In Hogfather, Death steps in to save Discworld's version of Christmas when the titular Santa analog is taken out of commission. On the one hand, it's a funny story about a skeleton flying around giving out presents and trying to play his new role well. On the other, it's a meditation on belief, and the ways that fantasy and storytelling add meaning to humans' experience of life, in all its messy and illogical beauty. I'm glad that I read it in 2021, when I've been struggling to figure out what I want Christmas to mean for me separate from my family of origin, and what it realistically can look like given certain life circumstances. It was a huge comfort to read this book and realize that it's going to become a new holiday tradition for me.