“At Christmas, all roads lead home.” –Marjorie Holmes
I’m with Marjorie: “At Christmas, all roads lead home.” And sometimes home is a good book. I love when bricks and mortar wondrously transform into a safe haven, into a comfort zone—that’s when a house becomes a home. I’m equally enamored with pages that become a comfortable place. Where I can escape and connect with newfound friends who feel more like family than fictional characters. I just finished Mona’s Eyes. As I read the epilogue, it felt like being warmed by the fire.
Hailed by Barnes & Noble as their 2025 Book of the Year, Mona’s Eyes is different from other books you’ve read. It’s an art history lesson disguised as a novel. If you love art, you’ll love this journey across five centuries of tour de force masterpieces. The story surrounding the art lessons is a tender one. When 10-year-old Mona lost her sight temporarily—the blindness incident lasted 63 minutes—her family frantically searched for answers. Her grandfather, lovingly referred to as Dadé, is an intelligent art history manque. He worries that if Mona loses her sight permanently, her visual memories will be devoid of wonder. A grandpa on a mission, he determines “to fill [his granddaughter’s] eyes with beauty for all time.” He volunteers to take Mona to a therapist every Wednesday after school. For one year. Turns out, the therapist is secretly named Art.
For fifty-two weeks, Dadé and Mona venture first to the Louvre, then the Musee d’Orsay, and finally, Beaubourg. (Good thing Mona’s gifted or this therapy would’ve failed for the average 10-year-old.) Together, they share keen insights. But their time is so much more than that. Their relationship is the heartbeat of the story. Their love and admiration for each other, their shared understanding, is, quite possibly, the most breathtaking art of all. Love that heals is light in Mona’s darkness. And that’s why I felt right at home. Home is simply wherever you’re surrounded by people you love.