A Book That Travels

By Helen Smith

A book launch in Edinburgh, Scotland, inspires a young reader to buy a copy and present it to his fianc at a meeting of his book club for discussion purposes.

The story line then carries reader after reader, male and female, along all with different ideas and diversified reactions, some younger and some older, while its being conveyed from country to country around the world. Thoughts expressed along with different ideas and diversified reactions as the book passes from reader to reader make this a unique story, keeping readers engrossed as adventures unfold. This different approach is most intriguing as told from the perspective of the book itself, involving life as it happens in unusual situations, using some avid and some not so enthusiastic readers. Its different and impelling!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Apr 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9781482830637

Helen Smith

Helen Smith is a novelist and play-wright and the recipient of an Arts Council of England Award. In addition to Alison Wonderland, she is the author of Being Light, The Miracle Inspector, and two children’s books. Her plays have been produced to critical acclaim in the United Kingdom. She has traveled all over the world, and currently lives in London.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by Helen Smith.

ISBN:      eBook         978-1-4828-3063-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

www.partridgepublishing.com/singapore

CONTENTS

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

THE AUTHOR…

THE FIRST READER

THE SECOND READER

THE THIRD READER

THE FOURTH READER

THE FIFTH READER

THE SIXTH READER

THE SEVENTH READER

THE EIGHTH READER

THE NINTH READER

THE TENTH READER

THE ELEVENTH READER

THE TWELFTH READER

THE THIRTEENTH READER

THE FOURTEENTH READER

THE FIFTEENTH READER

THE FINAL READER

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ABOUT THE BOOK

DEDICATION

In memory of my parents, John and Jean Hamilton of Glasgow, Scotland. They did everything to give me the best possible chance in life.

My grateful thanks go to Aunt Helen and Uncle Pete of San Francisco for their friendship, generosity and hospitality over many years.

…Helen Williamson Smith – October 2010

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks to the editor of this book, George Gunston, and his wife Valma, typesetter, designer and consultant for their dedication and professionalism while working to develop the original manuscript into a readable and inspirational novelette.

THE AUTHOR…

…as written by the author’s husband, Gordon Smith.

This is essentially my wife Helen’s book as she created the story and the characters, but because of illness she wasn’t able to complete her own manuscript, explaining to me each section as the story progressed, not as dictation, but in general discussion.

It was very much her own work, and at times I wrote a few pages then was advised it wasn’t what she wanted, so I’d rewrite the passage. Sometimes I couldn’t adopt my wife’s composition style, but we compromised.

This novelette, aptly titled A Book That Travels, was originally to be one of three stories combined into one book, but sadly Helen passed away before this book was published, and without being able to work on the other two.

All I know is that the second story was to be about a credit card and its owner, exploring the escapades that happened every time he took out his card while on leave, and that included holidays in Bali, Indonesia, and Thailand.

Theme for the third book was to be about a pair of shoes detailing the episodes that happened wherever the owner happened to be, with the story line possibly inspired by Helen’s own Hush Puppies she wore everywhere she traveled, despite the fact they were almost threadbare, and the fact she did have brand new replacements.

It’s a most unusual and enjoyable read, and on the back cover there’s more on Helen’s working and traveling experiences that helped to develop ideas for this book. Enjoy!

THE FIRST READER

T he young man had gathered me up, as if I was something delicate or fragile, then he walked to a back room of the old bookshop and placed me on a table in front of him. Several other people had gathered, in fact eleven in all, both genders and of various ages. They sat around a low table, each with a book in front of them.

I see you bought a new book? one of them enquired.

As the young man held it up and was about to speak, someone else who had a pen and paper interrupted by stating they should all focus on this month’s book, copies of which had been placed by members in front of the group with a glass of red wine and some snacks.

The book club members began an animated discussion in quite a friendly way the various merits or characters of the book in question. Apparently they had previously purchased or procured a copy of the month’s book selection. Several members of the group discussed the author and his style, what they thought of the plot or certain episodes that took place, also their evaluation of the protagonists and other incidental people portrayed. It all seemed quite interesting, involving different perceptions by different people, and probably nothing like how the author intended.

One or two people would verbally meander off onto something entirely different, or somebody wanted to talk more about themselves than the book, then the leader with the pen and paper would bring them back to the topic in hand.

After about two hours the group slowly packed up to make their various ways home after a final sip of wine to make sure the two bottles were empty. My reader put me into a small briefcase of soft leather where the smell of the quality permeated my pages, the first influence of how my surroundings had started to change the nature of my paper. But I was content to be swayed along, gently nestling amongst a small collection of papers.

A young woman accompanied the purchaser down the road, and I sensed she was interested in him, but he gave no indication that he wanted to be an acquaintance outside the book club.

She enquired if he was going to the bus stop, hinting it was too early to go home, and maybe a drink or coffee somewhere. He said he traveled on a different route and had some work he needed to complete before the next day. The two of us filed onto the bus and were jolted along in a stop and start motion with many other people around.

Finally I saw the lights once more when he opened his case and put me down on a narrow bench top in his bedroom, with many books behind me. Here was a man who really loved his books, I thought. Behind me were several shelves of books. He too had collected works by several authors, just like the bookshop, and I noticed that my own author was among the collections.

Other old books were embossed in gold, some with frayed fabric covers, and one early edition of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, richly bound in green leather. Yes, this is a fine home for me, and perhaps I will stay here forever.

He didn’t pick me up again for several evenings, as his routine was to sit at a desk until quite late, browsing over various papers. Employed in a legal firm, he needed to make sure certain information had been printed out correctly in documents for use the next day.

He came home a lot later on the Friday night, but this time he went straight to bed with a glass of wine handy, and with eager anticipation picked me up then opened the cover.

First he read what was on the back cover, then turned to the preface inside, being careful when turning the pages not to crease my backing unduly or to fold the pages. Also he kept me well away when he had a sip of wine lest the dark red stained me.

He seemed to live alone and was usually quiet most times when he was home. Sometimes he would play music, usually classical, and the Austrian composer Haydn seemed to be his favorite. Beside the bed a photograph of a lovely young woman with blond hair and her left hand up to her shoulder, showed a diamond ring, and he always put me down next to her.

After reading only one or two chapters at a time, he became tired and needed to sleep. But the next morning he was up early, made some coffee, then brought it back to bed and picked me up again, continuing to read at various intervals throughout the weekend until finally reading the last page on Sunday evening.

Then he placed me in a light clear plastic wrapper and put me down flat on the shelf, not among the other books lined up on end. I felt special, I was being given privileged treatment.

In time I learned that his name was Duncan McTaggart, and his lonely vigil was once interrupted by a long distance phone call