Peter Stjernström: The Best Book in the World

Titus Jensen looks around in confusion. Republic? What has that got to do with his artistry? But he bows yet again and leaves the stage just as Eddie enters. When they pass each other, Eddie whispers in Titus’ ear to meet him for a drink or two after his own performance.

Eddie X saunters confidently up to the edge of the stage. He throws his long hair back and grabs the microphone. His Latin behaviour combined with his northern Swedish modesty creates a strong field of energy around him.

‘That was terrrrific! We thank Titus Jensen for these edifying facts about the honourable history of our kingdom. Now we change subject and tempo. I would like to warmly welcome – The Tourettes!’

The Tourettes are Eddie’s sound carpet. A performance from Eddie X and The Tourettes comprises Eddie reading his romantic poetry with incredible ardour and The Tourettes playing improvised and spasmodic music in the background. Lenny, one of Eddie’s closest friends, plays the guitar and is the frontman in the band. Lenny suffers from severe tics. His head gives a sudden jerk now and then and the spasms are transmitted through him in the form of a weird enormous blinking. They run down through his shoulders and on towards his knees. But Lenny has chosen to never see himself as a victim; rather he has transformed his awkward syndrome into an advantage, something of which he is actually proud. Tourette’s syndrome is a part of him whether he likes it or not, just like his nose or the colour of his eyes. His exceptional musicality, together with his condition, has created a music that has no comparison whatsoever with any other art form. Now and then, The Tourettes perform with Lenny as their singer, which is a strange experience since Lenny has a compulsive urge to utter swearwords as soon as he gets stressed. And since a performance is always associated with a certain tension, the only song that Lenny can articulate is a single long stuttering flow of expletives and four-letter words. It is all quite remarkable.

But today it is Eddie X and his texts that are the centrepiece. Eddie is a warm person and he had a great ability to spread this warmth to all those who read or see him. When he takes part in Poetry-Slam gatherings, his performance is always an entertaining combination of stand-up comedy and poetry. He thumbs through the papers in his little plastic folder containing the evening’s poems, which he always takes with him onto the stage. Not that he ever reads from them. He knows his texts off by heart. But the folder gives him security and balance.

‘Dear Friends!’ he starts off with his warm voice groaningly close to the microphone. ‘Have I told you about when I decided to move south to Stockholm?’

The audience starts to hoot and whistle as if Eddie were going to play an old hit. And in some ways that is exactly what he is going to do. Eddie’s poems are incredibly popular. A lot of people have heard or read them earlier, with or without the spasmodic sound carpet.

Eddie puts his right hand over his heart and starts to read the poem, or the story, about a tender young boy who comes to the big city:

‘ Insecurity is a vehicle.

‘I am eighteen years old.

‘I’m a learner driver of all sorts of vehicles.

‘I sit behind the wheel on a chair in a bar and watch people circling around.

‘Around me.

‘I see the insecurity in the corners of their eyes and wonder how it works.

‘How do they do it?

‘How can they cope?

‘They are rusty, buckled, scratched and painted over.

‘But they hum and purr.

‘Dance, laugh, drink, kiss, live.

‘They are alive!

‘ Insecurity is a vehicle that can only be driven by flesh and blood.

‘Flesh and blood that hates and loves.

‘And is alive!

‘I finish a glass and wobble out of the depot with a laugh.

‘I’m going on to the playing field.

‘I’m going to take my driving test.

‘Yes, insecurity is a vehicle that I can understand.

‘I’m going to be a fantastic driver.

‘I am alive!’

The audience hums with love for Eddie X – the girls especially. Of course, his texts often verge dizzying on the edge of the precipice of the pathetic. But his youth and his ardour excuse everything. A genuine poet has the right to express what he wants, how he wants, whenever he wants. Every society needs poets and just now the audience at the festival in Sweden need the colourful Eddie X more than ever.

Eddie goes on to read ten or so very candid poem-stories about his life and The Tourettes jerk and shake in the background. There is a great atmosphere in the audience. Everyone is enjoying themselves, hugging each other, laughing and smiling.

They live in the best of worlds.

By the time Eddie gets backstage, Titus has already managed to drink half a bottle of red wine. Eddie sees him sitting alone on a bench at the far end of the beer tent and carefully pushes his way through the partying masses.

The tent is filled to the brim with people, but the seats right next to Titus remain empty. He himself has never been able to decide whether this is due to exaggerated respect or pure and simple distaste. The pattern has pursued him all his life. Do they love him or hate him? Is he appreciated or despised? Pah! Who knows? Whatever, it feels better – and less important – with a bottle of red wine inside him.

But the amiable Eddie, of course, sits down next to Titus. In Eddie’s world there is plenty of room for love and all of its synonyms.

‘Hi, Titus! Many thanks. You were really funny. You can make great theatre out of anything at all. You are fantastic.’

‘Er, thank you very much,’ Titus mumbles, embarrassed. ‘And how did you get on?’

‘Yup,’ says Eddie articulating the sound as he breathes in. ‘A lovely response this evening. We were close to each other. I love the festival public.’

‘Well, that’s great then.’

Titus has mixed feelings about what he had experienced earlier in the evening. Of course it’s nice to do these improvisations. People appreciate his readings. But it would be even nicer if they just for once were to ask him to read something from his own books.

‘Eddie,’ says Titus. ‘There’s something I must ask you about.’

‘Yes?’

‘I am old enough to be your father. And I don’t really understand your generation. When I read… do you think… I mean… everybody laughs so much… do they like me? Or are they making a fool of me? Do you understand what I’m getting at?’

‘Titus, Titus, Titus. I’ll be completely honest. Perhaps love is too strong a word, I don’t know… but they are fascinated by you. You are a living legend. I am quite sure they don’t really understand you properly. But they like what you give them. And what you give them is great experiences, that much is for certain. And all those who give something are liked. It’s the people who take things from you who aren’t liked. The people who take things from you deserve to be despised. You give, Titus. You are one of those who gives.’

Titus raises his eyebrows in surprise. He has never thought of it like that before, that he was generous. Eddie makes him feel good.

‘Yeah, right. It’s nice of you to say that…’

‘No doubt about it, Titus. And royal diseases was the best reading for a long time. Absolutely on a par with when you read Handbook for a Volvo 245 at the Debaser club last winter. Do you remember that?’

‘Well, vaguely. I reckon I had had quite a binge before that reading.’

‘I can guarantee it. You are popular. And I like you a lot. Can I get you something?’