The Labyrinth of Dreaming Books (8 page)

1
Florinthian Canalism
: an ultra-realistic style of painting traditionally practised by artists from the city of Florinth. Canalism’s favourite motifs are views of the Florinthian canals and the surrounding countryside and architecture in which, as one critic jocularly remarked, ‘one can make out the snot in a gondolier’s nostril’. (Tr.)

All in Gothic

I TURNED TO
look. Standing behind me in the dusty street and rudely tweaking my cloak was a dwarfish figure entirely encased in strips of newsprint – indeed, he looked like a newspaper on legs that had been run over and reduced to tatters.

Curious sight though this was, it took me aback for only a moment because I well remembered the so-called Live Newspapers from my first visit to Bookholm. They were smart, nimble little gnomes – journalistic errand boys, so to speak – who professionally disseminated the tittle-tattle of the cultural scene. I recalled that you could, for a small fee, tear the strips of newsprint off the gnomes and read them. They carried items such as:

Shock in the summerhouse! Mimolette van Bimmel swoons after completing her novel ‘The Yawned-Away Year’! Will she ever be able to write again?

Or:

Radiolarius Runk in punch-up with Vartok Smetterling at the ‘Golden Quill’! Rival authors accuse each other of plagiarism and alcohol abuse, then celebrate a liquid reconciliation!

Or:

Relief in the summerhouse! Mimolette van Bimmel able to write once more! Having recovered from her fainting fit after two days, she has embarked on her new bodice-ripper, ‘A Candle Underwater’!

Recalling this, I said to the gnome:

‘No thanks, gossip doesn’t interest me.’

He glared at me indignantly.

‘Me not gossip!’ he said in a trembling voice. ‘Me
Live Historical Newspaper
! Tested by Bookholm Tourist Association! All in Gothic!’

All in Gothic? I noticed only now that several tourists in this street were being followed around by similar little fellows attired in newsprint. The gnomes were reading aloud from their strips of paper.

‘Live Historical Newspaper?’ I demanded suspiciously. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Aah!’ The little creature’s eyes lit up and he abruptly dropped his affronted tone of voice. ‘New in city? All clear! You want me explain?’

‘Yes please,’ I said, nodding. ‘I want you explain.’

‘Live Historical Newspaper new service in Bookholm!’ he said eagerly. ‘We walk along together. You ask, I read answer from old newspaper. One street one pyra, six streets five pyras, twelve streets nine pyras. Not satisfied, money back.’ He handed me a sample strip torn off his paper costume. It was tomorrow’s weather forecast, duly printed in Gothic script. Rain was predicted in the afternoon.

‘We walk?’ asked the gnome, rustling his sheets encouragingly. I thought for a moment. Not a bad deal, actually. A smart idea for conveying information at an acceptable price. Or would it be too embarrassing to walk the streets with a gabbling dwarf in tow? Would I be branding myself an idiotic provincial tourist like the people who made spectacles of themselves in Florinth by being chauffeured around in bridal carriages or gondolas? On the other hand, I could see any number of tourists accompanied by Live Newspapers and no one looked twice at them. The alternative would be to wander around for days engaged in guesswork, studying expensive tourist guides and pumping local inhabitants.

‘All in Gothic!’ the dwarf said again, almost pleadingly. Silly as it may sound, my friends, that statement somehow clinched it for me! Gothic is to typography what half-timbering is to architecture, so to speak. Both convey a certain antiquity coupled with sound craftsmanship and timeless durability. Gothic inspires confidence. What the hell, I said to myself, it’s worth trying.

‘Very well,’ I said graciously. ‘I’ll try a
Live Historical Newspaper
for once. Do I pay now or later?’

‘Later, please,’ the dwarf cried happily. ‘Not compulsory, but tips accepted. If satisfied!’

‘I understand,’ I said. ‘Payment in arrears, but for that you expect a bit more, eh?’ Well, that wasn’t a bad business principle. If he meant to take me for a ride he’d have pocketed the money in advance. Good for modern Bookholm! Even the tricksters were more trustworthy than of old. Or smarter, at least.

‘Live Historical Newspapers steadily gaining popularity!’

the dwarf suddenly proclaimed, reading aloud from one of his strips of paper with a surprising absence of regional accent and grammatical errors.
‘“The new form of tourist guide is becoming more and more widespread in Bookholm. Its curious mixture of local and historical information and lively conversation is going down well with visitors, says UNKO VAN PAPPEL, the Tourist Board spokesman. For a small charge the visitor not only receives factual information purveyed by respectable journalists but is also guided safely through the city with no risk of being swindled. The number of Live Historical Newspapers has risen by seventy-five per cent within the space of a year.”’

All right, first a little self-promotion. That was permissible, but now I wanted to put my vertically challenged guide through his paces. Looking around for some notable feature in the vicinity, my eye lighted on a remarkable building distinguished not only by its size but by a truly noteworthy architectural peculiarity: one section of it projected high into the sky on metal stilts. I had already been struck that day by several buildings of similar construction.

‘What’s that?’ I asked, pointing to the curious edifice. ‘Can you explain?’ The dwarf rummaged self-importantly among his galleys. Then he found what he was looking for.

‘“Bookholm’s First Aerial Library Inaugurated!”’

