TV Review: Doctor Who “Joy to the World” 2024 Christmas Special is More about Loneliness than Just your Everyday Time Lord

Greig here, reporting for Stones of Erasmus! I’ve just caught the Doctor Who Christmas special, “Joy to the World,” now streaming on Disney+. Featuring Ncuti Gatwa as the Doctor, and Nicola Couglan as the Doctor's newest companion, Joy—the episode delivers a heartfelt holiday romp that deftly balances time-warp shenanigans, cozy Yuletide feelings, and profound meditations on loneliness. Below is a spoiler-filled review, pieced together from my own viewing and reflections—as well as tidbits you’ll see mirrored in fan discussions online. Let’s hop into the TARDIS and go!

"Ham and cheese toastie and a pumpkin latte?" Yes. Please!
Image Credit: Disney+

Plot Summary: A Time Hotel and a Bomb-Star

Premise. Fresh off the heartbreak of losing Ruby Sunday in last season’s final episode (“Empire of Death”), the Doctor finds himself wandering solo once again. This time, though, his path leads him to a futuristic “Time Hotel,” where it’s Christmas every moment—simultaneously. Patrons pop in and out of doorways leading to any Christmas from any time or place, which makes for a whimsical, if slightly disorienting, holiday getaway.

Loneliness and Joy. The Doctor’s search for a companion is a well-trodden theme—think back to the Ninth Doctor meeting Rose Tyler at the start of the show’s 2005 revival. Eccleston's Doctor was a sad-sack sort of a guy. Or, even Matt Smith's Doctor, before he meets Amelia Pond. In “Joy to the World,” the Doctor’s latest potential friend is Joy, a hotel guest who reveals a painful past: she was unable to see her mother in her final hours during the COVID-19 pandemic. Over the course of the special, Joy becomes entangled in the machinations of the Villengard Corporation, who have concocted a threat so preposterous only Doctor Who could pull it off—a bomb made from an incubating star, hidden inside a dinosaur.

Holiday Hijinks. The central comedic—and cosmic—conceit sees the Doctor sneaking through the Time Hotel’s ever-shifting corridors, inadvertently stumbling onto the Orient Express, engaging in Rube Goldberg–style escapades, and saving the day with a mixture of scientific know-how and plenty of empathy. Ultimately, the star that could have detonated as a cosmic bomb instead hearkens back to the Star of Bethlehem—tying together the show’s Christian allusions with the Doctor’s timeless message of hope.

Themes & Analysis: Solitude, Star of Bethlehem, and Home

Alone at Christmas. Tying in real-world statistics about those who spend Christmas alone, “Joy to the World” shines a light on the Doctor’s enduring isolation. The script cleverly parallels the Doctor’s solitary existence with Joy’s own journey: both are searching for connection, but they shy away from it out of hurt or regret. Watching them bond—when the Doctor reveals he spent a year waiting for a Time Hotel doorway to reopen—grounds this Christmas special in surprisingly raw emotion.

The Doctor on the Psychology of Hotel Rooms: 

I just spent a year in a hotel room that you chose. Do you know what you can tell about a person from the hotel room that they choose?. . . . So you see, a house, that's a . . . that's a disguise. It's a fortress. You can . . . you can hide yourself away with pictures and flowers and tables. But a hotel room? That's you without make-up. It's what you think you need. It's what you are willing to accept. Not a selfie that you posed for, more like catching yourself in the mirror. What's your mirror telling you . . . .?

Finding Home in a Hotel Room. One of the most poignant lines (which I reprinted above for convenience sake) addresses what it means to choose a particular hotel room as “home.” A house can mask who we are, but a hotel room is a quick choice that often reveals our unfiltered wants and emotional states. Joy’s reasons for picking a dull, almost drab room speak volumes about her sorrow—and the Doctor’s year-long stay there symbolizes how stepping into someone else’s space can illuminate both their pain and your own.

