The days of anticipation are behind us. The lists have been written, rewritten, and finally set aside. The world feels quieter now — not because there is nothing left to do, but because something has been decided.
Tonight is for reading.
Jolabokaflod was never meant to be loud. It does not demand attention or insist on spectacle. It asks only for a book, a little time, and the willingness to be still. In a season so often filled with movement and noise that simplicity feels almost radical.
I like to think of Christmas Eve reading not as a tradition to perform, but as a threshold to cross. A moment when the year loosens its grip just enough for us to step into story — not to escape the world, but to return to it more gently.
Tonight, the book you open does not need to be impressive. It does not need to be new. It does not need to change your life.
It only needs to keep you company.
Whether you read for five minutes or fifty pages, whether you read aloud or silently, whether the house is full or completely still — the act itself matters. It marks the evening. It gives the season a resting place.
Across Iceland, across homes around the world, people are doing something quietly similar tonight. Sitting down. Opening a book. Letting words arrive one by one. Not rushing. Not measuring. Simply reading.
That shared stillness is the heart of Jolabokaflod.
Over the past twenty-four days, we’ve wandered through cosy corners, old favourites, short stories, slow reading, childhood memories, and last-minute gifts. But all of it has been leading here — to this moment, when the only thing left to do is begin.
📚 Tonight’s Reading Choice
There is no list today. No recommendation to follow. No shelf to browse.
Tonight, the right book is the one already in your hands.
So wherever you are, however you celebrate, I invite you to do one small thing before the evening slips away:
Sit down. Open your book. Read.
Let Christmas arrive quietly. Let the story do its work. And let this simple act carry you — gently — into the days ahead.
Christmas Eve carries a particular kind of energy.
It’s quieter than the days before it, but fuller than the days that follow. The rush has largely passed. The waiting is nearly over. And somewhere in between, a small pocket of calm opens — if we choose to notice it.
In Iceland, Jolabokaflod Eve is not about doing more.
It’s about settling in.
Books are exchanged. Pyjamas appear early. Chocolate is unwrapped without ceremony. The world narrows to the simple, generous idea that tonight is for reading — not achieving, not preparing, not performing.
Over the years, I’ve come to think of Christmas Eve reading not as an activity, but as a kit. A few carefully chosen elements that make the evening feel held and complete. When these are in place, the rest tends to follow naturally.
So today, on Day 23 of our Jolabokaflod Advent Calendar, I invite you to assemble your own Reading Survival Kit — not as a checklist, but as a gentle ritual.
🎄 The Jolabokaflod Eve Reading Survival Kit
One Book Not a decision to agonise over. Choose something that feels right for tonight. Comforting, absorbing, or quietly beautiful.
Something Sweet Chocolate, biscuits, fruit, or a favourite treat. Reading pairs well with a little indulgence.
Warm Layers Socks, a blanket, pyjamas — anything that signals the day is done.
Soft Light A lamp, a candle, fairy lights. Enough to read without pulling the room back into daytime.
Permission to Stop This may be the most important item. Permission to read only a few pages — or many. Permission to sleep early. Permission to enjoy the moment without documenting it.
I remember one Christmas Eve when everything else fell away unexpectedly. The house was still. The book was good. The night passed quietly — and it remains one of the most peaceful Christmas memories I have.
That’s the gift of Jolabokaflod Eve:
It gives the season somewhere to land.
📚 Today’s Reading Picks — “Jolabokaflod Eve Books”
Perfect companions for the night before Christmas:
Murder on the Orient Express — Agatha Christie: The world’s greatest detective, Hercule Poirot, must identify the prime suspects from among the small but disparate group of remaining passengers– before the murderer decides to strike again.
The Winter People – Jennifer McMahon: Simmering psychological thriller about ghostly secrets, dark choices and the unbreakable bond between mothers and daughters.
There comes a point every December when the mood shifts.
The lists are shorter. The days are fuller. The sense of “I should have done this earlier” hums quietly in the background. And yet — this is often when book-giving becomes most intuitive.
Because when time is short, instinct takes over.
Last-minute book-givers tend to worry that haste leads to poor choices. But I’ve noticed the opposite. When we stop overthinking, we often choose better. We reach for books that feel right rather than ones that look impressive. We think about the person, not the prestige.
The secret to last-minute book-giving is not speed.
It’s matching.
Instead of searching for “the best book”, we look for the right kind of book — something that fits a personality, a mood, a way of moving through the world. Once you do that, the decision becomes surprisingly calm.
Today, on Day 22 of our Jolabokaflod Advent Calendar, I invite you to let go of the pressure and use this simple guide. No trawling. No panic. Just thoughtful shortcuts.
🎁 The Jolabokaflod Last-Minute Book-Giver’s Guide
For the Comfort-Seeker Choose gentle fiction, reflective non-fiction, or familiar favourites. Look for: warmth, kindness, reassurance.
For the Curious Thinker Idea-led non-fiction, essays or books that invite reflection without heaviness. Look for: curiosity, clarity, quiet depth.
For the Escapist Immersive novels, rich worlds, strong atmosphere. Look for: transport, absorption, momentum.
