“Skipping Christmas” is one of those novels that you read laughing and with absolute joviality, but which at the same time glees you with its harsh criticism, far from veiled, towards the hypocrisy and intransigence without limits of the middleclass, mostly conformist.
When I watch the TV series set in warm places like Australia or California and I find the Christmas episode, I get a great envy. I can’t tolerate the cold, and as much as I like the snow, hot chocolate and the front of the fireplace, I would exchange all this immediately and without regret for a fine sand beach, a margarita[1], a good book and the salt water of the ocean on the suntanned skin.
“No, it’s wonderful. And it’s just for one year. Let’s take a break. Blair’s not here. she’ll be back next year and we can jump back into the Christmas chaos, if that’s what you want. Come on, Nora, please. We skip Christmas, save the money, and go splash in the Caribbean for ten days.”[2]
So far, however, the dream of going to celebrate Christmas by the sea is just a dream…
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