Hello everyone,
If you are, like us, always scrambling at this time of year to find that one last present for that baffling friend or family member that you love, we are here with you, offering a final small artisanal batch of titles to square that enigmatic circle. Fortunately, a friend and book reviewer sold us a lovely, shamefully commercial batch of recent trade books. Books by Paris Hilton, Elliot Page, and vegans, that will offer you an opportunity to buy something at this late hour that STILL LOOKS like you put some serious thought into it. Books do that. They are smart gifts, and shout that REAL THOUGHT was offered. What a relief. Here you were trolling the sale sections of Shoppers hoping to find SOMETHING that didn’t seem impersonal and now there’s a whole section of recent releases that divest you of this fluorescent-lit burden.
We will be out making our final deliveries this weekend, avoiding the insane London traffic by sneaking down the back roads. WHO KNOWS WHERE WE MAY END UP? If you don’t hear from us again it means what we ended up on the Bruce Peninsula, living at our friend’s commune of tiny houses. Here we will wait out the Apocalypse by drinking home-made alcohol and raising Lenore to be a lumberjack. Felling trees now, we will make OUR OWN BOOKS out of locally produced paper, books of naive outsiders railing against the State. Until that inevitable conclusion (could be this year, could be next) we offer these, our latest New Arrivals, so that you can bestow gifts on your strange friends.
Merry Christmas. We love Christmas. We love the holidays. We thank you (again) for being so good to us, and for being interesting people. Despite our own misanthropic leanings (and sincere empathy with Scrooge who just wanted to be left alone to eat his gruel at a pub) we do cherish this time of year. Carolers were at our house last night singing Christmas songs and, although we fought the desire to join them (what reckless happiness that would be), we did sit on our front porch with the Little One and waved and blew kisses. What a beautiful thing to see in the darkness of Souesto winter. And admittedly Scrooge was wrong about some things. Even though Cratchit’s salary was pretty good (adjusted for inflation), the old miser did need to recognize the need for central heating and socialized medicine. Seriously. The workhouses DO NOT solve all problems buddy.
He got the memo by the story’s end.
Much love,
and Merry Christmas,
Jason and Vanessa
