Can't stand the artificiality of the modern-day holiday season? Despair not -- there's an alternative, a more relaxed tradition that's coming back into vogue two thousand years after its first heyday. No, not Solstice -- Festivus! The holiday made its modern debut on an episode of Seinfeld, where we saw Frank Costanza plague his son George come wintertime with a twisted celebration involving an undecorated metal pole and such rituals as "feats of strength" and "the airing of the grievances." Since then, a surprising number of people have adopted Festivus as their own, and now journalist Allen Salkin has written a book exploring the phenomenon (Festivus: The Holiday for the Rest of Us, Warner Books, $14.95, paperback). Earthling correspondent Maura Judkis chatted with Salkin about his exploration of the surprisingly legitimate holiday.

What prompted a book on Festivus? A friend of mine told me he was going to a Festivus party in Ohio and I said, "What, from Seinfeld?" So I wrote a story for The New York Times... and then I kept hearing more and more about it. I knew that I had struck gold -- it was like I had discovered punk rock. So I set about mining that vein.
What was the most surprising thing you discovered in your research? That Festivus dates back to ancient Roman times. It was kind of like Mardi Gras -- it was the one time the lower classes could get drunk in public and have orgies and go nuts. The spirit of the holiday is that people do what they want to do, not what people tell them to do, and it's remained constant throughout the millennia.
What was the oddest Festivus tradition you encountered? At an art space in Phoenix called the Alwun House, they have an annual erotic poetry and music Festivus. This one has almost nothing to do with Seinfeld -- it goes back to the carnival-like scene of Rome. You walk in and see women dressed as Playboy bunnies, people dancing and smearing themselves with flammable gel, even a man arguing with a sock puppet that's supposed to represent a certain part of the male anatomy.
Let's hear you air three grievances right now. I guess the first one would be that the new diner that opened near my house serves terrible food and isn't open 24 hours like a real diner should be. That really makes me mad.
Wait, it makes you mad that it's terrible and that it isn't open long enough for you to eat more of it? No, I want them to be open longer and have great food. The next thing is that I hate that if you ask for the music to be turned down wherever you are, you get labeled as old or uncool. I think silence is cool. And next, I wish gas prices would stay three dollars a gallon, so that people will start making environmentally friendly decisions. It makes me mad that people won't conserve until they feel it in their pocketbook.
If you could have a fantasy feat-of-strength matchup, what two celebrities would you match, and what would their feat be? Oooh -- I would match up the guy that played Frodo, Elijah Wood, with the guy that played Sam (Sean Astin). I'd want them to take turns competing in a greased-hog wrestling contest. The winner would be the one that pins the hog faster. I think Sam would win because he has slightly stronger chest muscles.
What do you have against Elijah Wood? I hate how lovey-dovey they were in Lord of the Rings, so syrupy. I'd like to see them wrestle a pig and see how syrupy they stay. I want to hear some profanity from those guys.

Reuters is reporting that a newly published letter written decades ago by C.S. Lewis shows that the author wouldn't have approved of Disney's new movie adaptation. Alas, it's a simple-minded snippet of journalism that completely fails to do its job.

C.S. Lewis... was "absolutely opposed" to a live action version of his stories...

Although Lewis, who died in 1963, said he would have considered a cartoon version, his letter suggests he is unlikely to have approved of Disney's interpretation, particularly its computer-generated Aslan.

"Anthropomorphic animals, when taken out of narrative into actual visibility, always turn into buffoonery or nightmare -- at least with photography," he wrote.

"Cartoons (if only Disney did not combine so much vulgarity with his genius!) would be another matter. A human, pantomime, Aslan would be, to me, blasphemy."

Well, that seems clear enough: Lewis' beef with the concept of a live-action Narnia was that photographic renditions of anthropomorphic animals "always" look absurd. A reasonable stand for him to take -- given that he died in 1963. I dare say if he'd lived to see Jurassic Park, he'd have paused at least briefly to wonder what 21st-century animation technology might be able to do with the denizens of Narnia.

How is it possible that both a reporter and an editor at Reuters are unable to grasp the basic concept that a "computer-generated Aslan" is a cartoon, albeit an incredibly sophisticated one? Especially with it staring them right in the face that Lewis admired Disney's artistic achievements, and the new movie is a Disney movie?

Now, it might be that by "absurd," Lewis didn't mean "unrealistic," he meant "too realistic." Perhaps his point was that a real talking lion, no matter how magnificent, could not help but appear unsettling rather than divine, by the very "wrongness" of its nature, and that the visual abstraction of classic cartooning makes the idea of an anthropomorphic animal more palatable by placing it in an equally abstracted world.

Yeah, maybe -- but it doesn't say all that in the letter, and it sure doesn't say that in the Reuters story.

