Something New
Having since finished "How I Paid for College" by Marc Acito, I have begun to read/listen to "The Fourth Bear" by Jasper Fforde. This is his second NCD (Nursery Crime Division) book. I read and posted a few of his witty writings in "The Big Over Easy" this past fall while I was in England. Having picked up the second book, it is much the same as the first. I just love the play on ironic happenings. Fairy tales and real life mixed together is just too good to pass up! Here's two more sections that I found amusing from this book.
"Hi Dad." said Pandora as she walked into the kitchen with her fiance, the Titan Prometheus. Having a daughter engaged to a four-thousand-year-old myth could be stressful at times, but Jack was determined not to be a flustery old hen of a father - and the union was improving her Greek no end. They were getting married in a month's time, and there were still a lot of details to be ironed out.
"Do you think the record of the wedding should be as a video, a tapestry, depictions on a Grecian urn or as a twenty-eight-foot-long marble bas-relief?"
"I have a friend who can do urns at a discount," added Prometheus helpfully, as the budget of the wedding had long since spiraled out of control since Bacchus had taken over th reception arrangements.
"An urn, I guess," conceded Jack.
"Oh, goody!" cried Pandora happily. "I always saw my wedding recorded in profile. Now, Dad, remember what you promised about not doing a plot device number fifty-two on the day of my wedding?"
"There's only the annual Tortoise v. Hare race on that weekend, and there's never any trouble at that, sweetpea," he said, "so there'll be no conclusion of a case near your wedding that results in an overdramatic dash to the church."
"Great!" sad Pandora, and she and Prometheus walked out, talking about how they could stop Artemis and Aphrodite from squabbling, as the invariably did.
"Perhaps we should just let them fight in some mud and pretend it's part of the entertainments?" suggested Prometheus.
The large family and the expense of a wedding was a severe drain on Jack's salary, despite Bacchus' concession that they could drop Orpheus and go with a Santana tribute band instead.
***___***
And also...
"In answer to your question as to why I'm so suited to NCD work: After many years working among the nursery characters in Reading, I have grown to have an affinity with their way of thinking. Call it intuition if you like, but there it is, and I can't explain it."
"Kreeper's face fell at Jack's recovery. She thought she'd gotten him. "Nothing else?"
"Nothing at all. Tell me, what kind of parents named Kreeper give their daughter a name like Virginia?"
She scratched her chain and looked away.
"Virginia Kreeper is a plant, isn't it?"
"Possibly. But this interview isn't about me, Inspector."
"You're wrong. It's about us, And since you have to stand in judgment of me, I think I'm entitled to know just what sort of a person I'm dealing with and where you fit into the grand scheme of things. A tall, thin, beaky appearance with color-frame spectacles. Pointlessly aggressive, doubtlessly singe and seemingly without a clue as to the proper procedure for a psychiatric evaluation. From where I'm sitting, you look like a poorly realized stereotype, a one-dimensional character without backstory or future - and a name to match your bearing and position within the bigger picture."
It was Kreeper's turn to be flustered. She ran a hand through her lank hair, trembled for a moment and then said, "I...I...don't know what you mean, I'm sure. A stereotype? Bigger picture? What are you suggesting?"
"Let's put it this way," said Jack, suddenly feeling a lot more self-assured. "You and I have perhaps more in common than you think. And you sitting behind that desk questioning my motivations smaks of the very worst kind of hypocrisy. Essentially, you're nothing but a vehicle for a series of bad psychiatric jokes and a plot device to stop me from getting to the truth. A threshold guardian, whose only purpose in existence is for me to circumvent - which I'm doing right now, if you haven't noticed."
Kreeper stared back at him, trying to adopt a bemused air of condescension to disguise her sudden nervousness.
"A one-dimensional threshold guardian? No, no, you're quite wrong. Look, here!" She opened her purse and passed him a picture of a teenage in pigtails and wearing glasses. "It's my niece," she explained. "I take her out on her birthday to all kinds of places. Last year we went to the Natural History Museum. So you see I'm not poorly realized at all - I'm flesh and blood and fully in command of my own destiny - and having a recollectable past proves I'm not one-dimensional."
She glared at him hotly, but Jack had enough experience of PDR's [Person's of Dubious Reality or 'fictional characters']* and incidental character to know one when he saw one.
"What's her name?"
"Her...name?"
"Yes. Your niece has a name, I take it?"
Kreeper blinked at him, and tears started to well up in her eyes. "I don't know," she said at last, breaking out in a series of sobs. "I just ... don't ... know!"
Jack felt sorry for her. It's cant be easy to have your entire life summed up in a few perfunctory descriptive terms, the sole meaning of your existence just a few lines in the incalculable vastness of fiction. Still, htis was his career in the balance. If he didn't deal with her, the Jack Spratt series was likely to stop abruptly at the second volume. No third book and definitely no boxed set.