A Yuletide Miracle. The biblical references are more than window dressing. The Star of Bethlehem (and Saint Augustine’s idea that it was created as a miraculous sign) resonates with the show’s whimsical claim: perhaps each one of us has the capacity to “shine” like a star, or be guided by someone else’s light. This is typical Doctor Who: whether it’s a tyrannosaur swallowing a star-bomb or a grief-stricken companion longing for closure, the show always circles back to the miracle and fragility of being human.

Final Thoughts: A Whimsical, Welcoming Christmas Tale

While “Joy to the World” crams in a dizzying array of plot threads—part Victorian train chase, part apocalyptic star-bomb standoff—its real triumph is the Doctor’s renewed sense of empathy. Even if the pacing feels rushed at times, the episode’s emotional center holds firm: we see a lonely alien traveler and an ordinary human, both caught in cosmic chaos yet strangely united by the universal longing to not be alone during the holidays.

Where the story truly succeeds is in reminding us that each person’s inner life is worth exploring. Whether it’s a fleeting cameo on a train or a quiet conversation about grief, every encounter has the potential to transform. And what better day than Christmas—when so many people struggle with isolation—to give audiences an allegory about love, hope, and the star shining in each of us?

“Joy to the World” might not be the Doctor Who holiday special you were looking for (fact-checkers note that it’s helmed more by the Disney-peeps, and is not solely BBC property), but in the realm of imaginative Christmas adventures, it’s a cozy gem. And if you’ve found yourself alone this holiday, let the Doctor’s foray into the Time Hotel remind you: you’re okay, and connection is always a possibility—even in the strangest of places or the simplest of gestures.

Stray Observations

• The Doctor speaks in his usual timey-wimey, scientific manner in most episodes (think, "Reverse the polarity of the neutron flow"), and in this episode, "mavity" is back, with the Doctor quipping something about rotational gravity. If you know, you know.
• Steven Moffat wrote "Joy to the World," and it shows—it's a smart move on Russell T. Davies's part. As showrunner, he isn't shy about including past writers while staying true to the show's vision. 
• I loved the nod to last season’s episode “Boom”—with ticking bombs, collateral damage, and the sentient consciousness heroes—Villengard's victims—(RIP Trev, and the Silurian). 
• I appreciated the nuanced portrayal of Anita Benn, the Sandrighman Hotel proprietor, played by Stephanie de Whalley. Her character's understanding of Ncuti Gatwa's Doctor resonates with the queer audience; in a poignant moment, she empathizes with the Doctor, noting that neither of them has a boyfriend. 
• Additionally, the woman the Doctor encounters reading Agatha Christie's Murder on the Orient Express—Sylvia Trench, portrayed by Niamh Marie Smith—was revealed to be writing a letter to her girlfriend. I wished she had more screen time.

Happy holidays, fellow Whovians, and may your own hotel room—literal or metaphorical—feel a little less lonely this season.

—Greig,

Stones of Erasmus

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Book Review: The Gutenberg Elegies by Sven Birkerts

