The Wheels of the World: Jamie's Myth, #2

By Glenn Myers

Thanks to a near-death experience, Jamie Smith can commute between earth and the heavens, where souls swim, ideas grow and improbable dollops of joy fall through the sky.

Jamie and his scary colleague Keziah have been recruited into an eccentric organization that tries to fix broken souls and change the course of history. Which is fine, except Jamie isn't too sure about the health of his own soul—and definitely doesn't want to find out.

He'd rather be working for The Department, the heavenly bureaucracy that plans the future universe and offers a 30-hour working week, enviable employee benefits, and a tennis-skirted line manager named Anna-Natasha.

As Jamie dithers, problems mount, dark forces close in, and time runs out. He's left with a decision: if he's fleeing from himself, which way should he run?

The Wheels of the World is a comedy about how we change on the inside.


Glenn Myers' comic writing has won national and international prizes and been broadcast on the BBC.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fizz Books
• Release date: May 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9780956501028

Glenn Myers

Glenn Myers has been a writer and editor all his life. Brought up in West Yorkshire, he has lived in Los Angeles, Singapore, London and Cote d'Ivoire, but has settled with his wife in Cambridge, UK. As a journalist Glenn travelled widely to write a series of 11 books about the church in minority settings around the world. These books sold widely and were translated into many languages. Since turning to comic fiction, he writes about the invisible worlds that we all live in--much more exotic than mere reality. He was in a coma for four weeks in 2013, but assumes he's stopped hallucinating now. Glenn has also written non-fiction exploring the spaces between doubt and faith, and he blogs at slowmission.com. They have two grown-up children. He and his wife are members of their local Anglican church. He enjoys cafes, board games and his hammock, though not all at the same time.

Book preview

This is a comedy about the worlds behind the world, where spirits live, souls swim and ideas grow.

It was produced in a facility containing nuts.

This book is the sequel to Paradise – A Divine Comedy. You can read this on its own, but you may like to get Paradise first, which is available free, straight onto your phone, from reputable (and also from slightly dodgy) internet bookshops—and also in paperback.

In the same series:

Paradise — a divine comedy

Sump of Lost Dreams

Some reviews:

... absolutely loved it. A hysterical surrealist take on what is out there after life on earth, or next to life on earth, or simultaneous with life on earth, or whatever. A story of Gods in kilts, crystal clear memories, and walls made of our pixelated fears. Delightful. (4 stars) Jeannette M. (Goodreads.com)

... Sometimes you want to hit the main character on the back of the head and tell him to stop being a wuss, but how would you react if you had to build a paradise controlled by some used-car-salesman-style gods? If you like quirky and surreal stories about the afterlife, then I would highly recommend Paradise. (4 stars, Katie Webb, Goodreads.com)

Superb rollercoaster of a story; loved every minute! (Phil Groom, book blogger)

So hilariously funny! I’ve already started reading the next one. I would highly recommend this to just about anyone. (Stewartc85 on Goodreads)

Myers is a great writer and his style is terrific... this was a great book (Martin Gibbs, Goodreads.)

What a great book! ... a delightfully comic but definitely insightful look into the human psyche and soul ... I loved every aspect of it. (4 stars, S Sutton)

In an example of life following fiction, Glenn Myers was in a coma for a month shortly after writing the Wheels of the World. His hallucinations while waking up were so convincing that it took weeks to separate what was imaginary from (what is widely held to be) real.

He made a full recovery.

––––––––

He has written about the aftermath of that experience in two non-fiction titles also published by Fizz Books:

More than Bananas: How the Christian faith works for me and the whole Universe (2014)

Bread: my search for what really matters (2022)

The wheels of the world

Glenn Myers

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This book is for Ruth, my best special precious

Lunchtime at the Shepherd Diner

In the heavens—where the wheels of the world spin—the spirit of a Hebrew prophet and the spirit of an elderly academic had given us lunch.