For the Reluctant Reader Short books, clear voices, emotional immediacy. Look for: accessibility, brevity, early rewards.
For the Aesthetic Lover Beautiful hardbacks, illustrated books, elegant editions. Look for: design, tactility, visual pleasure.
For the Nostalgic Soul Classics, childhood favourites, seasonal rereads. Look for: familiarity, memory, emotional resonance.
You don’t need to get it perfect. You just need to get it close. Books are generous that way — they meet the reader halfway.
📚 Today’s Reading Picks — “Last-Minute Book Wins”
Reliable, widely loved books that suit many readers:
There are certain books that seem to carry Christmas inside them.
You open the cover, and suddenly you’re smaller. The room feels bigger. The lights are softer. Time stretches in that peculiar way it only ever did when you were young and December felt endless.
For many of us, our earliest reading memories are inseparable from Christmas. A book opened on the carpet while the adults talked. A story read aloud before bed. A familiar cover brought out once a year, like a decoration made of paper and ink.
These books did more than entertain us. They taught us what comfort felt like.
I can still remember the particular hush of Christmas reading as a child — the sense that nothing else was expected of me in that moment. No achievement. No performance. Just attention and imagination. Looking back, it’s no surprise that so many lifelong readers trace their love of books back to these early, gentle encounters.
What’s remarkable is how powerfully these stories work when we return to them as adults.
We notice different things. We read with more patience, more tenderness. But the emotional core remains unchanged. The same sense of safety. The same quiet joy. The same feeling of being held by a story.
Today, on Day 19 of our Jolabokaflod Advent Calendar, I invite you to revisit — or pass on — the books that shaped Christmas reading for so many of us. Whether you’re giving them to a child, sharing them aloud, or reclaiming them for yourself, these stories still know exactly what to do.
This Christmas, remember the books that once made the world feel safe and magical. They are still doing that work — quietly, patiently — for anyone willing to open them again.
Before the paper. Before the ribbon. Before the gift disappears beneath the tree.
There is a small, almost secret ritual I’ve come to treasure at this time of year: opening a book before it is wrapped.
Not to read it properly. Not to spoil anything. Just a page or two. Enough to meet the voice. Enough to sense the weight of the story. Enough to understand what kind of companion this book might become for the person who will receive it.
I started doing this accidentally one December evening while preparing gifts late at night. A book lay open on the table, waiting. I read the first paragraph. Then the second. Then I stopped — not because I wasn’t enjoying it, but because I’d seen enough. The book had introduced itself. And suddenly, wrapping it felt different.
Because once you’ve read even a fragment, you’re no longer giving an object. You’re giving a relationship.
Books are unusual gifts in that they carry more than we can see. They contain moods, voices, pacing, silences. Reading the opening pages allows us to sense whether a book is gentle or bracing, playful or reflective, expansive or intimate. It helps us give with intention rather than guesswork.
This ritual does something else too. It slows the moment down.
In a season full of haste — last orders, final lists, hurried errands — opening a book quietly before wrapping it feels almost radical. It turns gift-giving into a pause rather than a task.
Today, on Day 18 of our Jolabokaflod Advent Calendar, I invite you to try it. Before you wrap a book this year, read just enough to understand why you chose it. Let that understanding travel invisibly with the gift.
🎁 Today’s Reading Picks — “Before You Wrap It” Books
Beautiful, gift-worthy books that reward even a few pages:
At some point in adulthood, many of us quietly stop making wish lists.
We become practical. Sensible. Self-reliant. We buy what we need, make do with what we have, and reserve longing for things that feel more justifiable than desire. But winter — especially December — has a way of loosening that restraint.
And books, perhaps more than anything else, invite us back into wishing.
I like to imagine what an adult letter to Santa about books might look like. Not the breathless lists of childhood, but something softer. Slower. A note written by someone who knows themselves a little better now.
It might say:
Dear Santa, This year, I’d love a book that makes me feel less rushed. Or one that reminds me who I was before life got so loud. Something beautiful enough to keep, not just read.
Books make perfect wishes because they are allowed to be unnecessary. They don’t have to improve us, optimise us, or solve anything. They are permitted to exist purely for delight — for the pleasure of weight in the hands, paper under the fingers, words waiting patiently inside.
That’s why gift-worthy books matter. Not just because they look beautiful under the tree, but because they send a message:
You are allowed to want something gentle.
Today, on Day 12 of our Jolabokaflod Advent Calendar, I invite you to indulge in a little imaginative generosity — whether for yourself or for someone else. Write a mental letter to Santa. What kind of book would you ask for if practicality weren’t in charge?
🎅 Today’s Reading Picks — “Letters to Santa” Books
Beautiful, comforting, wish-worthy books that feel special to receive:
There is a particular kind of reading that belongs to firelight.
Even if you don’t have a real fireplace, you know the feeling. A single lamp turned low. Shadows moving softly across the room. The sense that the day has finally loosened its grip. Fireplace fiction is not about flames — it’s about atmosphere.
I discovered this kind of reading one winter evening when the house felt unusually quiet. The lamp was warm rather than bright. Outside, the night pressed close to the windows. I opened a book almost absent-mindedly — and found myself reading more slowly than usual, lingering over sentences, letting the mood seep in before the plot did.
