I’ve remained relatively silent about the holiday season, but the good folks at the Guardian, intuitively detecting my unspoken position, asked me to write a blog post summing up my feelings for the record. Reading can indeed be a palliative to some of the kitschy nonsense, and if you have any additional books to recommend, feel free to weigh in. I’ll be here munching on reindeer jerky.

Their gaunt faces continue to suggest that our days may indeed be numbered. They do not speak, but they make deranged cooing sounds. I have taught one of the gnomes a few card tricks, and he has demonstrated these skills to his brethren. So the gnomes have momentarily put away their bloody cleavers. Sometimes, we hear laughter in the dead of night.

The bargain is this: Things will remain comfortable for us, provided that (a) I prepare the turkey this year (a first for me) and (b) I continue to work on my manuscript. We now have all the supplies on hand for (a). And there has been some substantial editing on (b). But (a) and (b) combined will likely hinder my regular reports for this site — despite the dependable wifi.

Or as Orwell once put it, one egg.