Blog Love Omega Glee: George Orwell's Mustache (22 March 2012)

Francine browses in the politics section of Apocalypse Books. She pulls out a book, How To Be A Mayberry Machiavelli, and flips through it. From the Essays section nearby, a tall, gaunt, pasty-faced man with a thin, straight mustache and an unruly head of hair walks past. The man wears a baggy gray suit and carries a stack of books up to the checkout counter, where Eve works on the computer, filling online orders. Eve gets up and turns to face him. The man puts the books down and divides them into two piles. He points to one pile of the books, and says, in the type of British accent one picks up from watching too much of the British Broadcasting Corporation, "Hello, I'd like to purchase these," and then pointing at the second pile, "And these I wondered if you wanted me to autograph them for you. I'd be pleased to do so since I like your bookshop so much."

Having replaced Mayberry Machiavelli back on the shelf, Francine walks past the counter and notices that the second pile of books are all by George Orwell. Curious, she glances at Eve, who catches her eye and winks. Francine pretends to look through the new arrivals section, and watches the scene at the counter.

"Oh, thank you very much, but you don't have to do that," Eve says.

"Oh, I assure you it's no trouble. I'll just need a pen," the man says.

"No, that's all right, some of the customers are fussy, and don't want any writing in the books," Eve says, putting her hand on top of the second pile of books.

"Odd, when I worked in a bookshop, the customers rather valued books signed by the author," the man says, brow furling.

"Well, you know what people are like nowadays," Eve shrugs.

"Yes, they're a puzzle. I must confess I often feel out of place."

"Join the club."

"What club?"

"Huh?"

"What club? Do you mean a book club? If you want, I'd be happy to come and discuss one of my books with your book club."

"Hmm . . . that is something to think about, thank you."

"Are you sure you don't want me to sign these books?" the man spreads his hands, in a gesture as if to say "It's no problem, really I'd rather like to, please permit me to indulge in some pride."

"I tell you what," Eve says, pulling another stack of books out from behind the counter, "If you really must sign some books, go ahead and sign these ones."

She sets the stack and a pen down on the counter. The man picks one of the books up, and then another. He looks at them and a confused expression passes through his face from left to right. "But I didn't write these books," he says, pointing at the stack of Orwell books, "I wrote those books."

"Ah, but these are books which the customers like having signed, and I'm sure they'd particularly enjoy your signature on them even if you didn't write them, Mr. Orwell."

"Oh, you know me well enough by now. You can call me George. Or Eric, or even Blair," the man says, as he starts to sign the books in front of him.

When he's finished signing the books he didn't write, Eve rings up his purchase. He pays, and says, pointing at the stack of books by Orwell, er, him, "Would you like me to reshelve those?"

"I'll take care of it. Don't you worry about it."

"All right then, I should be getting home anyway. I should be writing, not reading right now. I'm working on a sequel to my last book, 1984."

"A sequel, really? What's it called?"

"1985."

"Ah, of course, that makes perfect sense. I look forward to that then. Have a good day, George."

"You too. Cheerio," the man says, heading out the door, thinking aloud as he goes, "Maybe I should call it 1994, or 2021 instead? Or forget the numerals and call it Big Sister or Little Brother. Maybe I should make it a bit more lighthearted than the original. A dystopian comedy . . . "

The door closes and the man walks past the window outside. Francine puts down a book she had picked up in order to appear nonchalant, and approaches the counter. "Eve?" she says.

Eve looks up from one of the books the man has signed, which she holds open to the title page where the fresh signature is. She snaps closed the book. "Ah, Francine, how are you?"

"I'm good. I don't mean to pry, but did that man think he was George Orwell?"

"It's all right, I understand. Yes, he's one of my best customers, but he does indeed think he is George Orwell. He's a professor at one of the local colleges, and he's working on an Orwell biography. Occasionally, he gets so obsessed with Orwell that he forgets he's just a scholar studying Orwell, and starts to think he is Orwell. It's a tad worrisome, but he seems harmless enough, and, again, he buys a lot of books, which these days is rarer than an Orwell first edition."

"What books did you have him sign?"

"Oh, these ones," Eve pushes closer to Francine the signed stack of books, including such titles as The Guide To Ferrets For Childless Couples, The Great Depression Of 1990, and The George W. Bush Daily Bible Reading Coloring Book, and says, "I hate to say it, but I've learned that there's some books which just can't be sold anymore. I usually get them when I buy entire collections or big lots of books. Most of the inventory I try to find good homes for, and I'm pretty patient, but some eventually I just use for kindling in the fireplace."

"You burn books?" Francine gasps.

"I know it sounds terrible, but they won't sell even at clearance prices, which means no one wants to read them anymore, and it cuts down on my heating bills. I have to cut costs whenever I can just to stay in business. So, I had him sign a few of those books destined for the fire."

"Down the memory hole, eh? Well, I understand. We don't like to think about it, but everything has a finite lifespan I suppose, even literature, or ferret guides at least. But, wow! George Orwell in the house, or the store anyway! Aside from the mental illness angle, that's pretty cool. You should have him do a book signing. That'd be pretty popular. He does kind of look like Orwell. He's got the mustache down for sure."

"That is a pretty nice Orwell mustache, but business isn't so bad that I'm quite that desperate yet to risk being accused of fraud by having a dead author sign books," Eve says, picking up the stack of Orwell books to reshelve them, "I must admit that I have thought about it though."

Blog Love Omega Glee is a novel by Wred Fright about two bloggers who fall in love while the world falls apart, which is being serialized on his blog. To start reading from the beginning or read another installment, please visit Blog Love Omega Glee Central on WredFright.Com. If you like what you've read, or you've read all of Blog Love Omega Glee and want more Fright, then please read his first novel, which is available in print and as an ebook.