Many people in Iceland practice a sublime Christmas Eve tradition. It stems from ancient oral tradition, when Icelanders huddled together for community and entertainment during long, dark, harsh winters. They recited stories from Norse mythology, read scriptures from the Bible, and told humorous tall tales. Today, the urge to tell a story remains strong. Ten percent of Icelanders are published authors, and on Christmas Eve they exchange gifts of newly published books. They read the gifted books well into the night, while they sip hot chocolate. It’s called “Jólabókaflóð,” or the “Christmas Book Flood.”
Can you picture it? It is pitch black and sub-zero outside. Indoors, flames crackle in the fireplace. Steam rises from mugs of hot cocoa. People are wrapped in cozy afghans and silently reading. Then someone says, “Listen to this.” They read aloud a paragraph from their new book. The others nod with appreciation.
Since I just learned about the Icelandic Christmas Book Flood, I don’t have time to arrange one this year. But it is a tradition that absolutely resonates with my soul. I will integrate “Jólabókaflóð” into my Christmas/Winter celebration next year.
On December 24th, 2026, you are invited to my place to exchange newly published books with me. Will you bring me the latest episode of my favorite amateur detective? Or a social commentary inspired by new archaeological digs?
Books can create unexpected venues from which to see the world. They set us to thinking. When I read the novel Winter’s Tale (1984), by Mark Helprin, I wrote the author. In this beautiful, mysterious, multi-faceted fantasy, I wondered about the main character, Peter Lake. Was he meant to be a Christ figure? Mark Helprin graciously replied. He did not disagree with the Christ figure concept. But he did use the word “Messiah” and mentioned that he, himself, was Jewish.
At the time I hardly knew anything about Christianity, much less Judaism. For me, reading Winter’s Tale, and discussion with the author, expanded my grasp of an idea. The way authors write about a topic, whether fiction or nonfiction, covers a lot of mileage. Writer’s can take you broader and deeper. And very often, they illustrate that people have more in common, than they have in differences. Thus, reading develops empathy. And isn’t that at the core of a Messianic message? So from that perspective, it’s fitting that literature-loving Iceland reads newly published books on Christmas Eve.
I don’t have a fireplace, here in Florida, but we’ll sit around my big, old, second-hand Ethan Allen kitchen table. (It’s as steady as a rock, and doesn’t jiggle when people move around.) We’ll drink hot chocolate with marshmallows from holiday mugs. We’ll quietly read our new books, until the spirit moves one of us to read a passage aloud.
Quietly sharing stories and ideas is an apt tribute to the Silent Night. We will absorb new words and imagery that inspire, scare, thrill, or amuse us. We glimpse a moment, or see an entire future, that could come into being, or should never be. The next day, on Christmas, we are more thoughtful. We each add our own drop of newly envisioned intention to a very old, enduring, oceanic idea.
Peace on Earth and goodwill to men.