The Rabbit Back Literature Society by Pasi Ilmari Jääskeläinen Read Free Book Online

Market bakery. They have the best pastries in town, and do you know why? Because Martti Winter is a regular customer there! They make custom pastries for him, if you can believe that.”
    Ella felt awkward. She wondered if Ingrid might be drunk, tried to smell it on her breath. All she could smell was liquorice and coffee.
    Ingrid Katz wasn’t the most brilliant author in the Society, but Martti Winter was its undisputed star. His works had been translated into dozens of languages. He was one of those rare Finnish writers who had become rich from his writing. His works were popular with both critics and a large reading audience.
    Unlike Martti Winter, Ingrid Katz wrote small books. Critics liked them well enough, but they never got much publicity. As far as Ella could remember, all of her books were young adult novels filled with people committing suicide and having abortions and losing their virginity and suffering alcohol poisoning while living with parents who fought constantly and were in all ways unbearable.
    “So, since Martti wasn’t able to get in touch with you, the task fell to me,” Ingrid said with a sigh. “But that’s all right. You and I know each other, after all, because of that incident the other day.”
    She smiled jovially. “Well, what do you say?” she asked.
    “About what?” Ella said. She was finding it hard to concentrate.
    “About what we’ve been talking about!” Katz said. “About being the next to receive an honour that hasn’t been bestowed on anyone in a very long time. And not because Ms White wasn’t looking for new talent. I haven’t seen her terribly recently, but I know that she reads the
Rabbit Tracks
literary supplement regularly. And she has her own portfolio there at your school.”
    “The Laura White file,” Ella said.
    Ingrid Katz nodded. “To be honest, I found your story… what was it called?”
    “‘The Skeleton Sat in the Cave Silently Smoking Cigarettes’,” Ella said.
    “Yes. Well, I didn’t see anything remarkable in it when I read it in the paper. It seemed to me like a typical bit of slick lang-and -lit-teacher’s prose. Very good, no doubt, for someone at your level of training, but not at all extraordinary. I just thought: Uh-huh. Next. But then I’m not the one who took nine tentatively promising children and trained them to be nine more or less successful authors, so what’s my opinion worth? If Laura White sees something in your story, then there’s something in it. And something in you. I can’t see it, but I believe in it.”
    Ella was flustered. “This is all a little… I’m sorry, but could you spell out exactly what it is that you mean?” she said, smiling apologetically.
    Ingrid Katz looked more serious and put her coffee cup back on the table.
    “I’m talking about an offer,” she said. Her expression was inscrutable. “Laura White promises to make a writer out of you, if you wish to join the Rabbit Back Literature Society.”

6
    S ITTING IN THE BATHROOM after the funeral, Ella Milana remembered how her father had once read aloud to her from a Creatureville book when she was a child. It was a book Santa Claus had brought a couple of days before.
    She remembered her father’s weight on the edge of her bed, his soft voice painting pictures in her mind. She remembered how she had kept her eyes closed. She had a vivid memory of the going-to-sleep passage in the book:
    Mother Snow tucked Bobo Clickclack, the Odd Critter, Dampish, Crusty Bark and all the others into bed. She kissed them gently and called them her “own little creatures”, which always made them smile under the blanket with pure contentment, and for a moment they all forgot that Emperor Rat stalked the night, whispering dark secrets that no living creature could hear without being badly broken.
    Then Mother Snow went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of hot cocoa.
    CREATUREVILLE FOLK ,                           
    BY LAURA WHITE, END OF