“Jolabokaflod” is an Icelandic tradition that involves exchanging books as gifts on Christmas Eve and reading them. The celebration brings families together in the joyful, shared experience of storytelling.
Iceland has one of the loveliest holiday traditions I’ve ever heard of. It’s called Jolabokaflod (pronounced yo-la-bok-a-flot), which roughly translates to “Christmas Book Flood.”
Jolabokaflod combines a cozy atmosphere, gift giving, holiday cheer, hot cocoa, reading and an ancient storytelling tradition all in one wonderful word. Icelanders put it into practice on Christmas Eve, when it’s customary to exchange gifts of books, curl up with steaming cups of hot chocolate in front of a crackling fire, and then read long into the subarctic night.
The season of Jolabokaflod begins with every family in the country receiving in the mail the annual catalog of the year’s new books to help them choose gifts for their family members and friends. What led up to this mailbox custom and what now happens because of it has helped make Iceland among the most literate nations in the world.
The holiday season in Iceland intertwines a festive spirit with a profound cultural celebration of literature, making it a unique aspect of Icelandic life where books are not just gifts but a fundamental part of the Christmas celebration.
Iceland’s initial literature
Writers have been recording the history of Iceland since the 13th century. The famous Icelandic sagas, written in the 13th and 14th centuries, are narratives based on historical events that took place in the ninth, 10th and 11th centuries, during the reign of the Icelandic Commonwealth, established in 930. They focus on the conflicts, family history and struggles that arose during the settlement of Iceland, the first centuries after the settlement, and the time when Christianity took over the old Scandinavian paganism—or as the Vikings called it, hinn forni sidr (the old way).
The fact that the sagas were written in Icelandic—even when Iceland was an impoverished, outland, Danish colony—is part of the reason the language flourishes today. Modern Icelandic is the living language closest to the Old Norse that Scandinavians spoke a thousand years ago, and an estimated 93% of Iceland’s population of around 384,000 people still speak it.
The commonwealth ended in the late 13th century when Iceland fell under Norwegian and, eventually, Danish rule. The stories its people composed and told each other of those early and somewhat more prosperous centuries were pockets of hope in the brutal colonial era that followed. About 700 years ago, the Little Ice Age (circa 1300-1850) set in, a catastrophic cooling of the North Atlantic region that caused crop failures, famines and pandemics throughout Europe. Millions of people died. Resources were scarce, and most families practiced subsistence farming in near solitude. Their survival has sometimes been attributed to the sustenance provided by their “history, poetry and literature,” wrote Iceland scholar and sociologist Richard F. Tomasson in The Literacy of the Icelanders, a paper published in the journal Scandinavian Studies in 1975.
In the Middle Ages, Icelanders practiced the “kvoldvaka” (or night vigil) in farmsteads and turf houses. During the dark, evening hours, poor farmers huddled together inside, sharing stories and reading out loud to one another to keep spirits high.
After Iceland’s “classical period,” the time in which saga authors focused on early history and the mythical tales of the Norse gods, literature began to reflect the growing influence of Christianity. Iceland adopted the religion by law in the year 1000. Missionaries began to teach Icelanders the Latin alphabet so they could produce religious texts in their own language, and the first book in Icelandic—a translation of the New Testament—was printed in 1540.
This healthy writing habit led to a culture of readers. Starting in the Middle Ages, Icelanders practiced the kvoldvaka (or night vigil) in farmsteads. During the dark, harsh, long winters, poor farmers huddled together in a single room in their turf houses to stay warm. Between 6:00 and 10:00 p.m., people did their indoor work, such as knitting, toolmaking and woolwork. During these hours, one person would be appointed to read to everyone else.
In those evenings, children learned to recite, read and tell stories. By the end of the 18th century—when a smallpox epidemic killed as much as a third of the population and an eight-month volcanic eruption killed another fifth and most of the livestock—nearly every surviving Icelander could read.
By the end of the 18th century, a volcanic eruption that lasted for eight months killed a fifth of Iceland’s population and most of the livestock. Today, volcanic eruptions in the country happen on average every five years.