‘Milk stout?’ Dr Corrie Bright asked me, her rheumy eyes looking out from a hawk-like face. ‘Helps digestion.’

‘Bit early in the day,’ I said. Plus it’s a granny drink, I thought. ‘I might stick with fizzy water.’

‘On your best behaviour,’ observed the prophet Jonah, who had dark eyes, a hook nose, and a cheap suit. ‘Doubt it’ll last.’

‘I can do you Costa Rican coffee, mountain-grown,’ offered the waitress, who was standing by the table, and whose name was Kirsty. ‘With notes of vanilla, chocolate and woodsmoke. Will hit the spot.’

‘How did you know—?’ I asked.

‘It’s my job,’ said Kirsty. Kirsty was dauntingly tall and wore her straight hair short. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Her legs went on for ever and a day. She had a New Zealand twang to her voice, and the relaxed look of those bronzed young women who travel round Europe, odd jobbing in bars and ski resorts. She wasn’t human, but as she’d explained, she was a type. If she had been human, this is what she’d look like.

‘How about you, Keziah?’ Corrie Bright asked our lunch companion, who was a pale-faced girl of scary aspect and wearing too much eyeliner.

‘We can do pure Robusta,’ suggested Kirsty. ‘Rough as a farm track.’

‘Good call,’ replied Keziah.

‘Right,’ said Kirsty, checking. ‘Corrie: Milk stout. Jonah: Turkish coffee—’

‘—with one of those little brown wafers—’

‘—with one of those little brown wafers. Jamie: Costa Rican mountain-grown with notes of vanilla, chocolate and woodsmoke. Keziah: Robusta. That’s the four humans done. How about you, Cheerful?’

‘I will politely decline, miss,’ said a tall, sepulchral spirit, unseasonably dressed in raincoat and hat, the non-lunching final member of our party.

‘I can do you some tap water,’ said Kirsty. ‘Help you cool down.’

‘I would not want to put you to any trouble, miss.’

‘There’s a fighting chance I may not collapse from exhaustion.’

‘I have nothing to repay you with, miss,’ said the mackintosh-clad spirit, whose name was Stub.

‘Stub,’ she said, ‘have it on the house. In exchange for brightening the place up and being the heart and soul of every party.’

‘I fear you are being ironic,’ said Stub.

‘No really,’ muttered Kirsty, collecting up our dishes and walking back to the bar.

‘Murtabak,’ the prophet Jonah asked me. ‘How was the Afghan bread today?’

‘The dream lunch. Warm and fluffy and stuffed with minced lamb,’ I said. ‘Curry sauce was like molten lava drenched in ghee. On a scale of 1-10? 10.’

‘One of the perks.’ The spirit of the former Old Testament prophet[1] took the form of a weaselish man with grey hair and gloomy eyes. ‘You’ve had an interesting few months.’

Let’s see: a car crash with Keziah. Her spirit and mine leaving our bodies and slipping behind the scenes to the heavens where souls swim and moods swing and principles live. There, captured by evil spirits. Eventually escaping and returning to our bodies, which turned out not to be dead, merely comatose. After a long story,[2] being offered a job with Corrie and Jonah that involved commuting between earth and the heavens, curing souls. Own soul probably not cured. Own soul, to tell the truth, deeply worried.

‘We’d like to start you two gently,’ continued Jonah. ‘Get used to the tools, get a feel.’

‘Good,’ I said.

‘Unfortunately we’re at normal staffing levels.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Normal staffing levels,’ explained Corrie Bright, ‘which is to say, seriously short of workers, too much to do, in it up to our necks, making it up as we go along and hoping for the best.’

‘I see.’

‘Technically,’ Jonah added, gloomily, ‘it’s springtime in the Universe. Birds singing, new life, new hope.’

‘That’s this rain,’ I said.

‘Yes. Pouring through the heavens. Splashing onto systems and souls.’

