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“There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I might have not profited, I dare say…Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round…as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And there, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!�
- Nephew Fred in Charles Dickens� A Christmas Carol

As near as I can tell, A Christmas Carol is perfect. It embodies, in a very real way, Christmas itself.

Charles Dickens is justly famous for his big, sprawling, shaggy-dog serials, in which he spun intricate and twisty tales with the loquaciousness of a man being paid by the word. They are filled with dozens of characters, all of them lovingly observed, most with a laundry list of quirks. They are filled with ups and downs and more ups and more downs. They are seemingly designed to avoid reaching any sort of conclusion. Indeed, many of his epics, such as Bleak House and Great Expectations, have an ad hoc feel to them, as though Dickens himself was as uncertain of his ending as the reader.

Not so with A Christmas Carol.

A Christmas Carol is short, efficient, and tightly focused. It has a natural symmetry and a wonderful simplicity, with just a handful of characters and an all-time killer hook: greedy old miser Ebenezer Scrooge is visited, upon Christmas Eve, by four apparitions (Jacob Marley and the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Yet to Come) who teach him a powerful lesson about the meaning of the day.

This is a book with a message, a thesis statement, yet it entertains while it preaches.

The visit from his long-deceased partner Jacob Marley (“dead these seven years�), sets out the parameters of the story: that three other ghosts will visit Scrooge to teach him the meaning of Christmas, and by extension, how to live a better life all the year long. The first meeting of man and ghost, a seriocomic scene set in Scrooge’s bedchambers, is classic Dickens, and manages to balance pedantry with humor (by way of some un-improvable dialogue).

Though he looked the phantom through and through, and saw it standing before him; though he felt the chilling influence of its death-cold eyes; and marked the very texture of the folded kerchief bound about its head and chin, which wrapper he had not observed before; he was still incredulous, and fought against his senses.

“How now!� said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. “What do you want with me?�

“Much!� � Marley’s voice, no doubt about it.

“W³ó´Ç are you?â€�

“Ask me who I was.�

“W³ó´Ç were you then?â€� said Scrooge, raising his voice. “You’re particular, for a shade.â€�

After Jacob’s departure, Scrooge repairs to his bed, to await the other ghosts. First is the Ghost of Christmas Past (“Long past?� “Your past�),who transports Scrooge to his childhood, where we learn of Scrooge’s strained relationship with his father, his close relationship with his sister, and the lost love of his life, a woman named Belle, who Scrooge forsook for money. The scenes with the Ghost of Christmas Past have always been my favorite, because they toy with the very foundations upon which Christmas is built: a slightly melancholic nostalgia for the way things were, or how we remembered them to be.

In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts they broke. In came all the young men and women employed in the business. In came the housemaid, with her cousin, the baker. In came the cook, with her brother’s particular friend, the milkman. In came the boy from over the way, who was suspected of not having board enough from his master; trying to hide himself behind the girl from next door but one, who was proved to have had her ears pulled by her mistress. In they all came, one after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow�

Next, the Ghost of Christmas Present arrives. He presents as a jolly man, but the longer we spend time with him � meeting Scrooge’s clerk, Bob Cratchit, and his crippled son, Tiny Tim; looking in on the Christmas party of Scrooge’s nephew, Fred � the more of a dark pedagogue he becomes. By the time Christmas Present takes his leave, he is lecturing us about Ignorance, Want, and Doom (in many ways, he is the drunk uncle we all know and tolerate).

Finally, there is the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, who shows Scrooge the misery and death that awaits if he does not change his ways. The silent specter is an oppressive presence, and represents Dickens at his most on-the-nose, banging away at his points with a hammer. Yet, it all sets up exquisitely for a rousing finale.

A Christmas Carol has been adapted hundreds of times. Thousands, if you count local theaters. It is a testament to Dickens� creation that most of these adaptations hew so closely to the original. There is no need to add, subtract, or tinker.

(On the subject of adaptations, if you ever see me at a Christmas party, I will be happy to explain my theory on how every Christmas movie springs from A Christmas Carol).

This particular volume also includes other Christmas stories and writings by Dickens. Frankly, they barely rate a mention, at least relative to A Christmas Carol. It is hard to be interested in these minor offerings when compared to the alpha dog of all Christmas literary offerings. It’s a bit like having your Bugatti test drive interrupted by some dude who wants you to try his skateboard.

In the spirit of charity, I suppose there is some merit in studying these other stories, if only to compare and contrast them to A Christmas Carol. For instance, in The Story of the Goblins Who Stole a Sexton, you see many of the elements (a Christmas humbug, ghosts) that Dickens would later use to better effect. In The Haunted Man and the Ghost’s Bargain, written post-Carol, Dickens introduces another pedagogic specter. This ghost allows a man named Redlaw to lose all memories of his sufferings and sorrows, with generally bad consequences. This story blatantly attempts to capitalize on the popularity of A Christmas Carol � complete with a lesson! � and unfortunately indulges in Dickens� weakness for overly-wacky characters.

Dickens has been called “the man who invented Christmas.� Obviously, that is not literally true. And it is not really figuratively true, either. Dickens was, in fact, building on traditions that far predated his classic fable. His bit of genius was to take this holiday and give it transformative power. Not only a day of celebration, but a day of contemplation. Not just a time to think about mulled wine and plum pudding, but to ponder those who are poor, sick, or struggling.

“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,� Jo grumbles at the start of Little Women, twenty-six years after the publication of A Christmas Carol. Such is the current state of Christmas. Those Cratchit kids, though, would never think such a thing. They’d never dare utter such a complaint; even the smallest goose was enough to satisfy them.

The values espoused in A Christmas Carol are timeless and meaningful. But it is more than a parable. More than any other book or movie or song or play, A Christmas Carol draws us intimately into the best parts of this yearly celebration.

That is why I have never tired of the story, no matter how many times and in how many ways I have experienced it. I love A Christmas Carol, whether it is in Muppet form, or Magoo form, or George C. Scott form, or Patrick Stewart form, or the original novella, which I read every year. In Scrooge’s rebirth, marked by a turkey as big as a child, and the promise of parties featuring a bowl of smoking bishop and Blind Man’s Bluff, we are given a version of an idealized Christmas: the table is full, family is present, and the children are healthy.

In presenting this idealized Christmas, Dickens manages to capture the importance of memory. When you were young, time started to slow in December, and then stopped completely during that hour-long church service standing between you and your gift-wrapped toys. As you get older, Christmas comes and goes much quicker, and leaves you weighing this year’s festivities (often unfavorably) to all that came before.

Years pass, and the composition of your family changes through addition and subtraction, through birth and death. Coming as it does so near the end of the year, Christmas becomes a transitory signpost. Our Christmas traditions, though, push back against mortality, and place us instead along a continuum. Sure, maybe Grandma is gone, but her ornaments are still on the tree, glittering like they have since World War II. Tradition keeps her alive, and will keep us alive when we are gone.

Dickens used Christmas Past, Present, and Yet to Come to change Scrooge. Those are also the very elements that we require in our own celebrations: the memories of the past; our friends and family (and some wine) in the present; and the knowledge in the future that this will always exist, even if we are not there to enjoy it.