Bright and sunny, just as it should be. Brisk walk. Smell of cooking on return stimulating the gastric juices. Just time for a few thoughts before settling down to a serious session of over-eating.
A number of people, all of them wanting information, most of them unwilling to take decisions, have been asking me to tell them what books to buy for Christmas. I have refused to advise. A book as a Christmas present is a dangerous thing. The recipient will quite probably not like it and, if he or she does like it, they will resent the fact that you have deprived them of the pleasure of 'finding' it for themselves. For a serious book person the finding is almost as rewarding as the reading itself. The recipient may not even read it, in which case his politeness will compel him to lie to you, or at best prevaricate. All I would say positively about books as presents for Christmas is that they need not be Christmas books, nor books impregnated by what is termed 'the Christmas spirit'. There are excellent Christmas books, and I have read a few of them, but I should have enjoyed them equally well in a heat wave. And I would absolutely decline to circumscribe Christmas reading by limiting its subject.
There is in fact a marvellous embarrassment of choice for the prospective book buyer at this season, which may make him miserable, but should also make him happy - or the divine fire is not in him. Personally I am both miserable and happy. I could readily name two hundred books in the Christmas lists that I should be glad to have or glad to present. Withal, I am writing in a room fortified by four thousand volumes - and five ashtrays.
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