‘I feel a but coming on,’ I said.

‘Most people prefer shopping,’ continued Jonah.

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘And our job is to... help them not go shopping?’

‘And/or save the Universe,’ said Jonah. Kirsty returned with her tray.

#

The Universe Behind

The Shepherd Diner’s restaurant is roofed with living willow saplings. Ceiling fans keep the air moving. A boardwalk leads past jungle plants to the swimming pool.

In the heavens, picturing things creates them. We weren’t sure when the Diner had been built or imagined, or by whom, but it was beautifully done.

Outside the Diner is a pavement cafe with pleasant views of the high heavens, through which the restaurant complex is pulled by a large winged creature called a pengub.

Jonah took us to the very edge of this pavement. We four humans sat down—Corrie Bright creaking a little—and dangled our feet over the depths. Stub sat at a nearby table, under an umbrella.

We looked on in silence for some time.

A pleasant golden drizzle fell. Keziah leaned on her elbows, stretched out her legs—jeans-wrapped legs which I’m convinced have never seen daylight—and let the life-affirming drizzle wash her white face and straight black hair. Her spirit here in the Diner, like mine, reflected her earthly essence. On earth, Keziah was 27, and a lawyer. After two decades of abuse and family breakdown, about which I had never wanted to learn, she had driven her car headlong into mine. But our near-death had led her to start putting her life back together.

We watched a golden blob fall leisurely past us, leaving a trail like a comet.

Bubbles floated by, some of them containing little figures. Smoking rings oozed around, flapping like jellyfish. Oily slicks drifted along. Lights strobed from high above. Far away, we could see cities or landscapes being pulled by their own pengubim, each one a soul or a shared mental construct.

‘The universe behind,’ mused Jonah. ‘Every soul swims in it and hardly anyone knows it’s here.’

We watched the scene unfold. ‘We thought,’ continued Jonah, ‘we’d start you with an easy job—Oh, hello Kirsty.’

‘Bit of a delay,’ she said. ‘Look.’ She pointed at a city in the far distance. Out of it was flying a V-shaped formation of glittering objects. It was heading slowly towards us.

‘Action,’ said Jonah.

‘Sorry,’ said Kirsty.

‘Doesn’t he have anything better to do?’ asked Jonah.

The silvery formation unhurriedly made its way in our direction.

‘What’s Action?’ I asked.

‘Action Tan,’ muttered Jonah gloomily. ‘His job is to help run the Universe.’

‘Surely that’s a good thing?’ I asked.

‘So he informs us,’ said Jonah.

We could see now that the small flotilla heading for us was a set of wheeled carts, each pulled by a pengub. They were flaming with silvery fire, except for the centre one which was golden and larger than the others. The wheels of the vehicles also shone with fire and were studded with living eyes like jewels. These, I knew, were navigation aids and sensors.

‘You and Miss Bright travel in chariots like these,’ I said to Jonah.

‘So will you,’ replied Jonah. ‘But ours are a bit creakier.’

The golden cart with its outriders rolled to a stop on the pavement outside the Diner. Six uniformed beings unlatched their doors, climbed out, removed their helmets and stood to attention. One of them marched to the golden cart and pulled open the door.

The being inside adjusted his mirror sunglasses, stepped out and strolled towards us. He had the form of a young man with dark hair and a smooth face. His suit, his watch and the thin gold chain around his wrist were expensive. A pair of wings sprouted from his back. Spotlessly white and neatly folded, these were not wings that had flapped through the muck of the heavens. Action, I imagined, preferred to ride.

‘Jonah, Corrie, excellent!’ he said, shaking Jonah’s hand and wafting two air-kisses around Corrie Bright.

‘Hello Action,’ said Corrie.

‘So these are your new trainees? Ready to be knocked into shape, lah! Keziah Mordant! The lawyer! They should have called you Sue!’

