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This book was very whimsical and made me feel like I was the same age as Tolkien's children and growing with them. I could almost imagine the things Tolkien wrote (as Father Christmas) were true happenings and Tolkien really was F.C., and somehow was leading two lives, one with his children and one on the North Pole with North Polar Bear and friends.
In his letters, he mentions the children putting their stockings up for the last time and he stops writing to them as they grow older and I can assume the older children stopped writing to him, too. That seems sad to me, but I guess some people forget the magic of Christmas as they age.
The way the book just ends is so jarring. One last letter to the youngest child and then nothing else. Sad, but children grow up, I suppose. I wonder how his children felt about getting their "last letter." If the children still believed in F.C, I can imagine it would be really terrible to be told, "hey, you're too old now, so no more letters."
