The Best Book in the World (2 page)

They live in the best of worlds.

B
y 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?’

‘A bit of the hard stuff would go down nicely, thanks.’

‘Coming up, maestro,’ says Eddie, and slips over to the bar.

Eddie has a strong aura which serves as a heat shield when he makes his way through a crowd. He never has to push and shove, or use his elbows to keep his place. Effortlessly he is suddenly standing at the bar and can order a round. He swaps a few artiste coupons for some booze and slips back to Titus.

‘Are you dark or light?’ Eddie asks, holding a large brown rum and soda in one hand and a smaller vodka and mixer in the other.

‘I’ll take the brown one, thanks,’ says Titus in a somewhat strained voice.

He greedily reaches for the big glass and fills his mouth with such a large gulp that he has to swallow it in two parts so as not
to start coughing. His eyes look grimly down into the rest of the liquid. Don’t sneak off, you nice drinkie. Stay with daddy.

Eddie sips his light vodka and mixer. He puts the glass down on the table and circles with his index finger around the rim. Titus seems tense; perhaps this isn’t really Titus’ sort of place, Eddie thinks. But Eddie is extremely good at getting people to feel at ease, almost to the point of being compliant. He always says that there is no greater challenge than getting a fellow human being to feel good.

He wonders what they could talk about that would make Titus relax. Eddie is a good judge of character and knows very well that a conversation partner thinks and acts according to three rules of human intercourse: it is boring to talk about you; it is okay to talk about other people; but the best of all options is to only talk about me.

‘Where did you actually learn how to read with such fantastic insight? You’ve been to drama school, haven’t you?’

‘Uh, no. But I usually read my texts aloud so that they are as close to everyday spoken language as possible. It makes it more lively. Perhaps that has given me a bit of experience. And of course I’ve done lots of these book improvisations now.’

‘Is that right? You haven’t been to drama school? Your voice sounds so trained! So incredibly experienced!’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that. In that case it must be Philip Morris who has trained my voice,’ says Titus and laughs. ‘And Macallan and Absolut and Aquavit. Yeah, Jesus, those are quite some schools, haha…’

Eddie smiles when he sees that Titus has finally relaxed.

‘So what project are you busy with now?’

‘Well, it’s been a while since I wrote anything. Anything that really hung together. But I’ve got lots of fragments.’

‘That sounds exciting,’ says Eddie and lets his gaze stray outside the tent.

‘Um, in some ways. They are pretty good texts I think. Perhaps. I don’t know. It feels a bit straggly. But it doesn’t sell very well unless you can package the texts in a genre, does it? Who’s going
to buy a book called
Fragments
by Titus Jensen? How many copies does an experimental book sell?’

‘No, you are quite right about that!’ shouts Eddie.

Sales figures are a subject that really gets Eddie going, even though economics and money are normally not topics you would associate with romantic poets. But nobody can eat poems, not even Eddie X.

‘It’s just crazy,’ he goes on. ‘You simply
must
have a suitable label if you’re going to sell. I mean, I hardly sell anything either. I don’t get much in royalties each year. I live almost exclusively on what I earn when I perform. And all the T-shirts with my
aphorisms
of course. It’s just crazy when you think about it.’

‘Yeah right, you’re bloody right! You have to fit in under a label to sell! One ought to write… hell, one really ought to write a bestseller…’ says Titus dreamily, and takes a big slurp of his rum.

‘Precisely! Exactly. That’s what a bloke should do!’ Eddie chips in, and takes a hefty gulp too. ‘Let’s drink to that, Titus! One really should write a proper bestseller. That’s the bottom line!’

‘Umm, nothing more nor less. A smash hit. That’ll sell like ice cream during a heat wave! One of those books that people will talk about for years. That top the lists year after year!’

‘Yes, let’s drink to that!’

‘A book that’ll be translated into lots of different languages!’

‘A book that will win prizes!’

‘A book that will be turned into a film!’

‘That’ll be put on the stage!’

‘That’ll start a new trend!’

‘It will indeed!’

‘Exactly!’

‘Cheers!

‘Cheers!’

Both authors are touchingly in agreement. One ought to write a bestseller. Precisely. Exactly. But how? What sort of book is it that one ought really to write? They sit there in silence for a few moments and concentrate on their drinks. Eddie, of course, is the first to start talking again. He points at Titus’ empty glass.

‘Another of the same? I’ve got lots of coupons.’

‘Yes please, that would be nice.’

‘But meanwhile you can reflect upon what the book should be about,’ says Eddie with a warm smile. ‘Okay?’

‘Haha… yep… yeah, err…’ mumbles Titus, who is starting to feel a bit the worse for wear.

Eddie surfs through the crowd and parks himself by the bar. He is immediately seen by the barman, who responds as if he is physically struck by Eddie’s charisma.

Titus sees that parts of The Tourettes are making their way through the backstage area to the beer tent. He knows all about them. Lenny is an institution in Sweden, always praised by the pop-culture elite. Having a severe compulsive disorder and still making great art makes him untouchable. Everybody loves Lenny.

The Tourettes jerk and twitch in various ways, all of them. Lenny is worst with his weird whole-body blinks. It’s most difficult for him to control this when he is on stage, where he sways like a field of rye in a hard wind. But the others are not far behind. One has severe facial tics, another takes long steps to avoid stepping on lines, one suddenly sticks his arm right out as if in a spasmodic salute. It is untidy and noisy.

Weird really, so many different types united in a single band, thinks Titus. By themselves they are nothing, but together they are something great.

