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“It’s the largest series design I’ve ever attempted. The 24 books needed to fit together as a set, but they also needed to show individual identities as stories,” says Olsen. “You’ll get just a hint of what the narrative and plot is about until you unseal the sticker and open it up.”

The calendar is admittedly a labour of love. Olsen and Hingston will only eke out a profit if the under-1,000-volume run comes close to selling out. Sales have been brisk the first few days, and the project has a built-in pressure sales pitch: once it sells out, there’s no fiscally plausible scenario for printing more.

Part of the joy of a beer advent calendar is that you never drink alone, even by yourself, Hingston says. Reading alone is typically a foregone conclusion, even in book clubs. Every piece of this advent calendar is digestible before breakfast, a tiny 15-minute universe with a distinct style, sensibility or eccentricity. And beginning Dec. 1, Hingston will post interviews and supplemental information on shortstoryadventcalendar.com. Readers can talk about discoveries simultaneously on social media, creating a pop-up community around a book.

“TV fans get to chat on twitter about the latest episode as it’s airing. Or music fans get to riff on new albums because they all listen to it at the same time,” he says. “That just never happens in the book world.”

They’ve got a working template. In future years, they could play with themes or commission special pieces. Olsen has some more ideas, too, but like an advent calendar, you’ll have to wait and see. The joy of an advent calendar, she says, is partly escape, partly anticipation, partly discovery.

“I definitely consumed my fair share of musty advent chocolate,” she says. “It was always the act of popping open those little perforated flaps that was the enjoyable part. It’s so similar to the unsealing of these book covers. It’s the same idea, but improved.”

bwittmeier@edmontonjournal.com

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