"The only question we have here," said Jack without emotion, "is this: 'Am I sane enough to be back on active duty?' Do we understand each other?"
But Kreeper was in no state to say or do anything. Her shoulders heaved with silent sobs, and tears rolled down her cheeks. She buried her face in her notes and mumbled, "Why? ... Why? ... Why? Oh. the echoing void, the meaninglessness of it all!"
Jack looked at his watch. This was becoming tiresome, and he had a journalist to find.
"Her name's Penny," he said in a quiet voice, "Penny Moffat. She's your brother Dave's daughter. They have another daughter named Anne, who's at Warwick. You and Dave were brought up in Hampshire, and once, where you were six and he was eight, you fell off your bike and cut your chin. That's how you got that scar."
Kreeper stopped sobbing and looked up. "Penny?" she said, picking up the photograph of her niece, then gently touching the small raised scar that had suddenly appeared on her chin.
"Yes. Your brother's wife is called Felicity, and ... she's the best friend you have."
Kreeper's eyes filled with tears again, but this time they were tears of joy. "She is, isn't she?"
"Yes. Last year you all went to Cadiz on holiday. It was hot."
"Very hot," agreed Kreeper. "I got sunburned and had to spend the third day indoors. She smiled to herself, then at him. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. So ... when do you put me back on the active list?"
She dabbed her eyes with Jack handkerchief and took a deep breath. "If it was in my power, I'd do it here and now, Jack."
He raised an eyebrow. "But ...?"
"But the whole self-repairing car issue is a continuing subplot and completely out of my hands. The best I can do is ask you for some sort of proof the car is doing what you say it is."
"I give you my word Kreeper."
She looked around and lowered her voice. "Jack, you and I both know there are bigger forces at play here. If I don't have proof about your car, I can't give you a clean bill of health. You know how it works. Besides, cars don't repair themselves."
"This one does. I bought it with a guarantee from this guy named Dorian Gray over at Charvil. Ever heard of him?"
"No."
Jack stared at her for a moment. She was right - this was the best she could do. He snapped his fingers as an idea came to him. "Follow me."
* - brackets are my own addendum for clarification.
***___***
In my opinion, this last section was a great look into the amazing ability to blend a fictional character's awareness of themselves within the story being read and written about them. It's just so good! Jasper Fforde gets my applause! His mixing of the cliched childhood rhymes with the modern devious age reminds me of the Grimm Brothers. ...Hmm...goody...
Oh, and no money is being made off of these segments of his book! This is merely a sharing of parts of my fascination with Jasper Fforde's work. I would recommend HIGHLY the purchasing of his works. I own both NCD books already!
*DACM
"Hi Dad." said Pandora as she walked into the kitchen with her fiance, the Titan Prometheus. Having a daughter engaged to a four-thousand-year-old myth could be stressful at times, but Jack was determined not to be a flustery old hen of a father - and the union was improving her Greek no end. They were getting married in a month's time, and there were still a lot of details to be ironed out.
"Do you think the record of the wedding should be as a video, a tapestry, depictions on a Grecian urn or as a twenty-eight-foot-long marble bas-relief?"
"I have a friend who can do urns at a discount," added Prometheus helpfully, as the budget of the wedding had long since spiraled out of control since Bacchus had taken over th reception arrangements.
"An urn, I guess," conceded Jack.
"Oh, goody!" cried Pandora happily. "I always saw my wedding recorded in profile. Now, Dad, remember what you promised about not doing a plot device number fifty-two on the day of my wedding?"
"There's only the annual Tortoise v. Hare race on that weekend, and there's never any trouble at that, sweetpea," he said, "so there'll be no conclusion of a case near your wedding that results in an overdramatic dash to the church."
"Great!" sad Pandora, and she and Prometheus walked out, talking about how they could stop Artemis and Aphrodite from squabbling, as the invariably did.
"Perhaps we should just let them fight in some mud and pretend it's part of the entertainments?" suggested Prometheus.
The large family and the expense of a wedding was a severe drain on Jack's salary, despite Bacchus' concession that they could drop Orpheus and go with a Santana tribute band instead.
***___***
And also...
"In answer to your question as to why I'm so suited to NCD work: After many years working among the nursery characters in Reading, I have grown to have an affinity with their way of thinking. Call it intuition if you like, but there it is, and I can't explain it."
"Kreeper's face fell at Jack's recovery. She thought she'd gotten him. "Nothing else?"
"Nothing at all. Tell me, what kind of parents named Kreeper give their daughter a name like Virginia?"
She scratched her chain and looked away.
"Virginia Kreeper is a plant, isn't it?"
"Possibly. But this interview isn't about me, Inspector."