Here lies a book review on the non-fiction tome The Gutenberg Elegies by Sven Birkerts.
     I read the Gutenberg Elegies in 2006 back when books were still being read in print (har har). The statistics were grim for the written word, but new studies indicate that the written word may be back but will reading survive in the long run? The eReader phenomenon had not yet hit critical mass even a few years ago, but we had been facing a problem at the library: students were not coming into the library. But, hits on the library web site had increased. Students had stopped coming to the library and had instead started doing all their research on the internet; they were checking the library's catalog online, using databases online (an awesome tool, by the way).
Fast-Food Restaurant Library
     Students were not using the library to come and stay: we had become more of a fast-food restaurant: come and buy and go. I was working at the time with a colleague, B., and she was telling me how she predicted back in the 90s that book would eventually be replaced by flexible devices that would allow readers to peruse books as if they were "print." I laughed at the time, even though Sony had come out with eBook readers, and so had a few other companies - but these clunkers were expensive and not amenable to a large selection. So, I read Sven Birkert's book, which is a philosophical musing on reading, words, language, and the art of the medium. At the time I was very nostalgic for books - even though books had not yet left the party. I could not imagine a life without physical books: the smell, the binding. the print, the presence of an actual book. But, then, as time went on, and Google announced its Books service, Amazon announced its Kindle, and now Apple, the iPad, I have come to realize that it is not "books" per se that we should be championing but READING. 
     Will I read my child Where the Wild Things Are from an electronic device or from a book? Maybe both? What about WRITING. Or both: reading and writing. It is one thing to elegize on the loss of the book, but as Birkerts points out, it is a sadder thing to lament the loss of reading. Will the fast production of eBooks toss out reading? Probably not. Will blogs eliminate writing? Probably not? I think the divide is not necessarily due to books versus digital media, but rather, a divide between permanence and impermanence. Books represent permanence. Working in a library you come to know this especially when a patron comes in looking for a book he or she once read: they, panic-stricken, come to the circulation desk, "Where is the book I read twenty years ago?! It is not here. I remember it was right there," they say, pointing to a space in the library that is now reserved for computer terminals. Books are supposed to be permanent; they are supposed to be dogeared, yes, but they must persist; Sometimes people are not too happy to discover their book had been relegated to the basement, replaced by a PC - and some people even lament when their favorite book has donned a new cover art. The gods must be crazy. If the book is not to be found, a worker would have to be sent to request for the book at another location, have it sent by courier, and voilá here was the book, albeit a different jacket cover than they had remembered, but so what. Or better yet: let us say the book had been discarded?! If it had been tossed to the Friends of the Library book sale? What then? What if I had said, "Well, you can read the book on our eReader? Or you can print the entire book on a printer? Or, well, we have to inter-library loan that book from Fresno." The patron would have been unhappy. Maybe furious. We want our physical books like we want our web pages: now, and at this very moment. We want permanence but we want our permanent print like want our Safari to load: instantaneously. I am frustrated that people are so nostalgic for the superficial when they should rather be proactive for the right reasons. It is one thing to lament the loss of the physical book, but I find people are not putting their money where their hearts are. Is this an elegy for the book, or is it rather, an elegy for intellectual curiosity? What scares me more is not the loss of the physical book, but something deeper and scarier: the loss of critical thinking. If the book is only meant to be a fetish for nostalgia, then, it defeats the purpose. Books will be around for a while. Sure. As long as reading = pleasure. But, there will also be Kindles, etc., right alongside of them. What I worry about is access to new and interesting stories, information, words, language, pleasure. Will there be egalitarian places where people can read? Not everyone can afford a Kindle (and for that matter, not everyone can afford a book). Will libraries be places with free access to Google Books and usage of eBook readers? Google states once they open their databases of copyright and out of print in-copyright books by subscription, public libraries will be granted a terminal with free access. 
     What if I want to read the Chronicles of Narnia at home but cannot afford the twenty bucks? In America, access to reading is taken for granted. We forget that it is a mark of a democratic society that champions unmediated, free access to knowledge. Will there continue to be places where people can write out their thoughts (like here on Blogger, which infamously deletes blogs for no apparent reason). Will proprietary devices create an elite upper class? I think impermanence is what we are scared of. We are afraid the loss of the book is the loss of civilization as we know it. What scares me more than anything is the middle-class person who says: "I don't have time to read" when there are people who really cannot afford to read. That scares me more than, "I want an iPad." Or, when I give students a list of books to read, and one of them says, "None of these stories interests me." But, then again, what am I hoping for? Have things really changed? Are people reading less in 2010 as they did in 1956? As they did in 1888? Actually, people are reading more, just not in print. But, the strange paradox is the advent of choice: I am sure today there are so many options to choose from when it comes to reading: just look at the number of books published every year; the number of news blogs, websites, etc. But, is every class of society given the opportunity to read? Who are the people reading more? The next thing to gage is writing. Are Americans writing more? Now, it may come back to permanence and impermanence. Is it the loss of something we are afraid of? If it is, what is that something? That's what I want to know. I will not sing an elegy for the book, but I may begin to sing an elegy for thought. If we are reading more, what are we reading, and if we are writing more, what are we writing. 
Start Memorizing a Book Like the Book People in Fahrenheit 451
     Should I do a Fahrenheit 451 and start memorizing my favorite book or should I go out and buy an iPad? Maybe, I should do both. But, what I think should be done is this: people need to ensure that reading is always made available to everyone in society. Budgets for information centers, books in braille, one book one city programs, writing workshops, poetry circles, lending libraries, etc., should not be cut. I lived in a posh city where citizens voted to not approve the library budget? What were they thinking? People said they just buy their books. They don't need a library. As we speed into the information age, we cannot make the mistake of denying reading to the masses just because books are like an iTunes song: 99 cents.

