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A lovely collection of illustrated letters from Father Christmas to Tolkien's children.



The tone and content of the letters changes over time to reflect the children growing up, and Tolkien Father Christmas doesn’t shy away from mentioning the horrors of the world, including war and hunger. The letters incorporate aspects of the children’s lives and things they'd written to him, but there is some continuity in the stories of what FC and his elves etc get up to. Lovely illustrations, too.

There are similarities with Mervyn Peake's Letters from a Lost Uncle, which I reviewed HERE.



A Bonding Book that Made a Tolkienite (two, actually)

I love this because it prompted "Father Christmas" to write similar letters to my own child over several years and because it kindled the flames of Tolkien fandom in my child, and thus, albeit to a lesser extent, me.

We went on to The Hobbit (see my review HERE), which I had disliked as a child, sowing the seeds of overlapping, but distinct reading tastes, that continues to this day. It also led my child to a world of like-minded friends at school, university, and beyond.

The letters my child received (and wrote in reply) incorporated some of the characters and plot from Tolkien (the North Polar Bear, for instance), but added new characters (especially Windley, a naughty girl elf). As with Tolkien's children, the exchanges continued a little after the real author was known, but it remained a wonderful imaginative stimulus and a shared semi-secret world.

Lego was a great passion. My child had pirate Lego, Ancient Egyptian Lego, and Star Wars Lego amongst others, but really wanted Roman Lego. For several years, they wrote to Father Christmas, asking for some. Each year, Father Christmas found it harder to come up with a new excuse - especially once said child knew the truth of Father Christmas and presented ever more challenging arguments as to why the elves could surely make it, and that there would be many other enthusiastic recipients. Eventually, Father Christmas said that most Roman things were ruins now, so they could just use regular Lego as ruins!

When my child turned 18, I asked if they still wanted a stocking from Father Christmas, but they said they'd rather just have regular presents. That year, the final gift from Father Christmas was a solitary Lego figure - a Roman soldier. (Thank you, internet!)


The Big Question

When just beginning to question the plausibility of Father Christmas, my child asked "How does Father Christmas make a profit?" (probably after listening to my father pontificating on matters of economics and personal finance).

I'd have questioned the premise that he needs or wants to make a profit, but my husband came up with an excellent answer: branding, licensing, and franchising.

The Ethics of Lying about Father Christmas

When I was a new mother, I wondered about the ethics of telling and acting out such an overt and detailed "lie" as Father Christmas delivering presents. It seemed less obviously fiction than reading Peter Rabbit or recounting fairy stories, which I was happy to do.

I didn't want to deprive my child of a core part of our culture, but thought I might feel guilty for deceiving, or that they might feel betrayed when the truth came out.

I need not have worried: as soon as my child could talk, their vivid imagination was apparent. I was drawn into that world, and we redrew it together. If I hadn't "invented" Father Christmas and many other fantasies, my child would have done so. And I am glad.

Other Imaginary Friends

My child's purest inventions were Sitty the cat - for whom they tried to sneak real cat food into my shopping basket - and Sitty's friend, Ruffy the dog. Distinct personalities evolved, and we spent many hours creating, retelling, and reworking stories about them.

But there was one time when I found my child, aged about three, sobbing uncontrollably. Between the stifled, hiccuping tears, they told me Sitty had said she didn't want to be friends any more! What sort of imaginary friend says that?! Fortunately, she relented quite quickly, there was no long-term trauma, and it's now a well-loved family anecdote.

A vivid imagination, fed by good books, is a powerful, symbiotic, mystical force. Thank you Tolkien.