This is a good time of year to allow yourself to hate someone. Not haphazardly or ubiquitously, mind you. No, reserve that feeling of abject loathing to the friend, colleague, or family member who truly deserves it. The one to whom you frantically say, “Omigod, I still haven’t done my Christmas shopping” and who responds with a smug smile, saying “I finished in September.”

Not a jury in the world would convict you for inflicting serious bodily trauma (especially if you’re fortunate enough to release your inner murderer in California).

On the other hand, you can rise above all that and head to your local independent book shop and cross off every name on your list with the most noble, thoughtful, financially realistic and easy-to-wrap gifts ever invented: books.

Is there a kid on the planet who isn’t addicted to Lemony Snicket? If yours aren’t, you may want to question your parenting skills. For those of us who have technically passed the age where we could reasonably be called “kids,” it makes sense to pretend you’re buying these books for your children, even if you don’t have any. They are so darkly funny, with such delicious use of language that you can start loving these at around eight and stop when they nail the coffin shut.

The most recent is titled, sadly, “The End” (HarperCollins, 324 pages, $12.95) and marks the announced finale of this “Series of Unfortunate Events,” involving a herd of wild sheep, a suspicious beverage, and an enormous bird cage.

If you are late to this marvelous series, and your circle of gift recipients includes some happy smiling youngsters, you can put a stop to that by digging deep for the gorgeous boxed set of all 13 volumes ($150). If they are strong, in spite of all the unfortunate events, they will love you forever.

Are pop-up books supposed to be for kids? Check out the heart-stopper titled “Alfred Hitchcock: The Master of Suspense” (Little Simon, $29.95), with its inventive and iconic scenes from “Saboteur,” “Vertigo” (with a bizarre device that will give the reader vertigo when turning the page),”Psycho,””The Birds,” “Marnie,””Torn Curtain,” and “Frenzy.”

Perhaps even more spectacular is “Mommy?” (Michael di Capua Books, $24.95) by Maurice Sendak. A little boy asks a series of monsters if they are his mother. They try to scare him, but he turns the tables on each by pulling a prank. When a Nosferatu-like creature tries to scare him, he plugs a pacifier in his mouth. When Frankenstein’s monster tries to stomp on him, he yanks the bolt out of his neck. The werewolf has his pants pulled down, revealing silly boxer shorts. And, when the mummy reaches for him, he unwraps him. There is a happy ending, when the bride of Frankenstein opens her arms to the tormentor of the other creatures.

The usual Sendak magic with monsters is rivaled by the amazing engineering feats of Matthew Reinhart, not to minimize the scenario byArthur Vorinks. Described by the publisher as being suitable for children in kindergarten to fourth grade, not one adult I saw opening this treasure chest failed to check out every page.

“The Da Vinci Kit” (Running Press, $24.95) by Andrew Langley is almost a book. It is a charming group of items that will help the reader (builder? artist?) learn more about the Renaissance and its greatest genius.

The kit includes a biography of Leonardo, a facsimile of his famous sketchbook, a replica of his flying machine ready for assembly, a paper model of the giant Duomo of Florence, an Alberti Grid to help one draw like a Master, and much else. There’s enough in this cool, clasped box to keep entire families busy until Boxing Day.

“Secrets, Lies, Gizmos, and Spies” (Abrams, 128 pages, $24.95) by Janet Wyman Coleman, published in conjunction with the International Spy Museum in Washington, D.C. (seems like someone has loose lips),is a history of spies and espionage through the ages. The great attraction here is the cornucopia of full-color illustrations of famous spies, weapons, concealed gadgets (they didn’t start with James Bond), and torture devices that could come in handy for terrorist interrogations.

Aimed at younger readers, the book nonetheless has plenty to interest grownups. Did you know, for example, that the famous cook Julia Child was a member of the Office of Strategic Services (which morphed into the CIA)? Or that Daniel Defoe, now only remembered for his novels, did intelligence work in exchange for getting out of prison, used more than 20 pseudonyms, and ran a vast network of spies in the 18th century?

For movie aficionados, there is “Crime Wave: The Filmgoers’ Guide to the Great Crime Movies” (Tauris, 236 pages, $22.50) by Howard Hughes. The text is intelligent and covers the major films of the genre. While it doesn’t cover much new ground in the sense of championing little-known masterpieces, it is an excellent overview of everything from gangster movies, capers, private eyes, spies, cops, etc. There are plenty of photos, of course, as all good film books should be required by law to have.

You may feel superior by giving copies of the new Thomas Pynchon novel to your friends, who will feign delight at receiving it. Trust me, they’ll enjoy the above books a lot more. If, by some inexplicable chance, they don’t, I suggest you get new friends.

Mr. Penzler is the proprietor of the Mysterious Bookshop in Manhattan and the series editor of the annual “Best American Mystery Stories.” He can be reached at ottopenzler@mysteriousbookshop.com.