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Travel Diary: Ancient Roman Port Town of Ostia Antica on a Summer Day in 2004

Long story short, I visited the ancient Roman ruins of Ostia Antica, once Rome's port city. Today, Ostia Antica is a meticulously preserved archaeological site—a day trip journey from Rome.

The author sits astride the entrance to an ancient Roman snack shop on what was once a busy commercial street in Ostia, Antica.

I remember the day we set out—my friend, a clinical social worker, and I, a Benedictine monk! What a pair! The day was hot—one of those excessively hot summer days, which is why, historically, Popes have left Rome in the summer months to retreat at Castel Gandolfo, slightly more elevated and on a beautiful lake. Anyway, I digress. We took one of those local Italian trains that stopped at every village and township between Termini station and the coast. 

I don't remember much about visiting Ostia except to say I appreciated how the ancient Romans had snack shops, indoor plumbing, heating, like us, storefronts, and well-laid out streets—a presage to pretty much how we live today—except trade horse carriages with gas-powered automobiles.

Takeaway: Ostia Antica is a day trip by train if you are traveling to Rome, Italy.

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Auntie Mame: Lucille Ball, Iconic Quotes, and the Legacy of the Classic Story

I love the timeless charm of Auntie Mame—a novel, stage play, film, and musical, starring Lucille Ball. Explore Mame's quotes and legacy.

"Mame, original Broadway production". Billy Rose Theatre Division, The New York Public Library. The New York Public Library Digital Collections. 1966.

One of my favorite works of fiction is Auntie Mame—which has the distinction of first being a novel, then a fabulous stage play, then a film adaptation, and then a musical—which in turn was adapted into a musical, starring Lucille Ball, as Mame. One of the best lines in the entire oeurve is "Life's a banquet and most poor sons of bitches are starving to death." Here's the full clip for context for those of you who are starving for a little bit of Mame in your life.

   

Use this clip in your High School English Language Arts classroom with one of my "Quote Posters"! 

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"Only You're Different!": Notes on Gender Transformation in the Marvelous Land of Oz

Explore gender transformation in L. Frank Baum's The Marvelous Land of Oz. Discover how Tip, disguised as a boy, is revealed to be Princess Ozma in this classic tale. The following is a repost from the Stones of Erasmus archive.

Tip is the cap-wearing boy in L. Frank Baum's Oz 1904 sequel.

Gender transformation in literature is nothing new. Tiresias was said to be both a man and a woman at different stages of his existence. And by the way, he said that being a woman is better. So when I read The Land of Oz in the Fifth Grade, it was nothing out of the ordinary to read about it in L. Frank Baum's fantasy novels. It's a motif in fantasy fiction to be sure - just see this TV tropes wiki page.

The Boy Tip
Tip is a fictional character in L. Frank Baum's second installment of his famous Oz books - The Marvelous Land of Oz (later shortened to The Land of Oz). While the Scarecrow, Dorothy, and the Gnome King often get noticed from readers as amazing Baum creations, Tip gets looked over in the Oz canon because he is actually not a real person (well, in the sense that in the story he is not who he seems to be). And his tenure in the Oz narrative is temporary.

*spoiler alert*

Reflections of a Teacher: Navigating the Challenges of Education in 2024

A teacher's honest reflections on starting a new job, teaching twice-exceptional students, and balancing the messiness of education in 2024.

