• Chapter Two – Conversing with Books

    Bree found the room to the right quickly enough and the staircase even quicker (it was really the only thing in the room). She was very nervous at the thought of traveling through the Library on her own, but was at the same time very curious and excited. Bree had been dying to come up to the second floor ever since she heard the people up there talking. She was curious as to what the books at the Library of En Moll were like and wanted to meet them. But to her disappointment, she saw no one at the top of the stairs.

    “But I’m sure to see at least one sooner or later,” she reasoned. “Rob said that that lady – Gam Am An was it? – was towards the back of this floor. What kind of books did he say lived on this floor? Oh, I wish I had it written down so I could remember. I guess I’ll have to ask a book when I come across it.”

    With those thoughts in mind, Bree set off. There was only one pathway to go down so there wasn’t any chance of taking a wrong turn. Still, Bree became suspicious when she had gone for what seemed like ages (though it might only have been minutes, as Bree didn’t wear a watch) without seeing a single person.

    “This is the right floor, isn’t it?” she wondered. By now, she was walking down a strange glass walkway. The path was flanked by more of the dark, metal bookcases. Something about them was slightly sinister and Bree shivered if she stared at them for too long. “I didn’t remember Rob’s instructions incorrectly, did I?”

    “Memory is fleeting my dear, as is any intangible,” said a smooth voice, causing Bree to jump with a cry.

    Out of the darkness came a strange looking person. Their hair was long and tangled and their eyes were dark and puffy, as if whoever it was hadn’t slept for ages. Bree couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.

    “Excuse me, are you a book here?” she asked nervously.

    “Here, I am a book. One must really wonder if I am something else somewhere else,” the person said with a sigh.

    “What does that matter?” asked Bree curiously. “The fact is that you are here and not somewhere else, so what is the point of wondering what you’d be elsewhere?”

    “What is the point in wondering anything?” asked the book. “What is the point in wondering why the stars twinkle or the sun rises or the moon sets? What is the point in wondering why your hair is the color it is?”

    “But that’s different,” said Bree. “There’s a way you can know those things. I don’t know them myself, but I’m sure that there is.”

    “But you don’t know, so what’s the point in you wondering?”

    Bree was about to say that she really didn’t wonder about such things, but decided that it wasn’t worth the effort. Instead, she asked, “What’s your name?”

    “Title you mean,” said the book. “My title is What is it?.”

    “What is what?” asked Bree.

    “That’s exactly what I’m about,” said the book. “Philosophical debates and dilemmas about the state of the universe and man’s character, all inside of me.”

    “Could you repeat that a little slower please?” asked Bree. “I’m afraid I couldn’t understand you.”

    “Few ever can,” sighed the book. “You may very well wonder about my words as well as anything else. Rights, rights…what are our rights? What right have we to meet, to talk, to live?”

    “I’m sure I have the right to live,” said Bree, slightly nervous in case it would turn out she didn’t.

    “Certainly you do,” said the book. “You have has much of a right to live as you do to breath.”

    “But aren’t those the same thing?” asked Bree. “If you don’t breath, you can’t live, right?”

    “Of course! And if they are the same thing, then it only makes sense that the right for one is equal to the right to the other, doesn’t it?”

    “I think I know what ‘Philogical’ is,” said Bree who was very confused by now and decided to talk again about the book’s title. “I was told that they were all on one floor of this Library. This is that floor, isn’t it?”

    “‘Philosophical’ my dear,” said the book a bit crossly.

    “Right, ‘Philololigal’,” repeated Bree, though she felt sure she didn’t have it right that time either (each time she tried, it came from her mouth wrong). The book made a face and Bree decided to change the subject. “Why are all of the bookcases were made of metal?” she asked. “Don’t you have any made of wood?”

    At this, the book blanched. “Hush!” What is it? said sharply. “Don’t ever say that again!”

    “What’s wrong with talking about…about those kinds of bookcases?” asked Bree, a bit shaken by this response.

    The book looked around, as if making sure no one was there to overhear them. It leaned forward to Bree, as if to say something very obscene. “Do you know where wood comes from?” it whispered.

    “Trees.”

    “Shh! Not so loud. But yes. Now, what are the pages of a book made of?”

    “Paper,” Bree whispered back.

    “And where does paper come from?”

    “Wood. Oh!” gasped Bree. “Now I understand.”

    “I hope so,” said What is it?. “Imagine if…if you were made to sleep in a bed made of people! Would you like that at all?

    “No,” said Bree. “I wouldn’t at all.” She thought over his words for a moment. “But you said that you sleep. Books don’t sleep, do they?”

    “Of course they do!” said the book. “What kind of a question is that? They talk and wander the entire day and when they are tired, they lie down in their bookcases to sleep. Take a good look at those cases and see if there’s anything in them.”

    Bree leaned towards the closest bookcase and peered through the darkness. “No you’re right!” she exclaimed. “Where are they all? Where they all checked out?”

    “I just told you,” said the book impatiently. “We all enjoy a nice chat and don’t want to spend the day shelved and in rows. Would you like to spend your entire day in bed?”

    “That doesn’t sound too bad,” said Bree thoughtfully

    “Not now it doesn’t. But haven’t you ever been sick and forced to stay in bed for hours at a time?”

    “Once I did,” admitted Bree. “I had a horrid cough and my mother made me lie in bed. I wanted to go out and play, but she wouldn’t let me.”

    “So you see how boring it is,” said What is it?. “If books can have a nice walk when they like, why shouldn’t they?”

    Bree thought about this for a minute. “I suppose not if they could,” she said. “But I really don’t think that books sleep.”

    “Of course,” said the book sarcastically. “Don’t take my word for it. I’m only a book myself, after all.”

    “Oh no, I didn’t mean that!” said Bree quickly, trying to make amends. But it was a bit too late. The book by now looked very annoyed with her and she decided that she’d better continue on. “Do you know the way to Gar – Ga –”

    “Gar Am An’s room? Of course,” said the book briskly. “Straight on down the hall, then take a left. You can’t miss it unless your eyes are closed of course.”

    “Why would I go walking around with my eyes closed?” asked Bree.

    “Why does anyone go around with their eyes closed? Now good day!” said the book and it walked off stiffly, leaving Bree to continue on her way.