He’s making a list, he’s checking it twice, he’s checking it thrice, he’s checking it four times, he’s checking it five times, he’s checking it Six times, he’s checking it Six times, he’s checking it Six times… Hello reader who is also a reader. We don’t have a game developer contact for the final Bookshelf of 2025. Instead, I’ve called upon my occult connections to secure a last-minute interview with the very Father of Christmas himself.
How jolly his manner! How red his attire! How curiously squelchy the bag thrown over one shoulder! How unidentifiable the appendage he slowly extends from the fissured green immensities of your Christmas tree! Cheers, Santa! Mind if we have a nose at your bookshelf?
What are you currently reading?
Many centuries ago, your distant ancestor tracked and slew a peculiar beast in the woods, mounting its head above the great hall fireplace. It looks vaguely like a deer but it seems oddly… chitinous, with antlers that could easily be antennae. As you read these words, the head convulses to life, twists towards you in a cloud of iridescent particles, and rasps Surrealist Women: An International Anthology.
What did you last read?
N. K. Jemisin’s The Fifth Season (R’lyehian translation by Ephaishugnahoth, Professor of Interdisciplinary Inhumanities, University of Carcosa, the Ghooric Zone)
What are you eyeing up next?
Oh no, Santa has left a rock in your stocking. Coal? Try cracking it with a hammer. One solid blow shatters the husk to reveal a mouth of crystal. Now, hold the geode to the light. There! You can just about make out the words Writings of the Luddites, by Kevin Binfield, daubed in velociraptor fat upon the purple facets.
What quote or scene from a book sticks with you the most?
“I stood before the remains of the war, / whistling / until a door opened within / my life / My / my, / what guided me through? / No answer / can be given. / However, I feel my study of conscience / engendered in me that dream / which showed me / a small tempered globe. / Nowhere have I found another / of that material. / There is nothing stronger. / Yet I am not without hope, / citizens. / I am a believer in silent prayers / relinquished.” – Voyager, by Srikanth Reddy/Kurt Waldheim
What book do you find yourself bothering friends to read?
Stepping outside to enjoy the winter chill, you are surprised to see a jaunty skeleton trumpeteer having a cheeky smoke. The skeleton straightens up at your approach, stores the cigarette in an eye socket, and blows one hoarse, whistling note. A million worms rain from the empty sky. They arrange themselves into the words A Humument, by Tom Phillips.
What book would you like to see someone adapt to a game?
The Very Hungry Caterpillaaaaiaiaiaiaiiiiiiiiiiaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Now, Tamash! now, C’thalpa! now Daoloth and Cloud-Thing! On, Olkoth! on, Cxaxukluth! on, Dendrrah and Oztalun! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!