Keziah looked him up and down, a bit like a white blood cell finding a bacterium left over from the Black Death.

He made to kiss her. She declined to lift her face, so he had to duck out at the last minute and shake her hand.

‘Jamie Smith!’ He pumped my hand up and down. ‘Action Tan,’ he said. ‘Action Tan the Action Man! Of course I have traditional Chinese name also but if the cap fits... Hello Stub! How’s the Lake of Fire? Next time, take marshmallows and a toasting fork!... Kirsty, always a pleasure!

‘Jonah,’ he continued, tapping the prophet on the chest. ‘Your recruits need big picture!’

‘You’d better sit down,’ said Jonah.

‘So, what do you know about this team?’ Action Tan asked us, when he was seated and we were all furnished with fresh drinks. Action’s outriders sat at a separate table and played cards.

‘It’s called the Cambridge Area Network Soul Repair Team,’ I volunteered. ‘Me and Keziah have been asked to join because we had this near-fatal car crash. Our spirits can commute between the heavens and our bodies on earth. We can see both places which most people can’t.’

‘Have you got Job Description? Vision Statement? Mission Statement?’

‘I—well—’

‘Stop souls withering away in self-absorption,’ said Keziah. ‘Stop them destroying themselves with strange compulsions. Demolish vanity and pretensions. Help them flourish.’

‘That’s what I was about to say,’ I said.

‘We work at the pinch-points,’ continued Keziah. ‘Where people make the decisions that their whole lives turn on. And sometimes take whole cultures with them.’

‘We do?’ I asked.

‘In theory,’ added Jonah.

‘Intervening in the lives of souls, lah,’ mused Action Tan. ‘Jonah and Corrie, and even Stub here, have worked extremely hard, no question. What do you think their success rate is?’

‘High,’ I said, loyally.

‘Have they even succeeded with your soul?’

‘Up to a point.’

‘We think fewer than five percent of their interventions achieve desired outcome,’ said Action. ‘Not much more than if you did nothing.’

‘Is that true?’ I asked Jonah.

‘So the most modern and sophisticated management metrics tell us,’ replied Jonah mildly.

‘That is little problem we have with the CANSORT,’ continued Action, tapping a finger on the table. ‘Here, this point exactly. You don’t utilise right systems. Hard to manage, lah! Another question. What do you think of staffing levels?’

‘We haven’t started work yet.’

‘Five of you!’ Action Tan leaned back in his chair with satisfaction. ‘Jonah: often away. Stub: poor attendance record. Corrie: not getting any younger and you two: raw trainees. No experience! No orientation! In the deep end! Do you know how many souls swim in the Cambridge space?’

‘I suppose that depends whether the students are up or not,’ I said.

‘More than eighty thousand,’ said Action Tan. ‘So: five of you. Eighty thousand people. Numbers don’t lie, lah!’

‘I seem to remember,’ said Keziah innocently, ‘from Sunday School—I may be wrong—that the prophet Jonah here, after the fish sicked him up, went to the ancient city of Nineveh and totally transformed it, all on his own. Just him.’

Action Tan’s face darkened. ‘Totally different! Like-for-like comparison impossible.’

‘Silly me.’

‘Totally different,’ continued Action Tan. ‘One more thing. Have your new colleagues shown you their offices? What about administrative backup? No? Let me tell you something. They don’t exist, lah! There isn’t any.’

Satisfied, he took a sniff, then a slow sip, of ginseng and ginger tea from a china cup, swilling it round his mouth before swallowing. ‘You’re wasted here!’ he said to Kirsty. ‘I would be promoting you to high level.’

‘Then I could make tea for senior beings like you all day,’ muttered Kirsty. ‘Still my beating heart.’

‘All you have for offices is this place—obscure little recreational facility. Records Department has no record!’

‘If we don’t exist,’ asked Kirsty, ‘I wonder why you visit?’

‘I am scrupulous for proper management, lah.’