Titus’ musings come to a halt.

By themselves they are nothing, but together they are something great. Fragments and pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. A bit like his texts.

Eddie is soon back with more booze.

‘Titus Jensen, future bestseller! How are you getting on? Have you come up with a brilliant idea?’

‘No, but, well…’ croaks Titus, slurring a little, but all the more enthusiastic. ‘I’ve got a sort of idea, I think. If I put it like this: “One at a time they are nothing, but together they are something great.” What does that make you think of?’

‘Yeah… no, I don’t know…’

‘Well, my idea… would it be possible… couldn’t you combine
a whole lot of different types of books and make them into one single book? Write in lots of different styles and genres at the same time, sort of?’

‘How do you mean? The only book you need, like? A
combination
book?’ Eddie wonders.

‘Yeah… perhaps… or yes. That’s it exactly! A single book that is all the other books at the same time.’

‘Gosh! Brilliant! Let’s drink to that! Jesus, just think how that would sell!’

‘Cheers! Yes, indeed, it would be a hell of a success. A single book which is a bestseller in lots of different categories! Crime, cookbooks, diet books, management literature, DIY books, self-help, how to be happy, everything all at once!’

‘The works!’ shouts Eddie.

‘It’d be the best book in the world!’ remarks Titus and takes a large gulp.

‘Easily!’

‘It’s going to be translated into lots of different languages!’

‘And win prizes!’

‘Be made into a film!’

‘Into a play!’

‘Start a new trend!’

‘Indeed it will!’

‘Exactly!’

‘Let’s drink to that!’

‘Cheers!’

Once again they are touchingly in agreement. They look at each other in a moment of real earnest. Is this just a fun drunken idea? Yes, perhaps, but just now it feels as if it is of decisive importance. To write a book that fills every single bestseller category at the same time – that would put the author on the map forever. But to make an attempt that fails would, in turn, guarantee a prominent position in the encyclopedia of misfits. The risks are great. Horrible.

What have they got to lose?

Quite a lot, in fact.

Being the first, for example.

They both think that thought at the same time. You’ve got to be first. First, first, first! Otherwise you’ve had it. Oh dear, now it’s a matter of playing it cool. Now there is suddenly an awful lot at stake. Their gaze wanders and they look a little askance at each other.

Silence.

Wandering eyes.

Eddie, who always takes responsibility for social situations, is the first to speak up.

‘Yeah, well, Titus, that was a really fun idea. Somebody ought to write a book like that. But it’s probably impossible to put all those different bits together into something that works, don’t you think?’

‘Right… yes, absolutely. If it could work, then somebody would already have done it. That’s for certain. But it is a fun idea.’

‘Yeah…’

‘Um…’

‘Shall I get some more booze?’

‘Yeah, sure. Then perhaps we can come up with some even better ideas, don’t you think?’ says Titus, and laughs somewhat forcedly.

‘Right. That’s the attitude, Titus. Now let’s forget this and have a bit of a party! I’ll get some drinks and tell Lenny and the boys to come over. Nobody can party like The Tourettes!’

Eddie goes to fetch the spirits and his mates. The night is long and is filled with conversations, laughter and facial twitches.

Neither Titus nor Eddie mentions the book idea again.

Both of them know what this is about.

The Best Book in the World
can give eternal life.

But only to one of them.

T
itus wakes up in the back seat of his car in the festival parking area. He is dripping with sweat. The sun is already high in the sky and you could fry an egg on the car bonnet. It is stuffy. He opens the car door and falls out into the cool Swedish summer morning. The birds are chirping and all around him he sees misted-up windows of cars full of other
festival-goers.
He goes to the shower building, which is still fairly quiet. He stands under a jet and lets his head clear, gulping water to try and flush out his body.

The idea still feels good. Almost even better. This is exactly what he needs. A big project into which he can channel all his energy.

He buys a squashed cheese roll from a stall and goes towards his car. Wonder where Eddie got to? They had been drinking a long time and then Eddie had suddenly just disappeared. Somebody said that he thought that Eddie had got a lift home to Stockholm already, in the middle of the night.

Titus gets behind the wheel and bounces out from the field that has become a temporary parking place during the festival. When he is back on the road, he picks up his telephone and rings his editor at Winchester Publishing.

‘Umm, hello? Astra Larsson here.’

‘Hi, Astra, it’s Titus. Sorry to phone you so early on a Sunday.’

‘Oh, it’s you. Hi, Titus. And yes, I am feeling a bit groggy. I was out dancing until three last night. We had a girls’ dinner which became… well, something completely different…’

‘Sounds like fun. Astra, I have had a great idea that we have to talk about. When can you see me?’

‘Err, I don’t know. I don’t exactly keep my diary with me in bed. Sometime next week?’

‘No, no, no! It is much more urgent than that. You’ve got to hear this. Can I come over this evening?’

‘No, I don’t know. I’m going to dinner at Evita Winchester’s. The will of the boss is law, you know. She has invited all her editors so that we can talk about next year’s list.’

‘Well then, that’s perfect!’ Titus shouts. ‘I can get to you before the dinner! What time are you due there?’

‘Five,’ says Astra. ‘You are making me really curious, Titus. What has happened?’

‘Let’s talk it about later. I’ll be at your place by four o’clock latest. Then I’ll give you a lift to the Winchester Villa on Djurgården. Okay?’

‘Okay, let’s do that.’

‘Thanks, Astra. Thanks.’

‘See you.’