The Brightfount Diaries. Brian Aldiss

Books of poets dead and gone

       What Elysium have ye known—

       This one day, in Brightfount’s tavern,

       A spirit lit your spirit’s cavern!

      Met Miss Dodd (Avril) with her brother after work. Spent agreeable evening with them. Returning late down Cross Street, saw lights on in Brightfount’s; could make out poor old Mr B. up in his office. He works so hard. Who’d be a bookseller?

      SATURDAY

      Gudgeon’s last day of holiday!

      The people you know best are not your friends but those you work with: Arch Rexine, for instance, our junior partner. He was serving an imposing-looking man this afternoon who wanted Shaw first editions. The mere mention of Shaw and Rexine’s homely face lit up.

      ‘I don’t know if you’ve ever heard this Shaw story,’ he began modestly. He goes on to describe how Shaw sent one of his plays to a famous but penurious poet, whom we will call S.Q. The play was inscribed, ‘To S.Q., with affection’.

      But S.Q. was hard up, took the play to Charing Cross and sold it profitably. There, browsing a day or two later, G.B.S. happened to discover it, no doubt with relish. Next day, S.Q. received the play back through the post; under the previous inscription was written, ‘With renewed affection, G.B.S.’.

      Rexine trots this tale out regularly. Any mention of Shaw, S.Q., or association copies and out comes the story. If you said ‘G.B.S.’ to him in his sleep, he would reel it off. But it is a good story. Must tell it myself when Rexine’s not about.

      Got the 6.50 train home, tra la!

      SUNDAY

      Luxurious to wake between decent sheets. Did not realize till now that Mrs Yell’s smell of mothballs and toast.

      Brother Andrew has delish. new waistcoat. His photographic business seems to be doing well from all appearances. Says airily to me, ‘In a couple of years I may be able to take you on as a junior.’

      ‘What’ll you pay me? Enough to buy pansy waistcoats with?’

      ‘Not likely – but by then I may let you wear this one.’

      Think I’d rather stay at Brightfount’s. Remember an objectionable little man called Seepage, who sometimes comes to see Mr B., saying to Gudgeon, ‘This day-after-day business would never do for me. Can’t think how you can stand it year after year.’

      To which Gudgeon, whose general method of reply is to say nothing, remarked, ‘You don’t think of it year after year, you just take it day by day.’

      Forget what Seepage said to that – something about never letting himself get caught in routine. When I get that feeling myself, always recall a French waiter mentioned somewhere in Arnold Bennett’s Journals who had ‘learned a whole philosophy in the practice of his vocation’. This is much better face to put on things than, for instance, Kafka’s face. Did not get far with his Diaries: he groaned too much about going to the office every day.

      MONDAY

      I’ll say this for Arch Rexine, he does encourage us to take an interest in things. Mr B. occasionally asks for suggestions, but nobody’s ever known him act on them. Rexine will, though, in his own objectionable way. Some weeks ago, he asked us if we had any ideas for new selling lines. Dave, who is sold on that kind of thing, said, ‘What about Space Travel and Flying Saucers?’

      Rather to our amazement, Rexine agreed it was worth a try. Next thing we knew, great parcels arrived containing Conquest of Space, Man on the Moon, Flying Saucers from Outer Space, Flying Saucers Are Real, Flying Saucers Have Landed, Flying Saucers on the Moon, and so on. Dave was, to coin a phrase, shattered; but to-day – clearly having recovered – he virtually insisted on ‘a Saucer window’, as he calls it.

      ‘It would be a waste of display space,’ said Rexine grumpily.

      Whereupon Dave showed us a letter in the Journal and Advertiser from someone claiming to have seen a saucer flying low over Bagger’s Dune, a hill about four miles out of town. Dave said he thought it would be an incentive to sales.

      So the saucers are in the window. Two sold during the day, so Dave may be right.

      TUESDAY

      Gudgeon is back from his summer holiday. He and a friend of his have been on the Broads – ‘and in,’ he said; ‘we both fell in in turn.’ We told him how brown he looked, but he said it was wind not sun. Wonder what he and his friend talked about, if they talked at all? We spend hours here in his company without ever feeling we really know him.

      The great news to-day is another letter in the local paper about flying saucers from a man who writes, ‘I was driving over the top of Bagger’s Dune when the saucer came over, veered sharply south and looked as if it was going to land the other side of Dune Wood. Unfortunately I lost sight of it then.’

      Dave elated. Sold more space books during day.

      Did orders first thing, then spent rest of time clearing out Slaughterhouse. Mr B. is thinking of converting this shabby little den into what he ambitiously calls ‘a print showroom’. First the outside wall will have to be rebuilt because the damp pours in. That will mean another invasion of workmen!

      WEDNESDAY

      Made fool of myself this morning. Customers don’t always pronounce titles clearly and I suppose I had my mind on interplanetary visitors, etc. Anyhow, when I was asked for Vivisection of the Universe, I echoed the title in shocked amazement.

      ‘I didn’t say that at all,’ the customer replied sharply. ‘I asked for Visual Perception of the Universe.’

      This slurring of words is misleading. Professor Carter asked Mrs Callow for a text of Beowulf once, and after a moment’s thought she said, ‘We’ve got Br’er Rabbit.’

      Half-day. Went long cycle ride with Jack and Piggy Dexter. Kept one eye open for saucers. Had tea at charming place called ‘The Red Jacket’ (d/w to Stalin’s works, perhaps?). Discovered terrific hornets’ nest in rotten tree on way home.

      Piggy said, ‘Suppose the Martians or whoever they are landed just here. If they had never had to cope with insects before, the hornets would be quite invincible and the Martians would have to hop back to base and report that this planet was uninhabitable.’ Hopeful thought.

      THURSDAY

      Thinking of changing digs; toast burnt again. Opened bed-room door to find landing thick with smoke. Tackled Mrs Yell about it and was told burning was due to poor quality of present-day bread: ‘It don’t stand up to flame like it used to.’

      Arrived at shop feeling a little peevish.

      Dull day. Gudgeon has got post-holidayitis and Dave pre-holidayitis – he is off for a fortnight on Saturday. I had mine over Easter – too early. Continued in the Slaughterhouse, which is quite amusing, but after lunch had to sit and catalogue old Bohn editions of the classics; Mr B. wants to get out a special ‘Cheap Only’ stereotyped list by the end of next month. Shall these dry Bohns sell?

      Heartily glad to slip out at five o’clock, pull off my tie and go round to meet Avril Dodd at the club. Played doubles with her against her brother Charles and old flame Helen. Good game. Went for a walk with her after; she’s a bit solid but agreeable to talk to. Going to meet her again next Wednesday.

      FRIDAY

      Pay-day.

      Forgot to say yesterday that space books are still selling. Dave and Rexine elated. To-day there was a third letter, anonymous, in the local paper at midday. The writer had actually seen ‘two disc-shaped objects such as Adamski described in his book’ floating over the Town Hall. They disappeared with an eerie whistling noise behind the Tastiped Shoe Factory.

      ‘It’s