The Burglar’s Christmas by Willa Cather
My rating: 4/5 cats
WELCOME TO DECEMBER PROJECT!
boilerplate mission statement intro:
for the past two years, i’ve set december’s project aside to do my own version of a short story advent calendar. it’s not a true advent calendar since i choose all the stories myself, but what it lacks in the ‘element of surprise’ department it more than makes up for in hassle, as i try to cram even MORE reading into a life already overcrammed with impossible personal goals (live up to your potential! find meaningful work! learn to knit!) merry merry wheee!
since i am already well behind in my *regular* reviewing, when it comes to these stories, whatever i poop out as far as reflections or impressions are going to be superficial and perfunctory at best. please do not weep for the great big hole my absented, much-vaunted critical insights are gonna leave in these daily review-spaces (and your hearts); i’ll try to drop shiny insights elsewhere in other reviews, and here, i will at least drop links to where you can read the stories yourselves for free, which – let’s be honest – is gonna serve you better anyway.
HAPPY READING, BOOKNERDS!
links to all stories read in previous years’ calendars can be found at the end of these reviews, in case you are a person who likes to read stories for free:
2016: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show…
2017: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show…
scroll down for links to this year’s stories which i will update as we go, and if you have any suggestions, send ’em my way! the only rules are: it must be available free online (links greatly appreciated), and it must be here on gr as its own thing so i can review it. thank you in advance!
DECEMBER 24
Yet he was but four and twenty, this man he looked even younger and he had a father some place down East who had been very proud of him once. Well, he had taken his life into his own hands, and this was what he had made of it. That was all there was to be said. He could remember the hopeful things they used to say about him at college in the old days, before he had cut away and begun to live by his wits, and he found courage to smile at them now. They had read him wrongly. He knew now that he never had the essentials of success, only the superficial agility that is often mistaken for it. He was tow without the tinder, and he had burnt himself out at other people’s fires. He had helped other people to make it win, but he himself he had never touched an enterprise that had not failed eventually. Or, if it survived his connection with it, it left him behind.
this is a holiday-based prodigal son archetype story, whose first half hit me real close to home with all the woe and despair of an end-of-year self-reckoning when the year (or longer) has not gone very well at all.
and then it all gets sentimental and schmaltzy and MUST BE NICE&yadda.
i loved the first half.
it made me feel terrible when i was already in QUITE a mood. the second half… not so much. it actually made me feel worse, so kudos on writing something that provoked an emotional response, mizz cather, but i have been around the block a few too many times to feel uplifted by christmas miracles, and “hope” and “optimism” are as unrealistic to me as flying reindeer, so as far as the intended goal (presumed by me), of feel-gooderie and earthly rewards as a balm for suffering, not this year, willa claus.
I AM A FRIGGIN’ DOWNER HO HO HO
sorry, kids. time to get into the xmas booze.
this story?
read it for yourself here:
https://americanliterature.com/author…
and may all your wishes come true.
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