Santa Baby —

It’s that time of year again. The squad is getting all angsty ’cause our gig will be done in a few weeks and then it’s those long polar winter days with no rooftop-landing drills or running-takeoff practice to look forward to. I talked to the others and asked if there was anything you could do for them to help lift their spirits once the predictable post-holiday depression sets in. For once, they were unanimous: books. Even without Oprah’s Book Club (may it rest in peace, thank you very much, Jonathan Franzen), they have some firm ideas about what they want to read when the time comes to put up their hooves and relax by the fire. For one thing, only hardcovers will do (they deserve the best, after all). And recognizing that every reader has a unique personality is important, so try not to confuse who gets what. (Dancer and Prancer still haven’t forgiven you for mixing up their stockings at last year’s party.) To help you out, I’ve made a list of who wants what — and, yes, I checked it twice.

Your literary pack leader,

Rudolph

For Dasher: Game Face: What Does a Female Athlete Look Like? (Random House, 2001; 224 pages, $35), by Jane Gottesman

You know Dasher, all about speed. She’s exhausted the bios of Jackie Joyner-Kersee and Uta Pippig, and she’s pretty much examined the lives of Serena and Venus to death. I found just the deal for her: Game Face, a coffee-table book celebrating the most impressive women in sports since 1827. Now, Dasher may have her feelings hurt a little by not being included — I mean, she must have set some kind of high-jump record — but how can she not love the excellent pics of the US women’s soccer team and the story by Kristi Yamaguchi’s mom? And I don’t think she even knew about the woman discus champion. With notes from around the world and especially representative photographs from the last few decades, Game Face covers a wide range of topics that any athlete would appreciate. I’m pretty sure Dasher will cruise through this in one sitting and then keep it out where everyone else can see it.

For Dancer: Stravinsky & Balanchine: A Journey of Invention (Yale University Press, 2002; 416 pages, $40), by Charles M. Joseph

What a snob Dancer’s become! While the rest of us are perfectly content to watch Riverdance on PBS, he has to be all Twyla Tharp and Martha Graham. But even an aesthete deserves a present, and I think Stravinsky & Balanchine ought to do the trick. Exploring the connection between the modern composer and the famed choreographer, Skidmore professor Charles M. Joseph does such a good job showing how Balanchine was able to help audiences "see the music and hear the dance" that I almost want to see dance live. Considering how rigorously formal each man’s work can be, Joseph has pulled off quite a trick in making their collaboration understandable for the lay reindeer like myself. And however much Dancer has read about Balanchine, I think he’ll find new material — an examination of more obscure work like The Flood, for instance — that will make him feel vastly well-informed and superior.

For Donner: Hello to the Cannibals (HarperCollins, 2002; 661 pages, $27.95), by Richard Bausch

Not to be critical, but when you name a reindeer after the pioneers who ended up eating each other in the mountains, you can’t be too surprised that Donner is fascinated with creepy subject matter. I’m hoping that Hello to the Cannibals will satisfy his craving for that sort of thing while dealing with flesh-eating only in passing. A novel spanning the lives of two women 100 years apart, it’s the story of college dropout Lily, who has married perhaps too quickly, and finds comfort in being a playwright. Lily becomes obsessed with Mary Kingsley, a famous 19th-century explorer who hated the confines of Victorian society so much that she traveled alone to the wilds of West Africa just to get away. Mary’s adventures do indeed involve cannibals, but Lily’s drunken in-laws are just as scary, if you ask me. It’s a good long read, which I hope will keep Donner focused more on fine literature (and less on his serial-killer trading cards).5FD5E3AB-588F-11D4-9BA9-005004532BEF-StyleName:TextNoind

For Blitzen: Six Days of War: June 1967 and the Making of the Modern Middle East (Oxford University Press, 2002; 512 pages, $30), by Michael B. Oren

If I hear one more word of war strategy from Blitzen, I’m posting a help-wanted ad for a new reindeer. Really, having a military enthusiast on our squad gets on my nerves, but he does pull his weight, so a gift is in order. Six Days of War chronicles the difficult circumstances surrounding Israel’s occupation of the West Bank. Fear of Egypt, Syria, and Jordan played a role, and conflicting intentions had as much to do with the outcome as sound military policy, according to this book. Not everyone would agree with author Michael Oren’s view that there was no enduring anti-Palestinian plan at the heart of the initial action. But even Oren says that, in the end, "Israel was still incapable of imposing the peace it craved." Maybe that will give Blitzen pause. If not, at least it will give him something to think about during the dark nights ahead.