It would be oversimplistic, perhaps, to call this season's crop of femme-oriented dark fantasy novels "the daughters of Anne Rice." After all, the four listed below vary significantly in concept, tone, and likely reader age. And yet all of them are written at least in part with one common goal in mind: to excite readers with the thought of otherworldly lovers awaiting in the shadows.

Kitty and the Midnight Hour, by Carrie Vaughn (Warner Books, $6.99, paperback) -- It seems to be official: The open-ended chick-lit series has replaced the epic trilogy as fantastic fiction's preferred form of serial. So Frodo, Garion, Raistlin and all their majestically questing pals can just step aside and make room for Kitty Norville, a werewolf from Denver who finds herself pissing off her packmates big-time when they discover that she's hosting an overnight talk-radio show about the trials and tribulations of lycanthropy. Werewolves and vampires prefer to keep their existence secret, see, but Kitty wants to provide a sympathetic human voice to comfort all those lonely, self-loathing shape-changers out there in the urban night. Along the way, she gets tangled up in a murder investigation, comes out to her parents (and, wow, you haven't been in a closet until you've been in a werewolf closet), and gets hot and bothered over a sexy monster-hunter named Cormac. Goofy? Maybe, but don't even bother rolling your eyes, because if you read page one, you won't stop till the back cover hits you on the way out. | STACIA JUDE

Twilight, by Stephanie Meyer (Little Brown, $14, paperback)
Fledgling, by Octavia E. Butler (Seven Stories, $23.95, hardcover) -- As vampire fiction continues evolving as a full-fledged genre all its own, two new neck-biting novels eschew the trappings of horror -- one in favor of pure romance, the other, science fiction. In Stephanie Meyer's high-school tale Twilight, teenage Bella falls in love with Edward, the handsome "bad boy" who turns out to be badder than anyone suspected. He returns the affection, but it's not that simple, as Edward comes from a family of pacifist vampires, and he'll need to protect Bella from the evil ones if she's really determined to hang. More compelling than the bloodsucking shtick is the spot-on psychology of it all: Bella yearns for Edward because he's clearly too dangerous for her, the perfectly unattainable boy-man whose sexuality could ruin her life. A more complicated conflict drives Octavia E. Butler's Fledgling, which follows the dark-skinned vampire Shori as she awakens from the confusion of total amnesia. As in much of Butler's work, the issue of race is central: Shori discovers that she owes her melanin-rich complexion to a genetic experiment that sought to create vampires able to survive in the daylight, and she owes her memory loss to a hate-crime attack by a gang of "pure-blooded" vampires. The reader is introduced to vampire society (they call themselves "Ina") as the amnesiac Shori is, learning that every Ina keeps a personal flock of willing human blood-slaves, who are addicted to the vampire's venom and devoted to their master's happiness. This dominance relationship isn't the only sexual taboo Butler tackles, either: Shori is 50-odd years old, but her physical appearance is that of an 11-year-old girl, and this fact doesn't get in the way of wanton intimacy with her human lovers. Though the end of the book gets somewhat dragged down in an extended courtroom drama, Fledgling is a thought-provoking story from a novelist who has more to offer the vampire genre than just the same old gothic tropes. | WAYNE WISE

The Hunter's Moon, by O. R. Melling (Abrams, $23.95, hardcover) -- Above all else, O. R. Melling's kid-friendly faerie story is a powerful enticement for readers to visit Ireland; her description of its geography, hidden wonders, and folklore is enchanting and authoritative. She takes special care to pay respects to its people as well -- it seems every redhead in the country is eager to help the protagonist, 16-year-old Gwen, who embarks on a bold rescue mission when her cousin is kidnapped by faeries. Along the way, she grows out of her weight insecurity, scrutinizes her childhood dreams, and gets a cute boyfriend. It's unfortunate that both Gwen and cousin are drawn as simple teen-heroine stereotypes, but real delights come in the form of the supporting cast: a sweet-hearted businessman who still believes in faeries, a practical farm girl with wild dreams, a teenage boy who honors his grandmother's every word. Melling's take on the fantastic is classical: Faeries, like Tinkerbell or the deities who inhabit Neil Gaiman's American Gods, need people's belief to survive, and as technology and skepticism grow, their world shrinks. The Hunter's Moon is as much a lament for the creeping modernization of Ireland as it is for the disappearance of fantasy from the minds of adults; in one particularly memorable scene, Gwen finds herself in a monastery that's physically transferring itself piecemeal back into the 14th century. While Gwen herself may not be a unique character, Ireland is, and anyone who dreams should listen to its story. | NIVAIR GABRIEL

There's a geek convention or three going on somewhere in the U.S. every weekend of the year, and this weekend it's Anime USA, the annual Japanese-cartoon fest in Tysons Corner, Virginia, a strip-mall suburb just outside Washington, D.C. Of course, at the same time, Farscape fans are getting together in California and s.f. literati are lining up for David Brin's autograph in Arizona -- so what makes this bunch of 2,500 manga and anime lovers so special? Strolling through the lobby of the Sheraton hotel, where Yuna from Final Fantasy is perfectly likely to bump into Emily the Corpse Bride, one answer presents itself: Youth. It's everywhere, and it's got this incredible punk-rock-hip-hop-cyber- Matrix-via-Woodstock kinda vibe going. These kids, these costumed throngs of pink-haired and thigh-booted and staff-wielding kids, have simply way more energy -- enthusiastic, hyperkinetic, physical energy -- than most of the introspective types who've so frequently gathered over the years to celebrate their love of genres fantastic.

