Jasper Fforde - The Well of Lost Plots

I stopped what I was doing and stared out of the kitchen porthole.

'Yes,' I replied slowly, 'every line, every mole, every expression — but I still remember him dying in the Crimea.'

'That never happened, my dear,' she exclaimed. 'But the fact — I should use a bigger bowl if I were you — that you can remember his features proves he's not gone any more than yesterday. I should use butter and not oil; and if you have any mushrooms you could chop them up with a bit of onion and bacon — do you have any bacon?'

'Probably. You still haven't told me how you managed to find your way here, Gran.'

'That's easily explained,' she said. 'Tell me, did you manage to get a list of the most dull books you could find?'

Granny Next was one hundred and eight years old and was convinced that she couldn't die until she had read the ten most boring classics. On an earlier occasion I had suggested The Faerie Queene, Paradise Lost, Ivanhoe, Moby-Dick, A la recherche du temps perdu, Pamela and A Pilgrim's Progress . She had read them all and many others but was still with us. Trouble is, 'boring' is about as hard to quantify as 'pretty', so I really had to think of the ten books that she would find most boring.

'What about Silas Marner ?'

'Only boring in parts — like Hard Times . You're going to have to do a little better than that — and if I were you I'd use a bigger pan, but on a lower heat.'

'Right,' I said, beginning to get annoyed, 'perhaps you'd like to cook? You've done most of the work so far.'

'No, no,' replied Gran, completely unfazed, 'you're doing fine.'

There was a commotion at the door and Ibb came in, followed closely by Obb.

'Congratulations!' I called out.

'What for?' asked Ibb, who was looking surprisingly different to Obb. For a start, Obb was at least four inches taller and its hair was darker than Ibb's, who was beginning to go blond.

'For becoming capitalised.'

'Oh, yes,' enthused Ibb, 'it's amazing what a day at St Tabularasa's will do for one. Tomorrow we'll finish our gender training and by the end of the week we'll be streamed into character groups.'

'I want to be a male mentor figure,' said Obb. 'Our tutor said that sometimes we can have a choice of what we do and where we go. Are you making supper?'

'No,' I replied, testing their sarcasm response, 'I'm giving my pet egg heat therapy.'

Ibb laughed — which was a good sign, I thought — and went off with Obb to practise whimsical retorts in case either of them was given a posting as a humorous sidekick.

'Teenagers,' said Granny Next, 'tch. I'd better make it a bigger omelette. Take over, would you? I'm going to have a rest.'

We all sat down to eat twenty minutes later. Obb had brushed its hair into a parting and Ibb was wearing one of Gran's gingham dresses.

'Hoping to be female?' I asked, passing Ibb a plate.

'Yes,' replied Ibb, 'but not one like you. I'd like to be more feminine and a bit hopeless — the sort that screams a lot when they get into trouble and have to be rescued.'

'Really?' I asked, handing Gran the salad. 'Why?'

Ibb shrugged. 'I don't know. I just like the idea of being rescued a lot, that's all — being carried off in big strong arms sort of … appeals . I thought I could have the plot explained to me a lot, too — but I should have a few good lines of my own, be quite vulnerable, yet end up saving the day owing to a sudden flash of idiot savant brilliance.'

'I think you'll have no trouble getting a placement.' I sighed. 'But you seem quite specific — have you used someone in particular as a model?'

'Her!' exclaimed Ibb, drawing out a much-thumbed Outland copy of Silverscreen from beneath the table. On the cover was none other than Lola Vavoom, being interviewed for the umpteenth time about her husbands, her denial of any cosmetic surgery and her latest film — usually in that order.

'Gran!' I said sternly. 'Did you give Ibb that magazine?'

'Well—!'

'You know how impressionable Generics can be! Why didn't you give it a magazine with Jenny Gudgeon in it? She plays proper women— and can act, too.'

'Have you seen Ms Vavoom in My Sister Kept Geese' ?' replied Gran indignantly. 'I think you'd be surprised — she shows considerable range.'

I thought about Cordelia Flakk and her producer friend Harry Flex wanting Lola to play me in a film. The idea was too awful to contemplate.

'You were going to tell us about subtext,' said Obb, helping itself to more salad.

'Oh, yes,' I replied, a distraction from Vavoom a welcome break. 'Subtext is the implied action behind the written word. Text tells the reader what the characters say and do but subtext tells us what they mean and feel . The wonderful thing about subtext is that it is common grammar, written in human experience — you can't understand it without a good working knowledge of people and how they interact. Got it?'

Ibb and Obb looked at one another.

'No.'

'Okay, let me give you a simple example. At a party, a man gives a woman a drink and she takes it without answering. What's going on?'

'She isn't very polite?' suggested Ibb.

'Perhaps,' I replied, 'but I was really looking for some sort of clue as to their relationship.'

Obb scratched its head and said: 'She can't speak because — er — she lost her tongue in an industrial accident owing to his negligence?'

'You're trying too hard. For what reason would someone not necessarily say "thank you" for something?'

'Because,' said Ibb slowly, 'they know one another?'

'Good. Being handed a drink at a party by your wife, husband, girlfriend or partner, you would as likely as not just take it; if it was from a host to a guest, then you would thank them. Here's another: there is a couple walking down the road — and she is walking eight paces behind him.'

'He has longer legs?' suggested Ibb.

'No.'

'They've broken down?'

'They've had an argument,' said Obb excitedly, 'and they live near by or they would be taking their car.'

'Could be,' I responded. 'Subtext tells you lots of things. Ibb, did you take the last piece of chocolate from the fridge?'

There was a pause.

'No.'

'Well, because you paused I know pretty confidently that you did.'

'Oh!' said Ibb. 'I'll remember that .'

There was a knock at the door.

I opened it to reveal Mary's ex-beau Arnold looking very dapper in a suit and holding a small bunch of flowers. Before he had time to open his mouth I had closed the door again.

'Ah!' I said, turning to Ibb and Obb. 'This is a good opportunity to study subtext. See if you can figure out what is going on behind our words — and Ibb, please don't feed Pickwick at the table.'

I opened the door again and Arnold, who had started to slink off, came running back.

'Oh!' he said with mock surprise. 'Mary not back yet?'

'No,' I replied. 'In fact, she probably won't be back for some time. Can I take a message?'

And I closed the door on him again.

'Okay,' I said to Ibb and Obb. 'What do you think is going on?'

'He's looking for Mary?' suggested Ibb.

'But he knows she's gone away,' said Obb. 'He must be coming to speak to you , Thursday.'

'Why?'

'For a date?'

'Good. What am I saying to him?'

Ibb and Obb thought hard.

'If you didn't want to see him you'd have told him to go away, so you might be the tiniest bit interested.'

'Excellent!' I told them. 'Let's see what happens next.'

I opened the door again to a confused-looking Arnold, who broke into a wide smile.

'Well,' he said, 'no message for Mary. It's just — we had planned to see Willow Lodge and the Limes this evening …'