A Few Books That Got Me Through My Annual Christmas Malaise

There were a lot of things I meant to do in December—writing a Book Pilgrim post or two, for example—but, alas, I fell into my annual holiday malaise and accomplished virtually nothing.

I hate that I can’t enjoy the season as so many do. At this point, I’ve struggled with it for long that I’ve given up trying to figure out why it never fails to render me pretty much catatonic for a month every single year.

Of course, there’s the toxic mixture of past sadnesses and the obligatory good cheer.

Not to mention the hypocrisy: imagine Jesus pondering how what he tried to teach the world morphed into Christians spending gazillions of dollars on holiday parties and extravagant gifts to celebrate his birth.

And how not to think about the guilt-ridden parents who can’t afford the presents their kids long for and those kids waking up on Christmas morning, disappointed, wondering why other kids get so much more than they do?

Then, there’s the regret I feel every year because I know my Christmas Malaise makes Christmas less a pleasure than it might be for the people I love.

Sigh.

One good thing about Christmas Malaise, though: I read a lot to escape.

So here are a few books that got me through the month—cheating a bit by quoting their jacket flaps because that dang malaise is still stalking me.

Actual thoughts about books coming soon.

Buckeye, by Patrick Ryan

In Bonhomie, Ohio, a stolen moment of passion, sparked in the exuberant aftermath of the Allied victory in Europe, binds Cal Jenkins, a man wounded not in war but by his inability to serve in it, to Margaret Salt, a woman trying to obscure her past. Cal’s wife, Becky, has a spiritual gift: She is a seer who can conjure the dead, helping families connect with those they’ve lost. Margaret’s husband, Felix, is serving on a Navy cargo ship, out of harm’s way—until a telegram suggests that the unthinkable might have happened.

“Later, as the country reconstructs in the postwar boom, a secret grows in Bonhomie—but nothing stays buried forever in a small town. Against the backdrop of some of the most transformative decades in modern America, the consequences of that long-ago encounter ripple through the next generation of both families, compelling them to reexamine who they thought they were and what the future might hold.”

The Irish Goodbye, by Heather Aimee O’Neill

It’s been years since the three Ryan sisters were all together at their beloved family home. Two decades ago, their lives were upended by a fatal accident on their brother Topher’s boat. Now the Ryan women are back and eager to reconnect, but each carries a heavy secret. The eldest, Cait, still holding guilt for the role no one knows she played in the boat accident, rekindles a flame with her high school crush. Middle sister Alice has been thrown a curveball that threatens the career she’s restarting and faces a difficult decision that may doom her marriage. And the youngest, Maggie, is finally taking the risk of bringing the woman she loves home to meet her devoutly Catholic mother.

When Cait invites a guest from their shared past to dinner, old tensions boil over and new truths surface, nearly overpowering the flickering light of their family bond. Far more than a family reunion will be ruined unless the sisters can find a way to forgive one another—and themselves.

Sex of the Midwest, by Robyn Ryle

One foggy morning, an email appears in inboxes across the small town of Lanier, Indiana. “Invitation to Participate: Sexual Practices in a Small Midwestern Town,” the subject line reads. A link leads to an extensive survey. Street by street and resident by resident–from the basketball coach in retirement with a bad lung, to the bartender finding her way to writing, to the health department worker with a vendetta against the hot-dog vendor–the email opens up the secret (and not so secret) lives of one community, and reveals the surprising complexity of love, friendship, and belonging in our post-Covid times.

So. Onward. May 2026 bring us all many wonderful books to read—and all these blessings, too.