Cormac McCarthy Writes for Us! And other holiday lies

By Emily Walls

On Sunday, Jonny and I bought the most adorable Christmas tree that has ever been. No other Christmas tree will ever surpass it in charm and charisma.

Told you.

In celebration of its welcome in our home, I present to you the story of its acquiring.

One story, five authors.

Charlotte Bronte (Jane Eyre)
There was no possibility of walking to Ralphs that day. We had been out of doors much indeed, earlier in the season; and though our bright California sun shone with perpetual vivacity (we often wore thin stockings even in November), the day was drawing to its close and would shortly exchange its vibrant orb for its luminous, nocturnal sister, ere we had accomplished our mission. I ordered the Camry and, together with Mr. Walls, set out at a brisk, steady pace across the dusky Burbank moors. Having gained the shop in good time, I surveyed the meagre selection, a collection of verdure I cared little for, upon inspection. Dismayed, I turned my eye toward the aisles of sundries, for I had much to gather for the return journey, and girded my inner resolve with contemplation upon future, successful ventures to the market, when I beheld just beyond the storefront casement an overlooked row of subjacent evergreens that would, I was sure, suit our chamber. I chose the most agreeable among them; I was satisfied; and having collected my scanty chattels, I called Mr. Walls to myself and undertook the short sojourn home.

Solomon (Song of)
Like the red pin in the bowling alley
is my tree among other evergreens.
I sit in the comfort of its knitting circle
and delight in the afghan of its stems.

Its topmost branch is like a fire brigade,
Like a brigade of flaming men is my tree.
Its foliage is like octuplet skeet discs,
Girded with the strength of a thousand Mongols.
Its leaves glisten like parakeets,
Staving off plantains.
Its trunk is a murder of crows,
Bedecked in the foreskins of its enemies.

Come with me, my shrub, my tree!
Come into my glen and drink of its wine coolers.
Awake, North Wind!
Arise, Burbank town center!
Flabbergast my Christmas tree
and gather its needles to your bosom.

Cormac McCarthy (The Road, All the Pretty Horses)
We cant choose this one Jonny.
I know.
How tall is that?
I dont know. Six feet. Maybe eight.
Do you think we'll find one?
No. We wont find one.
It might find us.
Yes. It might find us.
Ok.
Ok.

Anthony Burgess (A Clockwork Orange)
What sloochatted, of course, my brothers, was that my chelloveck and I scatted in the nochy kavortny-like through the slanky muck-a-muck for the place one young devotchka said we might crast some eververdures. Having viddied the sorry stock of right lank green greens, I shrugged my pletchoes, my rot rounded for a boohoohoo, and I slovoed Jonny that we may as well filly HOME as stay. Just as we were knocking like to canter off, oh my brothers, I viddied out the corner of my glazzy a privy trove of right horrorshow rooty plots. Having plenty of deng, we tended the pretty polly real skorry to the veck at the counter and slooshied to the Jingle Jingle the whole way HOME.


Stephanie Meyer (Twilight)
She had been looking forward to getting a Christmas tree for a long time. She wanted a small, short, petite, pocket-sized tree that would fill her home with wonderful, bright Christmas cheer. He took her to the nearest store, a Ralphs.

"Now, be sure to pick out a good one," he warned.

"Oh, I don't mind what we get," she lied.

They browsed the rows of spruces and douglas firs, but nothing looked right—they were all too tall.
 "It's hopeless," she moaned. "We'll never find one that will fit in our place."

"Don't worry," he consoled as he brushed a stray hair from her forehead. "Just take a deep breath, stay calm, and keep looking." He smiled the same boyish grin that always sent shivers down her spine.
She inhaled slowly, breathing in his scent—a comforting mixture of aftershave and ocean spray. Being close to him was like spending a day at the beach.

"Ok," she replied. "We'll keep looking."

They wandered among the evergreens for a few more minutes. Finally giving up on the Christmas tree, they headed inside the store to restock their supply of milk and bread—the typical groceries. To her amazement, they spied a separate section of trees just inside the store.

"I can't believe it!" she exclaimed. "Look! These are the perfect size for our apartment. They're not too big, and they're not too small."

"It's true," he replied, picking one up by its base. The sinews of his arms flexed beneath his shirt. Her heart quickened.

"This one is perfect," he said.

"You're perfect," she thought.

The End