Page 13 of The Bookshop of Forbidden Books

“Let’s just say… it’s a complicated time to be a bookseller.”

“People are reading less, I’ll grant you that. The woman who runs the shop near me is always complaining about it, too, but business still seems to be going pretty well for her. Maybe you need to be doing things differently?”

Mitch shook his head. “My shop is doing as well as anyone else’s – except that now the government is deciding what I’m allowed to sell. No – it’s worse than that. They’re deciding what I’m not allowed to sell.”

She patted his hand in sympathy, gazing absently at the river.

“I’ve heard about that bill,” she said. “It’s absurd, and what’s even more absurd is how many people think it’s justified. But there are so many books published every year, surely it can’t be that bad?”

“Oh, but it is. Anything with sexual content, an explicitly LGBTQ character, language judged to be ‘offensive’, or an allusion to suicide, has all been banned. That also goes for books that discuss racism or xenophobia, question religion, anything disturbing or shocking, or deviate in any way from what the government considers to be morally acceptable. All blacklisted. Madame Ateltow, half the authors you introduced us to in school are banned from the curriculum now. You wouldn’t even be allowed to mention their name in the classroom, let alone read a passage of their work.”

That was how, on a morning softened by a warm breeze and lit by sunlight sparkling off the surface of the river, a retired teacher sitting on a bench beside one of her former students came to a painful realization. It hit her like a blow to the chest. She had complained bitterly when the lawmakers had passed HB 1467. She’d also complained about the rising price of bacon, and had something to say about having to wait for five hours in the emergency room for her dislocated shoulder to be reset after a fall. Yes, Madame Ateltow had done her fair share of complaining in recent years, but now her own passivity horrified her.

She turned to Mitch now, wearing the same apologetic look she’d worn when she’d surprise the class with a pop quiz.

“And you, my dear Mitch – what are you doing with all this outrage you’re feeling?”

All the authority had gone from her voice. Mitch could hear compassion in it now, the kind that makes you lower your guard, that turns friends into allies. And so he told her, with a spark of excitement, that he had built up a collection of several hundred banned books. That he was seriously considering breaking the law, was just looking for the best way to do it.

“I’d welcome any suggestions you might have,” he finished.

Madame Ateltow held up a hand – not in a demand for silence, the way she’d done in class, but because she needed a moment to think. She rose and paced slowly back and forth along the riverbank, passing Mitch several times, murmuring softly to herself, once pausing to watch a couple of mallards fighting over a morsel of bread.

“We’ll fight fire with fire!” she exclaimed suddenly, her voice filled with the renewed vigour of a teacher readying to tame a rowdy classroom. “If the governor is targeting books, it’s because he’s afraid of them. He fears their power. It’s exactly what I was trying to teach you when I had you read those books in class. You often resented me for it, but I was teaching you the art of understanding rather than judging hastily. I was shaking up your certainties and challenging your prejudices. In my classes we met strangers, travelled to other cultures, explored new ideas, and confronted unfamiliar ways of thinking. The governor is trying to stop the narrow little world he controls from changing. My dear Mitch, the task ahead of us is more important than you can imagine. It’s going to take courage, and a little bit of madness. We’re going to make those books circulate ten times more widely than before. It’s possible that the authorities will arrest us and make us pay, yes. But if we do nothing, then everything really is all over.”

“Are you suggesting I put them in the window?” Mitch asked. “That won’t work; I’ve already had a visit from a public safety inspector. They’ll shut me down.”

“No, I have a much better idea. Young people have an insatiable appetite for anything forbidden. They’re going to devour these books. Idolize their authors. It’ll be all they talk about. We’re going to spark a contagion the censors will be helpless to fight. I’ll speak to a few former colleagues who are still teaching. Trustworthy ones, of course.”

Touched by Madame Ateltow’s fervour, Mitch considered her suggestions. Getting the books to circulate in schools and universities struck him as far too risky. Sooner or later, some officious teacher or hall monitor would confiscate one. Sooner or later, there would be multiple teachers or hall monitors, and not all of them would be allies. Sooner or later, some student under threat of punishment would betray them, and the authorities would trace the books back to him. Creating a movement around banned books among young people was a powerful idea in itself, but they had to find the right way to infect the young with a fever for reading.

Mitch thanked Madame Ateltow and they exchanged phone numbers before parting ways, promising to see each other again soon.

The solution came to Mitch on the walk back to his shop.

* * *

He called Mathilde and invited her to dinner, which delighted her, as it was the first time he’d taken the initiative. She wanted to know where he was taking her, but all he told her was that it was a surprise, and that she was to meet him at the shop the next day, just after closing time.

As soon as they’d hung up, Mitch called Monsieur Verner, who initially declined the invitation, politely but firmly. But Mitch persisted, promising him a good meal paired with exceptional wine. Verner hated dining with other people, but if it was for a good cause…

Madame Ateltow accepted the invitation before Mitch could even finish his sentence; it seemed that she no longer minded the hassle of crossing town. The moment she hung up, she rearranged her schedule for the next day to give herself time to get properly ready. Then she called her son, who had an annoying tendency to show up at her apartment without calling first, and told him she had plans to play bridge with friends the following evening.

Mitch closed the bookshop a little earlier than usual, forcing Madame Bergol to pause in the middle of a chapter. He went out and ran a few errands, bought two bottles of a good vintage, and headed for the kitchen as soon as he got home. Meeting his guests in a restaurant would have been far less work, but he didn’t want any prying ears catching what he had to say.

* * *

The next morning Mitch took the first train into town, weighed down by an overflowing shopping bag. He crossed the courtyard, stepped into the back room and climbed down into the hidden room below. He set a tablecloth and four place settings on an old bridge table. At lunchtime, he went to a hardware store and bought a hot plate and a mini fridge, arranging for same day delivery.

The rest of the afternoon seemed to last an eternity.

* * *

Madame Ateltow showed up half an hour early. Her hairdresser had made extravagant use of the blow dryer, and she kept trying to tame her rather startling mane of curls.

Verner arrived precisely on time, looking grumpy at first, though his mood changed dramatically when met with Madame Ateltow’s radiant smile. Mitch wasted no time introducing them, and the fact that they’d both been teachers gave them immediate common ground. From that moment on, as far as they were concerned, Mitch might not even have been in the room.

Mathilde made a fashionably late entrance, frowning at the unexpected company and making no attempt to hide her desire for them to leave. The cool smile Mitch greeted her with gave her the unsettling sense that she’d been taken for a ride.