literary gluttony

There’s a strange quiet that settles in between the holidays—a pause that doesn’t quite belong to the year you’re leaving or the one you’re about to enter. The rush of December softens, expectations loosen, and time starts to feel a little less rigid. It’s an in-between space, and reading often changes shape right along with it.

This isn’t the season of ambitious reading goals or carefully planned TBRs. It’s the season of books left open on coffee tables, audiobooks playing while leftovers are reheated, and paperbacks tucked into bags “just in case.” Reading becomes something gentler here—less about progress and more about presence.

Between the holidays, many readers drift back to comfort. Rereads call louder than new releases. Familiar characters feel grounding when the calendar is blurred and routines are suspended. These are the days when it’s perfectly reasonable to reread a favorite chapter, skim passages you love, or return to a book that once felt like home.

Others crave escape instead—stories that pull them far away from end-of-year reflections and looming resolutions. Immersive fantasies, sweeping romances, or vividly built worlds offer a chance to disappear when real life feels crowded with feelings. There’s no right choice here, only the book that meets you where you are.

This space between holidays also carries emotion. Joy and gratitude mingle with exhaustion, nostalgia, and sometimes grief. Reading doesn’t need to fix any of that. Sometimes a book simply sits with us, holding space without asking for anything in return—and that’s enough.

As the year winds down, it’s okay if reading looks slower, softer, or messier than usual. Pages can be turned in fragments. Stories can be paused and resumed. The only rule is that reading should feel like a companion, not an obligation.

Between the holidays, books don’t need to impress us. They just need to be there—quiet, steady, and ready whenever we are.