"You're wrong. It's about us, And since you have to stand in judgment of me, I think I'm entitled to know just what sort of a person I'm dealing with and where you fit into the grand scheme of things. A tall, thin, beaky appearance with color-frame spectacles. Pointlessly aggressive, doubtlessly singe and seemingly without a clue as to the proper procedure for a psychiatric evaluation. From where I'm sitting, you look like a poorly realized stereotype, a one-dimensional character without backstory or future - and a name to match your bearing and position within the bigger picture."
It was Kreeper's turn to be flustered. She ran a hand through her lank hair, trembled for a moment and then said, "I...I...don't know what you mean, I'm sure. A stereotype? Bigger picture? What are you suggesting?"
"Let's put it this way," said Jack, suddenly feeling a lot more self-assured. "You and I have perhaps more in common than you think. And you sitting behind that desk questioning my motivations smaks of the very worst kind of hypocrisy. Essentially, you're nothing but a vehicle for a series of bad psychiatric jokes and a plot device to stop me from getting to the truth. A threshold guardian, whose only purpose in existence is for me to circumvent - which I'm doing right now, if you haven't noticed."
Kreeper stared back at him, trying to adopt a bemused air of condescension to disguise her sudden nervousness.
"A one-dimensional threshold guardian? No, no, you're quite wrong. Look, here!" She opened her purse and passed him a picture of a teenage in pigtails and wearing glasses. "It's my niece," she explained. "I take her out on her birthday to all kinds of places. Last year we went to the Natural History Museum. So you see I'm not poorly realized at all - I'm flesh and blood and fully in command of my own destiny - and having a recollectable past proves I'm not one-dimensional."
She glared at him hotly, but Jack had enough experience of PDR's [Person's of Dubious Reality or 'fictional characters']* and incidental character to know one when he saw one.
"What's her name?"
"Her...name?"
"Yes. Your niece has a name, I take it?"
Kreeper blinked at him, and tears started to well up in her eyes. "I don't know," she said at last, breaking out in a series of sobs. "I just ... don't ... know!"
Jack felt sorry for her. It's cant be easy to have your entire life summed up in a few perfunctory descriptive terms, the sole meaning of your existence just a few lines in the incalculable vastness of fiction. Still, htis was his career in the balance. If he didn't deal with her, the Jack Spratt series was likely to stop abruptly at the second volume. No third book and definitely no boxed set.
"The only question we have here," said Jack without emotion, "is this: 'Am I sane enough to be back on active duty?' Do we understand each other?"
But Kreeper was in no state to say or do anything. Her shoulders heaved with silent sobs, and tears rolled down her cheeks. She buried her face in her notes and mumbled, "Why? ... Why? ... Why? Oh. the echoing void, the meaninglessness of it all!"
Jack looked at his watch. This was becoming tiresome, and he had a journalist to find.
"Her name's Penny," he said in a quiet voice, "Penny Moffat. She's your brother Dave's daughter. They have another daughter named Anne, who's at Warwick. You and Dave were brought up in Hampshire, and once, where you were six and he was eight, you fell off your bike and cut your chin. That's how you got that scar."
Kreeper stopped sobbing and looked up. "Penny?" she said, picking up the photograph of her niece, then gently touching the small raised scar that had suddenly appeared on her chin.
"Yes. Your brother's wife is called Felicity, and ... she's the best friend you have."
Kreeper's eyes filled with tears again, but this time they were tears of joy. "She is, isn't she?"
"Yes. Last year you all went to Cadiz on holiday. It was hot."
"Very hot," agreed Kreeper. "I got sunburned and had to spend the third day indoors. She smiled to herself, then at him. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. So ... when do you put me back on the active list?"
She dabbed her eyes with Jack handkerchief and took a deep breath. "If it was in my power, I'd do it here and now, Jack."
He raised an eyebrow. "But ...?"
"But the whole self-repairing car issue is a continuing subplot and completely out of my hands. The best I can do is ask you for some sort of proof the car is doing what you say it is."
"I give you my word Kreeper."
She looked around and lowered her voice. "Jack, you and I both know there are bigger forces at play here. If I don't have proof about your car, I can't give you a clean bill of health. You know how it works. Besides, cars don't repair themselves."
"This one does. I bought it with a guarantee from this guy named Dorian Gray over at Charvil. Ever heard of him?"
"No."
Jack stared at her for a moment. She was right - this was the best she could do. He snapped his fingers as an idea came to him. "Follow me."
* - brackets are my own addendum for clarification.
***___***
In my opinion, this last section was a great look into the amazing ability to blend a fictional character's awareness of themselves within the story being read and written about them. It's just so good! Jasper Fforde gets my applause! His mixing of the cliched childhood rhymes with the modern devious age reminds me of the Grimm Brothers. ...Hmm...goody...
Oh, and no money is being made off of these segments of his book! This is merely a sharing of parts of my fascination with Jasper Fforde's work. I would recommend HIGHLY the purchasing of his works. I own both NCD books already!
*DACM