“That’s lovely,” said Vanessa.
“Anyway” Edie said, “action-adventure in simplistic, flavorless prose has its place, but how could I possibly justify spending the university’s book budget on that kind of thing? I simply couldn’t do it, and I tried to make him understand”
“It’s not as if students who want to read it won’t have a chance,” Stephen mused. “You know the public library’s buying multiple copies. The hardcover’s heavily discounted all over the place. If you have an e-reader, it’s cheaper still. And I imagine he’d rather have the sales, wouldn’t he? Why does he care so much?”
“Prestige?” Edie said with a shrug. “Self-esteem?”
“Wait a minute, though. I’ve seen Cosmo McDougall’s books on your shelves, and he’s about as schlocky as Bosworth.”
“Not quite,” said Vanessa. “Cosmo has a certain saving wit. It’s sort of like he’s saying to the reader, we both know this is junk, but let’s have a good time with it anyway.”
Stephen snorted. “Yes, I know Cosmo’s a friend of yours.”
“No, not at all, though it pays to stay on good terms with all my colleagues. Cosmo can be quite amusing, but there’s a vicious streak there too.”
“Example, please.”
“He does light verse on the side, most of it pretty good but some of it downright cruel. He has a whole sequence of ten jolly poems celebrating jewel thieves, muggers, forgers, insider traders, bunco artists, Ponzi schemers, and so forth. He told me he has an eleventh that was never published for reasons of his own. He found it all very funny in a Thomas De Quincey vein, and I guess it was, but kind of disquieting too.
“Anyway, there’s another difference between Bosworth and McDougall, a big one,” Edie said. “Professor McDougall donates a copy of each new novel as it comes out. If faculty authors donate their books, they are accepted into the collection as a matter of courtesy. But if the faculty member expects us to buy the book, it has to meet the standards of the library’s acquisition policies. Professor Bosworth wants that validation, and he’s not going to get it.”
“There’s still another difference,” Vanessa pointed out. “Cosmo is in the English Department, and he understands the distinction between literature and, uh, what he’s writing. Amos Bosworth is a scientist, and the difference may be lost on him.”
“That’s it exactly. In my first library job, back in the early seventies, there was a physics professor who had heard all the controversy about Philip Roth’s Portnoy’s Complaint and wanted to read it. I got it for him, and he came back the following week filled with enthusiasm. Reading for pleasure was new to him. Now he wanted to read another bestseller, The Love Machine by Jacqueline Susann. I had to explain to him that we wouldn’t be buying The Love Machine and he should try the public library. He barely understood, and it’s even harder to explain when one of the authors in question is actually on the faculty.”
“You don’t want Amos Bosworth mad at the library,” Stephen said. “He’s too powerful in campus politics.”
Vanessa nodded. “He’s on committees that affect budgetary decisions, building plans, all sorts of things.”
“What’s the book cost anyway, twenty-five bucks? My point is, with the size of the library budget, the expenditure for Bosworth’s book is like filling an eyedropper out of Lake Michigan. Couldn’t you just buy his book?”
“No,” Edie said.
“When you get a book donated, you still spend money to process it, don’t you? So, technically, the library has some outlay even for McDougall’s books.”
“Not my department,” said Edie, “and it doesn’t compromise the integrity of our acquisitions policy. You tell me this, Stephen. If the publisher of Onlooker magazine produced a film, and you thought it was a terrible film, would you give it a favorable review to keep your job?”
“That’s not the same thing at all.”
“To me, it is exactly the same thing.”
“What Amos’s high dudgeon really comes down to...” Vanessa began.
“Does anybody ever have low dudgeon?” Stephen wondered.
“Yes, Stephen, I have low dudgeon, but it will climb rapidly if you keep interrupting me. Amos Bosworth would probably just donate his book if it weren’t for Cosmo McDougall. They used to be friends.”
“Ah!” said Stephen. “One of your students was just asking me this morning about the rumors those two guys hate each other.”
“It’s more than rumors,” Edie said.
“One of my students?” Vanessa said. “Who?”
“Girl named Williametta Ames. Willy for short.”
“Oh, yes, Willy.” Vanessa’s reaction seemed a little guarded and distant.
“So why do Bosworth and McDougall hate each other?”
“I don’t know that Cosmo hates Amos,” Vanessa said, “but the ill feeling flies the other way pretty strongly. Amos asked Cosmo for a quote for the jacket of his first novel. Cosmo hates to do jacket blurbs and used to have a rule against it, though he’s relented somewhat in the past few years.”
“Those books on display for the conference this weekend all seemed to have McDougall quotes. Except Bosworth’s, I mean.”
“Jackson and Turnbow and Bates are all friends of his,” Edie said. “He twisted their arms to participate in the conference, and the jacket quotes may have been a subtle bribe. I think the librarian had some influence with him.”
“Anyway,” Vanessa continued, “Amos thought Cosmo would give him a quote in the name of friendship and faculty solidarity. And Cosmo did, but... well, let’s just say it’s a good thing Amos figured it out in time. I think I can remember what he said. It has its own built-in mnemonic.” She closed her eyes. “ ‘Prose unrivaled! Rare energy! Cunning reader anxiety production!’ ” She smiled across at Stephen. “What do you think?”
Stephen took out a pen and started scribbling on the paper napkin provided for Faculty Club diners. “Try this one,” he said.
He passed the napkin across to Vanessa, who said, “Yes, he gets it,” and passed it on to Edie.
Stephen had written,
“Stunning
Triumph
In
Nervously
Kinetic
Suspense.”
“I think mine is better,” Stephen said. “STINKS is shorter and punchier than PURE CRAP. But they’re both too easy to solve. To really bring the stunt off, you’d have to hide your negative message cleverly enough to actually get it placed on the jacket but still make it transparent enough that somebody would decipher it when the book came out.”
“If anyone was mean enough to do that,” Vanessa said, “it’d be Cosmo.”
Table talk turned to other matters. After an hour, Edie Yamamoto looked at her watch and said, “I have to get back to work or the librarian will be after my head. Anyway, you two won’t mind if I leave you alone, will you?”
“I don’t know,” Stephen said. “People might talk.” Edie laughed, but Vanessa didn’t seem amused.
When Edie had left, Stephen said, “Okay, out with it.”
“Be careful of that girl,” Vanessa said.
“Who? Edie?”
“No, not Edie! What girl did you just meet today and become besotted over?”
“I didn’t — you mean Willy? I’m not besotted with anybody but you, Professor Strom, dear. And why should I be careful of her? She seemed nice enough to me.”
“Did she really? Stephen, I know all the signs. You’re a man. I’m a woman. I see things about other women that men don’t. She’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous? Willy the femme fatale?”
“Not fatale maybe, but poisonous nonetheless.”
“Vanessa, you don’t need to be jealous of a student.”