He read out the headline very loudly, then lowered his voice a little.
‘“Barely a year after the Great Conflagration, the first house to be equipped with a so-called aerial library has been inaugurated in Urinoscopic Avenue.”’

Urinoscopic Avenue
? I had just read that name on a street sign. It felt strange somehow, suddenly finding myself in the midst of a newspaper article.

The dwarf read on:
‘“Speaking at the ceremony, the proud architect, SULIBRAT UHU, stated that ‘aerial library’ is a misleading description. ‘That part of the building in which a valuable library is housed can, in the event of fire, be cranked into the air by means of a cable mechanism which, despite its complexity, even a child could operate with the aid of a simple flywheel. The precious volumes are thus so far from the ground that even the most disastrous conflagration cannot reach them. The stilts are made of fireproof steel.”’

The gnome held up another strip of paper.

‘“Aerial Libraries – Bookholm’s Latest Fashion!”’

he read.
‘“Houses on stilts are the latest architectural fad in our city – but only, of course, for people who can afford them, because those who acquire a crankable library must have deep pockets! This is why architect SULIBAR UHU, who specialises in this form of construction, has a clientele currently restricted to wealthy book collectors, successful authors and big-time publishers. It’s said that Uhu has just been commissioned to design aerial libraries for the popular cookbook author GLUTTONIUS GLOD (‘Fine Dining on Labyrinthine Algae’ – ‘Dishes that Glow in the Dark’) and his agent and publisher COUNT MAXIMILIAN PELTRADO. Whether these fireproof buildings actually enhance the appearance of our city is another matter. Neighbours complain that the owners of aerial libraries crank
them
into the air at every opportunity, even when there’s no risk of fire, and thereby obstruct their view – purely to show off.”’

‘Thanks, that’ll do,’ I called over my shoulder. ‘I get the picture.’

My Live Historical Newspaper stowed his article away as we continued to stroll along the street. I noticed that the dwarf seemed to be imitating the way I walked. He was following me like a little shadow – like a shrunken caricature of myself. If I walked slowly, he slowed down too. If I speeded up, so did he. Eagerly, I looked around for some other sights to question him about, because this business was beginning to amuse me. Being unable to discern any particularly noteworthy building at that moment, however, I asked my guide about something else that had aroused my curiosity.

‘Why have all these books been used as building materials? One building in five seems put together partly out of books. How can that work? They’re only paper and cardboard and a bit of leather at most.’

The gnome came to a halt, raised one hand and rummaged in his chaotic archives with the other. Then he brought out a piece of paper.

‘“Immense Deposit of Petrified Books Discovered in the Optimus Yarnspinner Shaft!”’

he cried.

I was surprised for three reasons. First, because these books consisted of stone. Second, because there appeared to be another of these mysterious ‘shafts’ in Bookholm. And finally because I was naturally amazed that one of them bore
my
name.

‘What?’ I broke in. ‘You mean there’s a—’

The gnome stopped short. ‘Me read on?’ he asked. ‘Or another question?’

‘No, no,’ I said. He was right. First things first. ‘Read on by all means!’

He cleared his throat.
‘“City Hall announced yesterday that a copious
deposit
of fossilised books had been discovered during clearing-up operations in the Optimus Yarnspinner Shaft. Ancient tomes of immense age and hitherto unknown provenance, they are presumed to have been exposed to a rare petrological process that has also been observed in trees and whole forests.

‘“PROFESSOR FERRUGINUS SCREE, a geologist at Bookholm University, explained this phenomenon to your correspondent as follows: ‘When books are embedded in mud by subterranean floods, the natural process of decay can be considerably slowed by the removal of oxygen. If silicic acid seeps in through the groundwater, quartz deposits itself in the books’ cavities. This, when combined with exposure to great pressure, can result in the formation of quartz books resembling marble or similar minerals in texture and appearance.’

‘“The authorities are as yet unable to reveal what is to be done with this deposit of quartz books.”’

The dwarf produced another galley.

‘“Quartz Book Deposit Released for Use as Building Material!”’

he declaimed.
‘“After intensive research by the geological department of Bookholm University, the mayor’s office has decided that the rich deposit of quartz books found in a lateral branch of the Optimus Yarnspinner Shaft (as we reported) shall now be released for use as a building material free of charge. ‘The universal shortage of building materials occasioned by the Great Conflagration,’ Mayor HEMATITUS HEMO personally announced, ‘coupled with the scientific discovery that the process of petrification has deprived the fossilised books of all their ability to transmit information – and thus their status as antiquarian treasures – allowed of only this conclusion. The petrified books make excellent ashlars and roof tiles. They also look extremely handsome and are quite in keeping with the general character of Bookholmian architecture.’”’

The gnome unearthed yet another galley.

‘“Quartz Books Used as Building Material Promote the City’s Architectural Development!”’

he crowed.
‘“The official release of excavated quartz books for use as a building material has led to record building activity, particularly in districts surrounding the Optimus Yarnspinner Shaft. The local builders’ association has announced that the use of quartz books, especially for libraries—”’

‘All right!’ I broke in. ‘So the things are fireproof, I get it. Waterproof, too. That’s all I wanted to know.’

My Live Historical Newspaper obediently fell silent and stowed his galleys away. Quartz books, well, well. So the catacombs were still full of undiscovered marvels and treasures. Any other city would have made a big song and dance out of this find, which was one of nature’s miracles, whereas here it was disposed of as a building material!