That is the magic of fireplace fiction:
It invites immersion rather than momentum.
These are the stories that glow rather than dazzle. The ones where place matters deeply. Where weather, interiors, and silence play supporting roles. They are books that seem to say, Stay here. There’s no need to rush.
Fireplace fiction pairs beautifully with winter because both ask the same thing of us: attention. Not frantic focus, but gentle presence. The kind that notices how the room feels. How the language sounds. How time stretches when we stop trying to fill it.
Today, on Day Eight of our Jolabokafloð Advent Calendar, I invite you to create your own Fireplace Fiction Night. Light a candle. Lower the lights. Let the outside world fall back just a little — and step into a story that knows how to glow.
Murder on the Orient Express — Agatha Christie: The world’s greatest detective, Hercule Poirot, must identify the prime suspects from among the small but disparate group of remaining passengers– before the murderer decides to strike again.
The Winter People – Jennifer McMahon: Simmering psychological thriller about ghostly secrets, dark choices and the unbreakable bond between mothers and daughters.
There are some books that arrive in our lives once. And there are others that stay.
They wait patiently on the shelf. They age with us. And when we return, they somehow know exactly who we have become since the last time we met. Re-reading is not repetition. It is reunion.
I used to think that re-reading meant I was avoiding the unknown. That I should always be pushing forwards into something new. But one winter, almost by accident, I opened a novel I had loved years earlier. The story was the same. I was not. And in that quiet difference between then and now, the book revealed entirely new truths to me.
That is the hidden gift of re-reading:
The story stays still so we can see how we have changed.
When December grows busy and the world pulls at us from every direction, returning to a familiar book can be an act of deep self-kindness. There is no pressure to keep up. No anxiety about comprehension. No need to prove anything. You already belong to the story — and it belongs to you.
Re-reading is also a way of reclaiming time. In a culture that constantly urges forward momentum, choosing to go back is quietly revolutionary. It says: this mattered once, and it matters still.
Today, on Day 7 of our Jolabokaflod Advent Calendar, I invite you to revisit a book that once felt like home. It does not have to be profound. It only has to be yours.
There is something about winter that sharpens our appetite for mystery.
Perhaps it is the darkness arriving early. The windows glowing against the cold. The quiet suspense of footsteps on frosted pavements. Or perhaps it is simply the pleasure of solving a puzzle while the rest of the world sleeps.
Cosy mysteries offer all the intrigue of the unknown without the harshness that so often accompanies crime. They give us riddles without brutality. Tension without terror. They invite us to lean forward rather than brace ourselves.
I first fell for the cosy mystery on a December evening when the house was silent and the wind seemed determined to tell its own story against the glass. I expected to read a chapter. Instead, I followed clues through an entire village, all the way into the small hours. And when the final truth was revealed, I felt not shaken—but satisfied.
That is the particular magic of the cosy mystery:
It restores order in a world that often feels disordered.
The settings themselves become characters—quiet bookshops, seaside towns, bakeries, libraries, snow-covered streets. Even when something has gone wrong, we feel held by community, familiarity, and the promise that clarity will return.
Today, on Day 6 of our Jolabokaflod Advent Calendar, I invite you to dip into a mystery that warms as it intrigues. Let the puzzle unfold at the same gentle pace as the falling dark outside.
🔍 Today’s Reading Picks — “Cosy Mysteries for Winter Nights”
Murder on the Orient Express — Agatha Christie: The world’s greatest detective, Hercule Poirot, must identify the prime suspects from among the small but disparate group of remaining passengers– before the murderer decides to strike again.
The Winter People – Jennifer McMahon: Simmering psychological thriller about ghostly secrets, dark choices and the unbreakable bond between mothers and daughters.
There is a special kind of satisfaction that comes from finishing a book before you fall asleep.
Not the triumph of speed. Not the rush of “getting through”. But the gentle closing of a story while the day itself is closing too. The soft thud of the final page. The quiet sense that something small and complete has been set gently to rest.
For many adults, the hardest part of reading is not enjoyment — it’s beginning. And often, what makes beginning feel heavy is the unspoken pressure to commit hundreds of pages of time and attention. We think, I’ll start when I have more space. But December rarely gives us more space. It gives us fuller diaries, shorter days, and many competing forms of tiredness.
That is where the magic of short books quietly waits.
I once read a slim novel in a single winter evening — not because I rushed, but because the story was shaped to fit the natural arc of fatigue. I remember closing the last page, switching off the lamp, and feeling a rare sense of completion that modern life so often withholds from us. That night, my sleep was deeper for it.
Short books build momentum.
They remind us that reading does not have to be an endurance event. It can be a small daily pleasure. An achievable promise kept to yourself at the end of a long day.
Today, on Day 5 of our Jolabokaflod Advent Calendar, I invite you to choose a book not for its scope, but for its scale. A book that respects your tiredness. A book that knows how to end before you are completely spent.
🌙 Today’s Reading Picks — “Books You Can Finish Before Bed”
Jolabokaflod 