Jasper Fforde - Lost in a Good Book

There was a reflective pause.

‘We remember David and Catnona Balfour as friends, colleagues, worthy members of our calling, protagonists in Kidnapped and Catnona , and for all the booksploring they did—especially finding a way into Barchester, for which we will always be grateful. I ask for a minute’s silence. To the Balfours!’

‘The Balfours!’ we all repeated. Then, heads bowed, we stood in silence. After a minute ticked by, the Bellman spoke again.

‘Now, I don’t want to sound disrespectful but what we learn from this is that you must always sign the outings book so we know where you are— particularly if you are exploring new routes. Don’t forget the ISBN numbers either—they weren’t introduced just for cataloguing, now, were they? Mr Bradshaw’s maps might have a traditionalist’s charm about them—’

‘Who’s Bradshaw?’ I asked.

‘ Commander Bradshaw,’ explained Havisham, ‘retired now but a wonderful character—did most of the booksploring in the early days.’

‘—but they are old and full of errors,’ continued the Bellman. ‘New technology is here to be used, guys. Anyone who wants to attend a training course on how ISBN numbers relate to trans-book travel, see the cat for details.’

The Bellman looked around the room as if to reinforce the order, then unfolded a sheet of paper and adjusted his glasses.

‘Right. Item two. New recruit Thursday Next. Where are you?’

The assembled Prose Resource Operatives looked around the room before I waved a hand to get their attention.

‘There you are. Thursday is apprenticed to Miss Havisham; I’m sure you’ll all join me in welcoming her to our little band.’

‘Didn’t like the way Jane Eyre turned out?’ said a voice from the back. There was a hush and everyone watched as a middle-aged man stood up and walked up to the Bellman’s dais

‘Who’s that?’ I whispered.

‘Harris Tweed,’ replied Havisham. ‘Dangerous and arrogant but quite brilliant—for a man.’

‘Who approved her application?’

‘She didn’t apply, Harris—her appointment was a Quad Erat Demonstrandum . Her work within Jane Eyre ridding the book of the loathsome Hades is a good enough testimonial for me.’

‘But she altered the book!’ cried Tweed angrily. ‘Who’s to say she wouldn’t do the same again?’

‘I did what I did for the best,’ I said in a loud voice, something that startled Harris slightly—I had a feeling that no one really stood up to him.

‘If it wasn’t for Thursday we wouldn’t have a book,’ said the Bellman. ‘A full book with a different ending is better than half a book without.’

‘That’s not what the rules say, Bellman.’

Miss Havisham spoke up.

‘ Truly competent literary detectives are as rare as truthful men, Mr Tweed—you can see her potential as clearly as I can. Frightened of someone stealing your thunder, perhaps?’

‘It’s not that at all,’ protested Tweed, ‘but what if she were here for another reason altogether?’

‘I shall vouch for her!’ said Miss Havisham in a thunderous tone. ‘I call for a show of hands. If there is a majority amongst you who think my judgment poor, then put your hands up now and I will banish her back to where she belongs!’

She said it with such a show of fierce temper that I thought no one would raise their hands; in the event, only one did—Tweed himself, who, after reading the situation, judged that good grace was the best way in which to retire. He gave a wan half-smile, bowed and said:

‘I withdraw all objections.’

‘Good,’ said the Bellman as Tweed returned to his desk. ‘As I was saying—we welcome Miss Next to Jurisfiction and we don’t want any of those silly practical jokes we usually play on new recruits, okay?’

He looked sternly around the room before returning to his list.

‘Item three: there is an illegal PageRunner from Shakespeare so this is a priority red. Perp’s name is Feste; worked as a jester in Twelfth Night . Took flight after a debauched night with Sir Toby. Who wants to go after him?’

A hand went up in the crowd.

‘Fabien? Thanks. You may have to stand in for him for a while; take Falstaff with you but please, Sir John, stay out of sight. You’ve been allowed to stay in Merry Wives but don’t push your luck.’

Falstaff got up, bowed clumsily, burped, and sat down again.

‘Item four. Interloper in Sherlock Holmes by the name of Mycroft—turns up quite unexpectedly in The Greek Interpreter and claims to be his brother. Anyone know anything about this?’

I shrank lower, hoping that no one would have enough knowledge of my world to know we were related. Sly old fox! So he had rebuilt the Prose Portal. I covered my mouth to hide a smile.

‘No?’ went on the Bellman. ‘Well, Sherlock seems to think he is his brother and so far there is no harm done—but I think this would be a good opportunity to open up a way into the Sherlock Holmes series. Suggestions, anyone?’

‘How about through The Murders in the Rue Morgue ?’ suggested Tweed to the accompaniment of laughter and catcalls from around the room.

‘Order! Sensible suggestions, please. Poe is out of bounds and will remain so. It’s possible The Murders in the Rue Morgue might open an avenue to all detective stories that came after it, but I won’t sanction the risk Now—any other suggestions?’

‘ The Lost World. ’

There were a few giggles but they soon stopped; this time Tweed was serious.

‘Conan Doyle’s other works might afford a link to the Sherlock Holmes series,’ he added gravely. ‘I know we can get into The Lost World ; I just need to find a way to move beyond that.’

There was an uncomfortable moment as the Jurisfiction agents muttered to one another.

‘What’s the problem?’ I whispered.

‘Adventure stories always bring the highest risks to anyone establishing a new route,’ replied Miss Havisham. ‘The worst you might expect from a romantic novel or domestic pot-boiler is a slapped face or a nasty burn from the Aga. Finding a way into King Solomon’s Mines cost two agents’ lives.’

The Bellman spoke again.

‘The last booksplorer who went into The Lost World was shot by Lord Roxton.’

‘Gomez was an amateur,’ retorted Tweed. ‘I can take care of myself.’

The Bellman thought about this for a moment, weighed up the pros and cons and then sighed.

‘Okay, you’re on. But I want reports every ten pages, understand? Okay. Item five—’

There was a noise from two younger members of the service, who were laughing about something.

‘Hey, listen up, guys. I’m not just talking for my health.’

They were quiet.

‘Okay. Item five. Non-standard spelling. There have been some odd spellings reported in nineteenth—and twentieth-century texts, so keep your eyes open. It’s probably just texters having a bit of fun, but it just might be the mispeling vyrus coming back to life.’

There was a groan from the assembled agents.

‘Okay, okay, keep your hair on—I only said “might”. Samuel Johnson’s dictionary cured it after the 1744 outbreak and Lavinia-Webster and the OED keep it all in check, but we have to be careful of any new strains. I know this is boring but I want every misspelling you come across reported and given to the cat. He’ll pass it on to Agent Libris at Text Grand Central.’

He paused for effect and looked at us sternly.

‘We can’t let this get out of hand, people. Okay. Item six. There are thirty-one pilgrims in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales but only twenty-four stories. Mrs Cavendish, weren’t you keeping an eye on this?’