Fa la la la la.
Books I gave this Christmas
The latest illustrated Harry Potter, to my daughter, to read together.
The latest Diary of a Wimpy Kid, to my son.
A signed copy of Thick as Thieves, to my sister.
Want by Cindy Pon and Allegedly by Tiffany D. Jackson to my TBTB Secret Santa.
I helped my daughter pick out Death by Toilet Paper and another book that I have temporarily forgotten to give to her cousin.
Born a Crime, to a good friend who has a December birthday.
Bookish Gifts I Received
Unbored Games, for my family from my sister's family. It looks quite good.
A 1946 edition of a Latvian poetry book for exiles, gifted, according to the inscription, to a fifth grade student, from another sister's family.
A book of essays about knitting (including one by Sue Grafton, whom I am truly sad about losing) from my colleague.
This pair of socks, from an old friend. Where do I wear them? Not to school, sadly.
And--grand finale!--the promise of my very own painting of the Oregon bookshelf of my dreams, done by my talented and creative husband.
Very excited about this. Which reminds me, I need to finish knitting him his socks.
Bonus Section: Late December Favorites
Since I wrote up my best-of lists for 2017 I came across two more 5 star gems.
The Language of Thorns
I have loved two of the author's books and been too bored by another to continue that particular series, so I had no idea if I'd love or hate her book of fairy tales told within her fantasy world.
LOVED IT. I really need to make another attempt at the Grisha trilogy, because I've been so blown away by everything else Bardugo has written. These tales are beyond fractured or twisted; she takes familiar stories in entirely new directions, unveiling secrets and hidden truths I never would have imagined. I also loved the illustrations, which grow mysteriously along with the tales.
The Watsons Go To Birmingham--1963
Somehow I always thought this book looked like one of those awkwardly earnest "race" books of my childhood. I also thought, fairly enough, that it would be mostly about the trip to Birmingham, when actually the first 2/3 of the book is a mostly hilarious, sometimes poignant, look at family life in Flint. All of which only highlights the horror of the events in Birmingham. I wonder how much is autobiographical. The brutal older brother seems too intense for a light-hearted fictional family.