Peter Stjernström - The Best Book in the World

Titus starts by going through the bookshelves. A bookshelf tells you everything about a person, partly by showing you which books are in it but above all by how they are arranged. The books in the collection don’t actually tell you what the book-owner has really read – the selection is more about the picture the person wants to present of himself. But the way they are ordered, you can’t hide that, it reveals everything. The people who have read the most start by arranging their books according to genre, with biographies and fiction in separate sections, likewise cookery books and photo books, and so on. The more genres, the greater the interest in literature, and after that of course there is strict alphabetical order according to the author’s surname in each category. The least literary person arranges his books according to size. It is dreadfully ugly and almost impossible to find anything. On the other hand, nobody ever takes a book out of that type of bookshelf. Some maniacs even try to arrange their books in colour groupings, but they are few. Eddie belongs to the first category, excluding the many books stacked in heaps due to shortage of space. But within every letter of the alphabet there is complete chaos: Dostoevsky comes before Dahlström. Kosinski before Kafka. He is a combination of a structure fascist, someone who goes by size, and a common-or-garden nutter. Strange indeed, thinks Titus. He looks in J, where his own books ought to be, but there is just a big gap.

Titus finds the Jensen-books in a heap on the floor next to the desk. Oh my God! Some sort of espionage is clearly going on. He thumbs through the books but can’t find any notes or comments inside them. In fact the paper feels stiff, almost as if they haven’t been opened before. What sort of spy can’t be bothered to do proper research? Titus feels angry that Eddie hasn’t even read his books, despite having buttered him up and flattered him so many times.

Titus looks out of the window to check if anybody is watching him. There doesn’t seem to be. He turns the computer on and sits down on the desk chair waiting for the program to start up.

Ha! You don’t need a password to get in! He starts frantically to search among folders and files. The hard disk is mainly music, pictures and films. Titus bypasses these and soon finds a folder called ‘MANUSCRIPTS’. He opens it, and one of the sub-folders immediately catches his eye.

The hair on Titus’ arms stands up when he reads the name: The Best Book in the World.

Out on the Fjäderholm islands, calm has descended. The day-trippers who come with the ferry have long since gone home. The guests at the inn on the other side of the island are either in the restaurant or out on the jetty drinking whisky in peace and quiet. The taxi boats won’t be coming for another hour or two.

In the little bay where Come aboard amour is moored, it is calm too. The cockpit is empty and both the crew and the oil lamps have moved into the cabin. Eddie X and Astra are lying among the warm eiderdowns, flirting. A bit of kissing, and switching between nonsense and serious subjects of conversation. Eddie wants to know what it is like at Winchester’s. How do they look after their authors? What sort of contracts do they have? How much do the editors interfere with the texts? When it comes to Winchester’s, Astra is super-professional. She is a like a catalogue and only reveals carefully balanced information. She is more interested in how things are at Eddie’s publishing house, Babelfish. Does he think they market him properly? What would make him change to another publisher? What does he think of Winchester’s? Does he want her to arrange a meeting with Evita Winchester, completely informally?

Titus starts reverentially poking around in the folder called The Best Book in the World. There is a Word file called ‘synopsis’. He opens it and reads a short list of bullet points:

• The funniest T-shirt print in the world:

THE WOOD GROUSE IS THE BIGGEST HEN BIRD IN SWEDEN

• The best aphorism in the world:

IT IS JUST AS LIKELY THAT THE WORLD HAS BEEN MADE BY GOD AS THAT THE MOON IS MADE OF CHEESE

Is that it? Titus thinks about his own way of making a synopsis. He can easily fill an entire pad with handwritten notes before he even starts on the book. But this? What on earth is it? Either Eddie is trying to make a fool of him, or he has got writer’s block. Creative paralysis.

Slowly but surely a lofty calm spreads through Titus’ body. Perhaps Eddie quite simply isn’t capable of doing battle with him. He has obviously tried, but without success. Eddie has sat down and started to note the contents of the book and the only things he has been able to think up are a weird T-shirt print and an aphorism, albeit a fairly clever one. But that is hardly a sustainable start for a bestselling non-fictional novel of decisive importance that is going to change the world. Such an idiot! Titus shakes his head.

The next file is called Comeaboardamour_bestpoemintheworld. An expectant smile spreads across Titus’ face. Of course, he clicks that file to open it too.

Titus’s eyes are like saucers. What is this? Never in all his life has he seen such rubbish. Surely this couldn’t have been written by the brilliant romantic poet Eddie X? Titus reads it again and gets stuck on ‘The varnish shines all shiny, the tiller bucks like a colt…’ Shines all shiny? this must be the worst ever combination of a verb and an adverb, Titus says quietly to himself, and lets out a laugh.

He starts thinking. Either the poem is meant as a joke, or Eddie has lost his marbles. Or his ability to express himself with words, at any rate.

Suddenly, the meaning of the poem becomes clear to Titus.

Eddie is going to seduce Astra! Evidently, there are no limits to how far that man is prepared to go. His creativity has become completely blocked somehow. He has lost the ability to write and is becoming a desperado. Frustrated artists can become furious, as Titus is well aware. Who knows what mad plans Eddie has to regain control?

I must stop him, Titus thinks.

I must warn Astra!

Out by the Fjäderholm islands, Eddie is starting to become slightly drunk. He has drunk so much punch that his lips and mouth are sticky from all the sugar, and he has to tense his jaw muscles when he speaks so as not to slur his words. And like all tipsy boys he can’t manage to kiss and do the small talk for more than a short while. Suddenly he frees himself from the eiderdowns and opens his arms wide.

‘Come on, now, Astra. We’re going swimming!’

He opens the cabin hatch and jumps up into the cockpit. There, he hastily tears off all his clothes with sweeping gestures and sets off round the deck in a wild Indian dance. He stops on the foredeck in front of the mast, thrusts a little with his hips and swings his dick a few rounds in the air before diving down into the black and glistening water.