"Harried Teacher" (Image Credit: Greig Roselli ©2024)

So, it’s November, and I haven’t posted in a while. Initially, I intended this blog to be a repository of thoughts, ideas, art, places I’ve been, kids I’ve taught, and lessons I’ve learned from the classroom. It’s meant to chronicle museums I’ve visited, books I’ve read, and experiences worth reflecting on. I still want it to be that. But life—particularly my life as an educator—has been anything but static since September. Starting a new job at a new school has consumed most of my bandwidth, leaving little room for reflection.

A snapshot from one of my days in the classroom—circa 2021

For context, my teaching journey has taken me across vastly different landscapes. I began in a Catholic school in New Orleans, (and don't forget my stint as a Benedictine monk working in an academic library). I was a graduate student, moved to New York, worked at the New York Public Library, taught as an adjunct at a two-year college, and spent a year teaching humanities to sixth graders in Harlem. I devoted eight years to a school in Jackson Heights, Queens, where I taught middle and high school students a mix of humanities and ESL. Now, I’ve landed at a private school for twice-exceptional (2E) students—learners who are both gifted and face learning differences, such as dyslexia, persistent demand avoidance, autism, or attention deficit profiles.

Starting anew has been equal parts invigorating and exhausting. No matter its mission or demographic, every school presents its own challenges and rewards. Yet, the universal truth of teaching is this: it’s an all-consuming job. There’s always “pre-work” to do before stepping into the classroom. And, increasingly, the generational shifts among students—compounded by the effects of COVID—have made the traditional classroom experience feel antiquated. Students seem less invested in conventional academic structures but more hungry than ever for authenticity and relevance.

My current school’s emphasis on neurodivergent learners has shifted my perspective on what education should look like. The mantra here is, “The social is academic, and the academic is social.” At first, this sounded like educational jargon, but working with my students has brought it to life. Teaching here feels a lot like riding the New York City subway. To get anywhere, everyone needs to collaborate. You step aside to let someone off the train; you take off your backpack to make room. It’s not perfect, but it works and is the same in the classroom. We accommodate each other’s needs and create space for everyone to thrive, even when messy.

My class sizes are small—no more than six or seven students per group—yet the diversity of needs can make it feel like managing a classroom of thirty. Each student’s learning profile is unique, which means cookie-cutter solutions don’t work. I quickly scrapped my original plan to teach two courses to split between four classes. Instead, I stacked all the books I planned to teach across my courses, laid them out, and asked students to participate in a ranked-choice vote. It was a beautiful exercise in agency and choice—though, inevitably, some still complained.

The result? Four completely different curriculums for four unique classes. While this approach has made my work exponentially harder, it’s also been rewarding. My students’ engagement rises when they feel ownership of their learning. But this level of customization requires constant energy, and by November, I’m spent.

I’ve been reflecting on the school labor divide—between teachers, administrators, and support staff. Despite being in a supportive environment, I sometimes feel the disconnect between those in the trenches of the classroom and those shaping broader policies or initiatives. It’s a gap that underscores the growing challenges of education in 2024. What does it mean to be a teacher today? What does the future of schooling hold?

For now, I’m left with more questions than answers. I know that teaching requires empathy—for students, colleagues, and, perhaps most importantly, for myself. It’s easy to be self-critical, to feel like I’m not doing enough or doing it well enough. But then, moments of connection with students remind me why I do this work.

One thing I love about my new job is how honest the kids are about their needs. They realize they have "lagging skills," even though they don't always buy in to my strategies to help (but, hey, that's human). I did have a breaking point a few days ago—when I realized that I was emotionally drained—but there is no rest for the wicked in education. You got to do it all over again the next day. But my students gave me a lift when we read a scene from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof—and everybody gave their best effort in doing an American southern accent. It was a blast. I am so happy we are reading this play—it's fantastic!

So, here’s to embracing the exhaustion, the messiness, and the uncertainty. This post is less a polished reflection and more a snapshot of where I am. Let’s call it a work in progress.

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Navigating New Beginnings: Reflections on Teaching and Personal Growth in Jackson Heights

Discover a teacher's reflections on personal growth and career transitions, inspired by deep connections with students in Jackson Heights.

