Dying of laughter

Marcus Berkmann on the few genuinely funny books aimed at this year’s Christmas market

It’s a worrying sign, but I suspect that Christmas may not be as amusing as it used to be. For most of my life, vast numbers of so-called ‘funny’ books have been published at around this time of year, aimed squarely at desperate shoppers lurching drunkenly into bookshops on 24 December, still looking for the perfect present for someone they don’t much like. But this year there aren’t anywhere near as many. Perhaps they stopped selling. Maybe the QI Annual and Schott’s Almanac saw them off. Or maybe it just dawned on everyone at the same time that being given, say, Jeremy Clarkson’s latest collection is an act of such blatant passive-aggression as to make family life almost intolerable for the next 12 months, until you can retaliate with a present that’s even more offensive. ’Tis the season to be jolly, after all.