicklaus soon would be there.” And the depictions of Snoopy and his feathered friend Woodstock exchanging presents–including birdseed for Snoopy and a bone for Woodstock — are priceless.
Christmas is a magical time “for all who truly believe.” And the nameless boy who visits the North Pole in Chris Van Allsburg’s enchanting The Polar Express is an ardent believer. Lying in bed on Christmas Eve, listening eagerly for the bells of Santa’s sleigh, the boy instead hears the sounds of clanking metal and hissing steam and looks out the window to see a train stopped in front of his house. The boy’s delightful excursion to the North Pole aboard the Polar Express culminates when Santa chooses him to receive “the first gift of Christmas.” The boy knows he can ask for anything, but all he wants is a single silver bell from Santa’s sleigh. And as the years pass and the boy becomes a man, the sweet sound of that bell continues to hold a special meaning for him alone.
The Whole Christmas Catalogue certainly lives up to its title as a compendium of all things Christmas–past and present. This book contains chapters on everything from holiday entertaining to making Christmas wreaths and ornaments and creating a Christmas tree that is literally “for the birds,” with its edible decorations of suet, cranberries, and popcorn. The section titled “Stories, Poems, and Songs of Christmas Past” features music and lyrics to traditional Christmas carols, along with Christmas poems and stories by Louisa May Alcott, Washington Irving, Christina Rossetti, Sir Walter Scott, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and other literary luminaries. There are also dozens of recipes, among them instructions for preparing Victorian-era favorites like figgy pudding and hot mulled wine. Yum.
Holden Caulfield, narrator of J. D. Salinger’s bitingly funny and achingly sad The Catcher in the Rye, would have preferred scotch and soda over mulled wine any day–even though he’s too young to drink legally. When I first read this book, I was the same age that Holden is when he gets kicked out of Pencey Prep, yet another private school his worried parents have chosen for their chronically underachieving son.
I thought then, and I think now, that Holden is one of best characters ever created. He’s too intelligent and observant for his own good, which makes it impossible for him to put up with the “phonies” and “bastards” that pop up wherever he goes. He obsesses about where the ducks in New York City’s Central Park spend the winter. He hates saying that he’s glad to meet people he wishes he’d never met. (“If you want to stay alive, you have to say that stuff, though.”) He loves his precocious little sister Phoebe and desperately misses his younger brother Allie, who died of leukemia. Allie used to write poems, in green ink, all over his baseball mitt “… so that he’d have something to read when he was in the field and nobody was up at bat.” Now Holden, who broke all the windows in the garage with his fist the night Allie died, carries that mitt around with him and worries about dying and getting stuck in a cemetery where people are ” … coming and putting a bunch o
THE ONLY THING Christmas-like about Holden is that his story takes place around Christmastime. But since this is a season rife with religious tradition, it’s not surprising to find even Holden pondering certain aspects of Christianity. Despite being “sort of an atheist,” Holden approves of Jesus. But he takes a rather dim view of His disciples. “They annoy the hell out of me, if you want to know the truth. They were all right after Jesus was dead and all, but while He was alive, they were about as much use to Him as a hole in the head.”
Anyone want to say “Amen” to that?
And finally, whatever the celebration–be it of Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or the winter solstice–may yours be filled with joy.
Lynda La Rocca writes from her home in Twin Lakes, a dead-end town this time of year.