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step" — Lao Tzu

Jackson Heights in Queens is Aglow with May Flowers

On Leaving

Jason, whom we'll call by that name, arrived in the classroom accompanied by Corey, also a pseudonym. They exclaimed, "Mr. Roselli, are you leaving? You're my favorite teacher!" Indeed, there is a departure, but the term "leaving" should be viewed more as moving forward. The accuracy of being their favorite teacher might be debatable, yet what truly resonated in that moment was their genuine concern. Their warmth and optimistic demeanor were unexpectedly touching, especially since adolescent boys often oscillate between being reserved and taciturn or loud and brash. This encounter was a proud one, as it reflected a significant connection made.

Existential Moment

I find myself in a place in life that I haven't experienced in a long time. I'm just wrapping up eight years of teaching at my current school in the Jackson Heights neighborhood of Queens, where I've had the honor and pleasure of working with a host of wonderful, curious students. I've gotten to know and work with these students over the years. The current seniors I'm teaching this year have been my students since they were in fifth grade. I taught some of them a research class in sixth grade, an ethics class in middle school, and English in 10th grade. Some I also taught as their history and humanities teacher in 11th grade, and now they're seniors. 

I find myself at a precipice because I am leaving my current school to venture out into a different world. Just like the phoenix, I am ready to rise from the ashes in a new place. This transition has prompted me to reflect on who I am and where I am in life. I am very proud of the work I have done, not only in the past eight years at my current job but also over my entire 13-year career teaching secondary education, covering grades 5 through 12. Just last year, I finally received my professional teaching certification in New York State, which is now part of my official records.

From One Place to Another

I find it fascinating to consider what teaching truly involves. We plant our feet in a specific place, within a specific community. And Oh! The places we go. Whether it is the New Orleans where I grew up, or the many visits I have made to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I am a sojourner. I've had the privilege of traveling to China with students and teachers and visiting other students in Beijing, Suzhou, Shanghai, and Xi'an. This past February, I traveled with 51 students and 10 teachers to London and Paris. And what about the journey of writing, of reading? I sometimes say you really don't need to leave a place to visit the world. Open a book. Think about it. Since 2017, I have created over 270 unique educational resources, sourced from the public domain, the New York Public Library’s digital collections, and various humanities-based topics, ranging from Socrates to Angela Davis. I can't be done yet, no m'am!

Teaching Humanities, adolescents are exposed to different ideas. And that is an exciting space to carve out in a classroom. While I definitely have my own opinions, and beliefs, and I inhabit the world in a certain way, I wonder how distanced from myself I need to be as an educator to allow my students to begin thinking independently and not merely parroting my ideas (or someone else's). Today, someone asked me about the concern that teachers might indoctrinate their students, which made me think about how we barely have time for that in the classroom. I can be completely myself, yet also create a space for dissenting opinions, which I appreciate as long as we adhere to basic human integrity principles and aim to share rather than harm. I always start my humanities classes with this principle: We state our own opinions and ideas; we do not attack others’. For example, instead of saying, "Deborah thinks capital punishment is illegal, and she’s stupid for thinking so," we say, "I believe capital punishment should be legal in the United States." We take ownership of our ideas, and this is how I conduct discussions in my classroom. 

Reflecting on Mid-Life

Approaching middle age-I'll be 45 in December-I feel confident yet exhausted, and curious about what's next. Maybe that curiosity is what's pushing me to explore a new direction. If Dante, in his classic epic, can find himself guided to new places, where he is "mid-life in his journey," then so can I?

Right? Listen! 

I saw Jason and Corey again; this time, it was during lunch, where 1 sat with two very quiet, amazing teachers and about thirty loud teenagers. They had some stories to tell me-like, 'Remember that time you taught an entire lesson dressed up as Doctor Who?' or, 'When we were being rowdy, so you climbed on the table in your classroom to get our attention?' Yes, those anecdotes are most likely true. By nature, I am an ephemeral person; not much of what I do is permanent. Often feeling like a visitor in my own life, I am comforted when others can validate my experiences. For sure-my tombstone will not merely read

'Greig—he washed his dishes!'

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