You Better Not Cry by Augusten Borroughs

The stretch from Halloween to Christmas is my favorite time of year.  That hint of frost in the air, that familiar crackle of logs in the hearth, the soft glow of icicle lights adorning rooftops all around.  The whole season makes me giddy.  At this time of year, I do everything I can to amp up the holiday spirit--including reading cheesy holiday romance novels and mysteries along the lines of Debbie Macomber and Mary Higgins Clark, (I have no shame).

My local library sets up a display of holiday themed books mid-November which I indulgently work my way through, savoring each cliche Christmas miracle and forbidden snowbound romance like a candy cane Hershey's Kiss melting on my tongue: a special winter treat that may not be of the best quality, but is too fun and sugary sweet to pass up.  Last week, though, tucked away in the bottom corner of the shelf, I found something that broke the typical yuletide mold.  Enter You Better Not Cry by Augusten Borroughs.

A collection of autobiographical Christmas tales, this short and sweet memoir begins with Borroughs as a young boy in Pittsburgh and follows him into his later years as an accomplished writer in New York City.  He recounts his most memorable holiday moments, which range from the outrageously funny devouring of a life-size wax Santa's face to the heartrending Christmas with an AIDS-afflicted lover to the unassailable hopeful first season of celebration after a decade of grieving.  Borroughs writes with a dry wit and a sharp tongue, and his power to evoke the nostalgia of holidays past is undeniable.

The stories are concise and well-written; Borroughs chose his words carefully and each anecdote is loaded with Christmas cheer like a double stuffed white fudge Oreo.  His messages are both funny and sentimental, and in the end they remind readers of the true meaning of Christmas as we have come to know it.  No, not Jesus--our commercialized celebrations have long since left Him behind--but love.  Love in the form of our friends and family, which is worth more than any gift to be found under the tree.

This book is not a campy sugar-coated piece of literature.  It, at times, is both crass and morose, adding depth to each story and making them believable.  In his latest memoir, Borroughs has managed to relate a lifetime of holiday mishaps and piece together a glowing work of bittersweet joy, just in time for the holiday season.  It is a book of quirky loveliness worthy of being wrapped up and gifted, even if only to one's self, and in the end will give a merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.