‘No part of the heavens should be lacking a Vision Statement,’ added Kirsty.

‘Exactly right,’ said Action, his irony aerial entirely switched off. ‘Important: you two—’ he pointed at Keziah and I—‘need to know that Jonah here and Corrie Bright plough an independent furrow. True or not, Jonah?’

‘It’s also called being a prophet,’ said Jonah.

‘Whole thing, amateurish.’

‘Which is another word for doing a thing for the love of it,’ added Corrie Bright.

‘Yes, yes, Of course we have respect for both of you. Hard work over the years. Been here a lot longer than me! Eh Jonah!’

‘Odd that,’ said Jonah.

‘New day coming lah!’ Action was tapping his finger again. ‘Fundamental reform being consolidated across all nodes holistically and in tandem.’

‘In tandem with what?’ asked Corrie.

‘In tandem with fundamental reform being consolidated across all the other nodes,’ continued Action, with a little twitch. ‘Totally coherent system, no more amateur fixes. Listen. Next monthly review, you two come with Jonah and Corrie Bright. See how the professionals do it. Have your eyes opened, lah!’

‘Make your mark on the Universe,’ said Jonah.

‘Nothing to prove already!’ snapped Action. ‘I have a demonstrated ability to drive change across multiple organizational nodes! I am holistically skilled! Already! Proven! Not called Action for nothing!’

‘We’ll see you at the meeting then,’ added Jonah.

We watched Action Tan and his outriders fly into the distance.

‘Back to where we were.’ Jonah dunked the wafer into his Turkish coffee. ‘Kirsty, you said we had an easy job?’

‘Yes. An old woman named Edna Robinson. She’s going to die tonight and she’s heavily sedated, but she’s fighting off the sedation because she’s anxious. Oh, and she has a bit of dementia. Ward F4.’

‘You want us to—what? Visit her?’ I asked, not being a fan of the whole old-woman-hospital-dementia-deathbed thing.

‘Yes,’ said Jonah.

‘Then what do we do?’

‘Oh, you’ll think of something,’ said Jonah.

‘Are you coming?’

‘Nah,’ said Jonah. ‘Piece of cake. Come back when you’re done.’

The Enlightenhouse

‘I’d better drive,’ I told Keziah.

‘We won’t get anywhere if you drive.’ She climbed in and took the reins.

‘I haven’t got eight points on my licence.’

‘Neither have I.’

‘Yes you do. For crashing into me.’

‘I got three new ones for speeding.’

‘Eleven!’ Twelve is a six-month ban, as Keziah, the defence lawyer, would know.

‘They don’t count up here.’

‘They show a tendency though,’ I muttered and climbed reluctantly into the little pengub-and-cart that Kirsty had led round from the Shepherd Diner’s garage. This vehicle, along with another one just like it, were ours to borrow, part of the Diner’s collection, designed for scooting around the heavenly places. Pulled by one of the pengubim, and equipped with eyes all around, they were fairly autonomous. They did all the hard things for you. You mostly just had to steer and brake, which was terrifying enough.

The cart had been a chariot once but the fancy bits had worn smooth through years of use and it had been splattered with heavenly debris. Keziah flicked the reins and the little pengub yanked us off the Diner pavement.

‘How do we find this woman’s soul then?’

‘We use the Enlightenhouse.’ Keziah had spent a few weeks longer with Corrie Bright and Jonah than I. She could be like an annoying big sister when it came to explaining things: she only knew a tiny bit more but beat me with it nonetheless. ‘See that?’ She pointed at a vertical grey line in the distance. ‘That’s the Enlightenhouse. It’s a filter.’

‘How does that help anything?’

‘The heavens are too full of information. The Enlightenhouse filters out what we don’t need. So with a few changes of filter we can zoom in on Edna Robinson’s soul.’

Riding our pengub-and-cart was like being tugged through an aquarium. Far away we could see cities and souls pulled around by other members