The City of Dreaming Books by Walter Moers Read Free Book Online

‘Lindworms have produced some of the finest novels in the history of Zamonian literature. One has only to think of The Ill-Starred Chamber by Sarto Iambicus, or Vappid Rhymester’s Drunk on Moonlight , or Hyldia Playtanner’s Blind Flamingo , Nocturnal Nonsense , Song of the Oyster and Brittle Bait ! Not to mention Doylan Cone’s Sir Ginel !’
    ‘You’ve read Sir Ginel ?’
    ‘Most certainly! Do you remember the passage where the knight’s monocle falls into his breastplate and he has to joust almost blind? Or where his lower jaw is dislocated by a blow from a mace and he can only communicate in sign language for an entire chapter? How I laughed! A comic masterpiece!’
    I hadn’t got that far. I had tackled the boring old novel at Dancelot’s insistence but gave up after the first hundred pages - they were wholly devoted to the care and maintenance of the medieval lance - and hurled it into a corner.
    ‘Of course,’ I lied. ‘His lower jaw - an absolute scream!’
    ‘You have to plough through the hundred-page introduction devoted to the care and maintenance of the medieval lance,’ said Kibitzer, ‘but the author really gets going after that. Take the chapter in which he dispenses with the letter E for a hundred and fifty pages - a brilliant feat of lipogrammatism! Remember Sir Ginel’s jovial little drinking song?’
    The Nocturnomath cleared his throat and quoted:
    ‘ Come, landlord, fill again my glass,
and fill again my dish.
Those things apart, a buxom lass
is all that I could wish. ’
    I gave a knowing smile. ‘Ah yes,’ I said, ‘a stroke of genius.’ I hadn’t got as far as that!
    ‘But forget about novels!’ exclaimed Kibitzer, who now had the bit between his teeth. ‘Lindworm Castle has also produced some excellent non-fiction - The Joys of Gardening , for instance. A milestone in the description of domesticated nature.’
    I was taken aback. ‘You know Dancelot Wordwright?’ I said, at last letting go of the door handle.
    ‘Know him? You must be joking. I could quote him in my sleep:
    ‘Thus, nature is our only solace. Almost instinctively, we make our way out into the open air, out into our gardens. We breathe more freely and our hearts grow lighter amid the rustle of the trees and beneath the stars. From the stars we come, to the stars we go. Life is but a journey into the unknown.’
    This little Nocturnomath was better acquainted with Dancelot’s work than I. A tear oozed from my left eye.
    ‘But I’m sure you share my admiration for him, if a quotation from his work has such an emotional effect on you. That makes up for your ignorance of Sir Ginel. ’
    I gave a start. Damnation, Nocturnomaths were mind-readers - I’d forgotten that! I resolved to be more careful what I thought about in future.
    ‘Thoughts cannot be suppressed like speech,’ Kibitzer said with a smile. ‘But there’s no need to exert yourself. I already know so much about you, I can dispense with mind-reading. You’re personally acquainted with Dancelot Wordwright, aren’t you?’
    ‘He was my authorial godfather. He died recently.’
    ‘Oh. Really? Please forgive my insensitive question and accept my sincere condolences. The man was a genius.’
    ‘Thank you. He himself would not have claimed as much.’
    ‘That renders him doubly important. To possess the potential inherent in The Joys of Gardening and then limit yourself to writing a single book - that is true greatness.’
    If only Dancelot could have heard those words during his lifetime! More tears welled up in my eyes.
    ‘But do sit down! You must be tired out if you’ve come all the way from Lindworm Castle. Would you care for a cup of nutmeg coffee?’ The antiquarian tottered over to a coffee pot perched on a bookshelf.
    Quite suddenly, my limbs felt as heavy as lead. Having been on my feet since dawn, I’d scarcely rested at the hotel and then roamed the streets for hours. His words made me realise how weary I was. I sat down on