Tis the Season to be Literate

There are many, many reasons why the holidays are a source of great and profound alarm in me. My friends claim that it might be because I don’t actually have a soul, but being that I’m now the kind of girl who considers it a monumental, impossibly neon sign whenever Johnny Cash’s version of, “If You Could Read My Mind” comes on her iPod at the exact moment she happens to be thinking of that one boy who dedicated it to her all these months ago (true story; look at me, being all gross),  I think I have just cause to disagree with them. My soul is here, all soul-y and gooey and lovey – it just doesn’t appreciate being exposed to seizure-inducing lights flashing from every possibly direction, or having to cope with the threat of death via sharp-cornered shopping bags wielded by banshee-esque shoppers (because that is definitely not the most poetic way for me to say, “What’s up?” to the reaper) just to submit myself to the pressures of giving “meaningful,” “thoughtful” gifts. And that pressure is huge.

The right gift is ideally supposed to show how much you care about this person, how well you know this person, and how deep your connection with this person runs;  then, if you did a really good job, it’s supposed to elicit an emotional reaction of some kind (joyful, appreciative tears – good; uncomfortable, slightly confused, possibly angry laugher – bad). Over the years I’ve managed to deal with this steaming pile of malarkey by giving the gift I care about and know best – literacy and literature, friends. I know it, I care about it – and me thoughtfully browsing every shelf at a bookstore to find the perfect set of bound pages for you is the best way for me to show my affection (because if I couldn’t care any less about you I’d just grab the nearest copy of Hot Guys and Baby Animals, have some sad high schooler gift-wrap it, then use the rest of the allotted time shopping for myself – full disclosure). So if you’re anything like me, and books are your gift of choice, here’s a cheat sheet of sorts for you to use and work off of during your own descent into the perils of holiday shopping, in the hopes that it makes this season in your life substantially less alarming.

(And, uh, can we just call this my gift to you? Thanks, bro.)

For the sarcastic single one

If she’s a woman, grab her a copy of Patricia Marx’s Starting from Happy and watch hilarity ensue. It’s short, comprised of snappy chapters and equally snappy main characters meandering the beginning of a needlessly complicated and neurotic pseudo-relationship. Whether their optimism lands them in a permanent state of bliss or disillusionment is the question – and, man, is it fun to watch the disaster unfold either way. If he’s a man, inflate his ego a little by grabbing him a copy of I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell and remind him that if that narcissist can somehow land women, he’s pretty much guaranteed to snag himself a winner sooner rather than later.

For the shameless, sexy one

Whip Smart by Melissa Febos is a memoir about a college student moonlighting as a professional dominatrix. Enough said. And if for some asinine reason that isn’t enough, beyond this selling point is a witty, down-to-earth meditation on sexuality, feminism, and gender politics. I predict you’ll peruse it before you give it a way, if you have the heart to give it away at all, you dog, you.

For the dark and broody one

Cormac McCarthy is known for rough, at times gloomy landscapes occupied by compelling, gritty characters – none more so than Lester Ballard, the hero of Child of God. Disturbing and thought-provoking in equal, perfect amounts, McCarthy forces us to consider in these pages the true conditions of human depravity, “otherness,” and expulsion. Give this one with a hell of a hug.

For your girlfriend or boyfriend

Redeem yourself for whatever mistake you just made and for the ones you eventually will by giving Flannery O’Conner’s aptly titled short story collection, A Good Man is Hard to Find, which, despite what you might be suspecting, will tug at all the right emotions and remind (or in some cases convince) your better half that you’re one of the good ones. On a similar vein, I know it sounds like some kind of sick instructional manual, but I promise that Bruce Machart’s Men in the Making is not a preachy, didactic sort of short story collection calling for a major misogyny redux. Before I read it, I knew absolutely nothing about men; now, I still know absolutely nothing, but let me tell ya, I love the bunch of ‘em a hell of a love more, and feel like I’ve been granted a rare look into their heads. It’s forgiving, it’s unapologetic, and more importantly, it’s honest. He’ll see himself in it, and see you seeing him. (Whoa. That was deep.)

For the tireless academic

Give this one something to think and debate about over the dinner table with Christopher Ryan’s and Cacilda Jetha’s informative, revolutionary, and intimate study of human sexuality and contemporary relationships in Sex at Dawn. Part science, part cultural anthropology, this book is intriguing and slightly scandalous in the arguments it makes, and for that it’ll certainly get the trains of thought running through the tracks in this one’s overactive brain.

For the know-it-all literature nerd who does, probably, know it all

They’ll probably see themselves, much like I did, in the English major protagonist of Jeffrey Eugenides’s lit theory-heavy new novel, The Marriage Plot. Expertly weaving a complex love triangle in between musings on the traditions and tendencies of the modern novel, Eugenides manages to create what I like to call a romance for the word nerds.

For the know-it-all who probably doesn’t know it all

Blow their pea-sized mind with a classics like Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray or Alexander Dumas’s The Three Musketeers. Then spout some brilliant observations on both and tell them to suck it.

For the child, or the one with the child-like sense of wonder

Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls was one of my favorite books growing up, and it says something truly profound about its value and staying power that 16 years after my original reading, I still remember everything about it.

For the parentals

Peter Orner’s Love and Shame and Love coupled with This is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper will give them a lovably familiar look into the dysfunctional, but heart-warming dynamics of family life, which, in spite of everything, is really what  deserves the most appreciation during the holiday season. (Awww.)

By Jayne Wilson

Jayne Wilson writes fiction about the likes of decapitated gnomes, compulsive hoarders, and sardonic old men. She laughs pathetically at her own jokes and is generally an impish mess. She graduated from the University of California, Davis in 2010 with a degree in English-Creative Writing.