World War II reboot
Prior to the 20th century, Christmas gifts in Iceland tended to be useful, such as clothes or extra food. But modern, international conflict helped usher in new holiday traditions.
In 1944, Iceland was a newly independent nation with a beleaguered wartime economy and 15,000 occupying Allied troops. Because of the bad economy, there were strict restrictions on imports. That greatly limited the selection of commodity goods that you could choose as Christmas gifts. Paper, however, was one of the few things not rationed during the war; so, it was imported to produce books that were written and printed in Iceland. That fortuitous supply—and an infusion of occupation-related money—fell in with Icelanders’ literary leanings.
For the 1944 holiday season, the Icelandic Publishers Association created the first Bokatioindi (book news), a catalog listing every book published in Icelandic that year. Copies were distributed free to every household in the country so shoppers could select titles for their families and friends. Since then, during the Reykjavik Book Fair in mid-November, a new edition of the Bokatioindi has been printed and distributed to every household in the country every year. A book became the ultimate Christmas gift: it’s easy to wrap, it’s not overly expensive, it’s handy, and it satisfies the thirst for new tales.
In 2024, a survey of more than 2,300 people conducted by the Icelandic Literature Center found that Icelanders read or listen to an average of 2.6 books per month, and 55% spend 30 minutes or more a day reading.
Publishers recognized that coordinating costly hardcover releases to meet seasonal demand enabled them to maximize royalties and turnover—and avoid the risk of surplus inventory. Christmas-season sales of mostly printed books now account for 40% of annual book sales. A study involving 2,300 Icelanders conducted by the Icelandic Literature Center in 2024 found that they read or listen to an average of 2.6 books per month, and 55% spend 30 minutes or more a day reading. The nation’s literature is known for its evocative descriptions of nature and explorations of human isolation and resilience, which resonate well with people during this introspective time of year.
Starting every year in October, then, the Icelandic literary community gears up for the intense seasonal bookishness to come. Bookstores, coffee shops, schools and even workplaces host author appearances and readings. Social media in Iceland is awash with invitations to book events, shared and reshared literary reviews, and updates about the current holiday bestseller rankings.
A “novel” national identity
Reykjavik became the fifth UNESCO City of Literature in 2011, and Iceland is consistently ranked among the most literate countries in the world, based on metrics such as residents’ achievement tests, their average total years of schooling, and libraries and publications per capita.
Iceland’s literature is known for its evocative descriptions of the nation’s stunning nature—such as this view of the Studlagil Canyon—which resonate well with people during introspective winters.
Because Iceland is so obsessed with storytelling, the joke is that meetings in Iceland tend to run late because so many people want to tell an anecdote or a story. It’s said that when Icelandic parents ask their child what happened at school that day, they’re going to get a story with a beginning, middle and end—probably with a climax and a turning point somewhere.
Seriously, though, the Jolabokaflod is part of what enables Icelanders to continue to publish their stories in Icelandic. Because so much of people’s holiday gift budgets go to books, a lot of money gets pumped into the literary ecosystem. That means that a lot more books are published in Iceland than there would be otherwise, and there is a much greater variety of literature than would be expected in a country of its size.
Your own tome torrent
The appeal of this tradition is catching on far beyond Iceland’s borders. In recent years, there has been a significant growth in worldwide awareness and interest. It makes sense; we tend to gravitate toward customs that are easy to implement and foster a bit of self-care. Jolabokaflod is a good way to slow down and invite the unique beauty and magic of Christmas into our homes and lives. Giving books to loved ones and reading while sipping hot chocolate or eating treats sounds idyllic in our fast-paced societies.
The appeal of Jolabokaflod is catching on far beyond Iceland’s borders. This Christmas Eve, try winding down from all the buzz and excitement by devoting the night to reading and sinking into a mellow state of bookish bliss.
In Iceland, there’s a well-known saying: Ad ganga med bok I maganum, or “walking with a book in my stomach.”
I prefer mine in my hands on Christmas Eve, while I’m sitting before a fire, covered up with a soft blanket, and having a cup of soothing hot chocolate within easy reach.
Jolly Jolabokaflod, everyone!
Here’s to finding your true places and natural habitats,
Candy
