Merry Merry
Currently reading:
Angel Down by Daniel Kraus
Out There Screaming, edited by Jordan Peele
An American Sunrise by Joy Harjo
Books finished this week: 1
★★★☆☆
Where this book came from: Sent to me by an agent after a lovely meeting!
Why this book: The agent mentioned how fun this book was during our introductory call, and when I said I’d definitely be getting a copy to read, she offered to send me one instead.
Thoughts: *Mild spoilers throughout this review* because I can’t figure out how else to express my feelings on The Merriest Misters. Unfortunately, though this sounded like it would be a romp, it was overall mostly a very quiet story of an unraveling relationship between two people who apparently have barely spoken the entire time they’ve been together. If there’s one thing that isn’t for me, it’s the miscommunication trope, and though that isn’t on full display here, I didn’t enjoy that two men who are supposedly deeply in love haven’t thought to try talking to each other to save both their marriage and their own sanities. This is more on me than the book, but I really thought this would be more along the lines of the first half hour or so of the movie The Santa Clause, with Patrick and Quinn finding themselves as Santa and spouse and, over the course of a wild, whirlwind adventure, rediscovering their love for each other and setting up to have a wonderful Christmas Day after their exploits and explorations the night before. Instead, the book covers over a year in the present day timeline and also segues into unnecessary flashbacks, space that could——and, in my opinion, should——have been used to both flesh out the relationship at the center of the book and the world in which the book was set. To tackle the second point first, we spend a ton of time at the North Pole, yet the magic and rules about the place still felt a little hand-wavey. As for the relationship, Quinn and Patrick don’t talk; they pine and secretly angst and bury their hurt, and sometimes magic literally magically fixes things. They don’t actually work to save their relationship or build lives for themselves that feel worth living. It’s all just kind of handed to them. And if they won’t try therapy or even a simple conversation, I can’t buy into their love story and root for them to make it work. Despite some sweet moments, this was overall a very middle of the road read.
Library updates:
Here it is: the final Sunday Missive of 2025. (Though the year-end wrap-up is being drafted——and hopefully scheduled to go live on New Year’s Eve——as you read this.)
I spent Christmas at home, which I’m sure I’ve mentioned before is a very quiet affair: excellent food, a couple of gifts each for my parents and me, lots of time spent playing board games, eggnog all around. I was absolutely exhausted on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and when I yawned out that observation on Christmas Day, my dad replied, “Good, that means you’re really relaxing.” I...don’t think that’s quite scientifically accurate, and I’m pretty sure I was just tired from going to bed too late and being woken up too early, but it’s a nice thought.
My parents always joke that I keep them up past their bedtime, the way we used to keep my gran up when she’d come to visit when I was a kid. Really, we just feed into each other’s excitement and usually end up not going to bed until after midnight, and then my parents wake up at the crack of dawn and take me with them.
Anyway, the holidays are always quiet and mostly nice, with varying levels of strangeness. This year was touched with nostalgia in both good ways and bad. Watching a couple of the classic Rankin and Bass movies, thinking about Penny, reflecting a bit on family and the year behind us. But also seeing photos of myself that brought about a resurgence of body image issues I haven’t felt this strongly since at least college, and feeling occasionally stifled being back at home. For example, as I was working on a first draft of this very missive, my dad popped his head into my room to say good night, saw me typing, and said with a look of dismay, “You’re not working, are you?” I told him I wasn’t in a not-entirely-nice tone that instantly made me feel like a petulant child, then said good night.
Was I working? Technically, no, though this missive does have a deadline. And, yes, I do have projects to work on over the next week of the holiday “break.” I understand that he was probably trying to gently remind me to actually take a break, but in the moment, it felt incredibly frustrating to have to explain myself. I can also think of dozens of other nights, if not hundreds, in which my dad has found me typing away at my laptop du jour or the family computer. Writing, in case no one has noticed yet, is kind of my thing.
I feel like I’m oversharing a touch, probably because I’m feeling the urge to reflect and also because I always forget to bring my journal home on visits to my parents’, so I have nowhere else to put these thoughts at the moment. I hope you enjoy this extended peek into my psyche.
Closing thoughts:
Live and let live.
