Sure, you could be cooking, socialising or dashing through the snow, but for the introverts amongst us, the Icelandic tradition of Jólabókaflóð – reading alone on Christmas Eve – might just be the Christmas wish we’re aiming for.
When asked what her dream literary dinner party was, American author and beloved crank Fran Lebowitz responded with the perfect answer:
“My idea of a great literary dinner party is Fran, eating alone, reading a book.”
And this is the spirit with which I like to embrace the Icelandic Christmas Eve tradition of Jólabókaflóð. Roughly translated as ‘Christmas book flood’, it’s a Christmas Eve tradition where you give a book to someone you love and then you all spend Christmas Eve reading under a blanket, drinking hot chocolate.
……
Sorry, I was just googling how long it would take to fly to Iceland for this Christmas and it looks like I simply can’t pull this off in the time I have left.
But have you ever heard of a better tradition? Maybe it’s my age (it is), maybe it’s the fact that it combines three of my favourite things – books, Christmas, precious alone time – but the minute I heard of Jólabókaflóð, I felt that warm glow you feel when you find your people. And those people are silent.
The tradition apparently started back during World War II, when paper was one of the only things not rationed and so books were a readily available gift.
“The culture of giving books as presents is very deeply rooted in how families perceive Christmas as a holiday,” Kristjan B. Jonasson, president of the Iceland Publishers Association, told NPR. “Normally, we give the presents on the night of the 24th and people spend the night reading.”
In a world where we are expected to spend Christmas Eve panic buying, wrapping, cooking or simply just dealing with other people, this simple little act feels like the rare Christmas tradition that isn’t based in rampant consumerism.
There has been a growing movement of inserting some kind of quality alone time, or quiet time, into bustling Christmas events, as we slowly getting a growing understanding that some brains get over-stimulated faster than others and need more quiet time.
Emily Writes wrote about it in her Substack newsletter, about how they have made Christmas chaos more enjoyable for her neurodivergent eight-year-old son, and how Christmas would be easier on all of us if we learned how to protect our energy.
“If your presence is required or requested at Christmas, then it means whoever is hosting wants you to be there,” Emily writes. “‘Being there’ doesn’t mean you need to overexert yourself socialising all day. You can sit on the couch reading once you’ve had a catch-up. Or you can go into another bedroom for a bit to scroll your phone or play a game if you need a few minutes to yourself. You can do whatever you need to do to calm yourself if you’re feeling overwhelmed or it’s too loud.”
How many of us hit the end of year feeling more strung out than ever, only to throw ourselves into the logistical hell of multiple events/meals/social groups over a 24-to-48 hour period at Christmas. Imagine the collective calm-down that would come from living in a country where everyone went to bed early with a book on Christmas Eve, took a break from the world, and started again refreshed the next day, rather than schlepping round a shopping mall that looks like it has just survived a zombie apocalypse.
We might not be able to pull it off this year, but perhaps we could try to schedule a Jólabókaflóð special in 2024. If you are looking to shut the world out in 2023 – and who could blame you – we’ve got book recommendations on many a different genre (crime, mental health and romance, the big three).
And if you’d rather partake in another European tradition for Christmas, perhaps ‘Kalsarikannit’, the Finnish term for getting drunk alone in your underwear is more your festive vibe. Either way, it’s all about lowering social pressure, and knowing when you need to put yourself in time out, in preparation for the party season ahead.