The perfect example: At 9 a.m., there's already a small crowd in the ballroom. Twelve hours ago the place was jumping with a J-rock concert; twelve hours hence it'll be a red-carpet extravaganza as the Cosplay Contest gets into full swing. But right now, in the relatively quiet time while a bunch of the hardcore cosplayers are down the hall waiting to hear costuming goddess Yaya Han reveal her secret makeup tips, 15 or 20 kids are here to make their own entertainment. They're standing around an eight-foot-square thing that looks like an inflatable boxing ring and is inhabited by two inflatable bodysuits -- which, in turn, are inhabited by two grinning teenage guys, about to throw down in a friendly, early-morning bout of sumo wrestling. This is not fiction, not an imaginary story: These two geeks at this geek-filled geekfest have woken up early to engage in athletics.

The ref steps back from his position straddling the edge of the ring, and one of the boys shouts, "Mortal Kombat!" He flexes, videogame-like, at his opponent, and seconds later he is flopped to the faux-fleshy floor. Thud. Well, really, considering all the aerated padding, Thfffdfffd. Game over.

They de-skin, and two petite girls hop in to take their place, giggling. "Go Gina!" comes the cry from the peanut gallery as the wrestlers, smothered in puffy plastic, face off. For the second time in a row, the actual melee takes less time than getting into the sumo suit did: The smaller girl goes down quickly, and then again. The victor, in pointed contrast to the boys' jerky pixel-warrior poses, does a happy little victory bounce like Muhammed Ali. (Or maybe like Tigger. Or a bunny rabbit.)

Then, with a big, fat smile, she hurls herself face-first to the ground so the ref can unzip her.

Need some literary stocking stuffers for a geek? Here are six smart-but-breezy reads including something for everyone, from the tormented goth to the comic-book fanboy:

Go to Hell: A Heated History of the Underworld, by Chuck Crisafulli & Kyra Thompson (Simon Spotlight, $15.95, paperback) -- Tour the land of the damned with this light-hearted beginner's guide to hell. The authors catalog the incarnations of Hades throughout history, from Bertolt Brecht to Buffy. Just don't expect philosophical debates: This is cultural history, not religious contemplation.

The Physics of Superheroes, by James Kakalios (Gotham, $26.95, hardcover) -- Physics prof Kakalios says Krypton's explosion is surprisingly realistic, Spider-Man's webline was indeed to blame for Gwen Stacy's death, and Cyclops' neck should snap like a twig every time he uses his optic blast. Real math proofs back it all up. Comics scribe Mark Waid says he keeps the book close at hand.

How to Survive a Robot Uprising, by Daniel H. Wilson (Bloomsbury, $12.95, paperback) -- Carnegie Mellon roboticist Wilson knows from personal experience what the new generation of autonomous robots are capable of. Here he intersperses information about real cutting-edge research with tongue-in-cheek (but accurate!) suggestions for subduing an out-of-control mechanoid.

How to Rule the World: A Handbook for the Aspiring Dictator, by Andre De Guillaume (Chicago Review, $9.95, paperback) -- For those who liked the idea of Machiavelli's The Prince but found the period prose a bit dated. Robin Chevalier's cartoons provide smiles, but the actual text is quite deadpan; readers may complete chapters like "Dress Like a Leader" and "How to Tell Who Is Plotting Against You" only to find themselves thinking it all sounds quite doable.

The Space Tourist's Handbook, by Eric Anderson (Quirk, $15.95, paperback) -- Author Anderson is CEO of Space Adventures, the company that trained multimillionaire Dennis Tito for his $20M paid excursion on a Soyuz mission. This fun volume offers that same training in a "how-to" format, and comes with a contest entry form offering readers a real shot at a suborbital flight.

Navigating the Golden Compass, edited by Glenn Yeffeth (BenBella, $17.95, paperback) -- The latest collection in BenBella Books' Smart Pop series sees literary visionaries Gregory Maguire, Michael Chabon and Harry Turtledove join 15 other writers in offering their own takes on Philip Pullman's fantasy epic His Dark Materials. Provocative essays include titles such as "Science, Technology and the Danger of Daemons."