For Comet: Seeing in the Dark: How Backyard Stargazers Are Probing Deep Space and Guarding Earth from Interplanetary Peril (Simon & Schuster, 2002; 379 pages, $26), by Timothy Ferris

Our little stargazer, Comet, is going to do furry little back flips when she sees this. Science writer Timothy Ferris has written accounts of amateur astronomers for people just like Comet. Seeing in the Dark is full of stranger-than-fiction stories of how ordinary people obsessed with the night sky keep making discoveries — from asteroids to changes on the moon. My favorite story is about an aging Texas housewife who turns to astronomy when her children are raised and gone. She not only makes a discovery or two but ends up founding an observatory. (Comet will be so jealous!) There’s also a glossary of terms and a handy guide for reading the sky, which may be a bad idea — you know how distractible Comet is when she flies. But we’ll just have to get her blinders for Christmas Eve and let her enjoy herself the rest of the year.

For Cupid: The Winter Queen (Houghton Mifflin, 2002; 307 pages, $25), by Jane Stevenson

When you love romances as much as Cupid does, it’s hard to find a novel that doesn’t seem to cover old ground. I’m thinking Winter Queen is a fresh enough tale to make an impression. Elizabeth of Bohemia, sister to the king of England, meets Pelagius, an ex-slave Yoruban prince who is also a seer, and turns to him to see what will become of her children. Because of the unusual nature of such a match in 17th-century Amsterdam, where the novel is set, the couple conducts its love affair and eventual marriage in utter secrecy. (If Cupid tries to research this herself, there’s no historical record that any of it actually happened — but, then, interracial romance wasn’t really making the papers in those days.) Rendered in dense period detail, it’s like Danielle Steel written by a PhD — Cupid will swoon and feel smart all at once.

For Prancer: Dressing the Man: The Art of Permanent Fashion (HarperCollins, 2002; 307 pages, $49.95), by Alan J. Flusser

Thank God Prancer’s out of the closet. No more rolling our eyes when he claims his interest in Madonna is academic. And he can stop "accidentally" ending up yoked to Dancer. But now we have to do something about his attire, a crime against gay reindeer everywhere (that rainbow collar and bell set — I shudder). Fashion designer, costumer, and writer Alan Flusser gives great tips in Dressing the Man. Though intended for male humans, of course, I think his Cary Grant–worthy suggestions — dress for your own physical trademarks, not trends — are eminently practical. And his step-by-step guide should help Prancer look as fabulous as he feels, and save him from another embarrassing year in the People Worst-Dressed Holiday Icons issue.

For Vixen: Hell Hath No Fury: Women’s Letters from the End of the Affair (Carroll & Graf, 2002; 432 pages, $24), by Anna Holmes (editor) and Francine Prose

Poor Vixen. I can’t imagine why she ever thought things with Blitzen would last. I mean, he’s always had his eye on Cupid — it was just a matter of time. Hell Hath No Fury may not fix her broken heart, but she’s sure to take some comfort in these letters from women who were also done wrong by their men. From Monica Lewinsky’s e-mail to President Clinton (sure, it’s personal, but it’s no blue dress, right?) to the pre-ax words of Anne Boleyn (who had the misfortune not to bear a son while married to Henry the VIII), these missives cover just about everything poor Vixen is feeling. We might suggest she not take it too far — Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolf are in here too, and they went patently in the wrong direction with their woes — but if misery loves company, at least Vixen won’t feel alone.

For Rudolph: The Muse in the Bottle: Great Writers on the Joy of Drinking (Citadel Press, 2002; 224 pages, $15.95), by Charles A. Coulombe

Well, I know, you’re a little reluctant to encourage me to drink even more, but you know I’m a reindeer of my word: absolutely not a drop till after the last gift is delivered. (Besides, reindeer don’t let reindeer fly drunk.) And when I’ve done my part, you can reward me with The Muse in the Bottle, a killer little collection of what famous writers have written and said about liquid pursuits. From ancient Petronius to Ray Bradbury, with stops in between for Dickens and Twain, these are my peeps — great men and drinkers who understand the civilized pleasures of the right beverage. And before you get all sanctimonious, let me remind you: it’s my red nose you hired me for.

David Valdes Greenwood can be reached at mambobean@aol.com