newly married stepdaughter, and breeding goldfinches. At the conclusion of Jude the Obscure , Jude Fawley escaped the clutches of Arabella and survived his final desperate visit to Sue in the freezing weather, whereupon they both ran away and went to live happily ever after in Eastbourne.
âThis is terrible,â said Mr. Gedeon, although even he had to admit that he preferred Mr. Bergerâs endings to Thomas Hardyâs.
Finally he came to Anna Karenina . It took him a little while to find the alteration, because this one was subtler than the others: a deletion instead of an actual piece of bad rewriting. It was still wrong, but Mr. Gedeon understood Mr. Bergerâs reason for making the change. Perhaps if Mr. Gedeon had experienced similar feelings about one of the characters in his care, he might have found the courage to intervene in a similar way. He had been a witness to the sufferings of so many of them, the consequences of decisions made by heartless authors, the miserable Hardy not least among them, but his first duty was, and always had been, to the books. This would have to be put right, however valid Mr. Berger might have believed his actions to be.
Mr. Gedeon returned the copy of Anna Karenina to its shelf and made his way to the station.
XV
Mr. Berger woke to the most terrible hangover. It took him a while even to recall where he was, never mind what he might have done. His mouth was dry, his head was thumping, and his neck and back were aching from having fallen asleep at Mr. Gedeonâs desk. He made himself some tea and toast, most of which he managed to keep down, and stared in horror at the pile of first editions that he had violated the night before. He had a vague sense that they did not represent the entirety of his efforts, for he dimly recalled returning some to the shelves, singing merrily to himself as he went, although he was damned if he could bring to mind the titles of all the works involved. So ill and appalled was he that he could find no reason to stay awake. Instead he curled up on the couch in the hope that, when he opened his eyes again, the world of literature might somehow have self-corrected, and the intensity of his headache might have lessened. Only one alteration did he not immediately regret, and that was his work on Anna Karenina. The actions of his pen in that case had truly been a labor of love.
He rose to sluggish consciousness to find Mr. Gedeon standing over him, his face a mixture of anger, disappointment, and not a little pity.
âWe need to have words, Mr. Berger,â he said. âUnder the circumstances, you might like to freshen up before we begin.â
Mr. Berger took himself to the bathroom and bathed his face and upper body with cold water. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and tried to make himself as presentable as possible. He felt a little like a condemned man hoping to make a good impression on the hangman. He returned to the living room, and smelled strong coffee brewing. Tea, in this case, was unlikely to be sufficient for the task at hand. He took a seat across from Mr. Gedeon, who was examining the altered first editions, his fury now entirely undiluted by any other emotions.
âThis is vandalism!â he said. âDo you realize what youâve done? Not only have you corrupted the world of literature, and altered the histories of the characters in our care, but youâve also damaged the libraryâs collection. How could someone who considers himself a lover of books do such a thing?â
Mr. Berger couldnât meet the librarianâs gaze.
âI did it for Anna,â he said. âI just couldnât bear to see her suffer in that way.â
âAnd the others?â said Mr. Gedeon. âWhat of Jude, and Tess, and Sydney Carton? Good grief, what of Macbeth?â
âI felt sorry for them, too,â said Mr. Berger. âAnd if their creators knew that, at some future date, they might take
âThis is terrible,â said Mr. Gedeon, although even he had to admit that he preferred Mr. Bergerâs endings to Thomas Hardyâs.
Finally he came to Anna Karenina . It took him a little while to find the alteration, because this one was subtler than the others: a deletion instead of an actual piece of bad rewriting. It was still wrong, but Mr. Gedeon understood Mr. Bergerâs reason for making the change. Perhaps if Mr. Gedeon had experienced similar feelings about one of the characters in his care, he might have found the courage to intervene in a similar way. He had been a witness to the sufferings of so many of them, the consequences of decisions made by heartless authors, the miserable Hardy not least among them, but his first duty was, and always had been, to the books. This would have to be put right, however valid Mr. Berger might have believed his actions to be.
Mr. Gedeon returned the copy of Anna Karenina to its shelf and made his way to the station.
XV
Mr. Berger woke to the most terrible hangover. It took him a while even to recall where he was, never mind what he might have done. His mouth was dry, his head was thumping, and his neck and back were aching from having fallen asleep at Mr. Gedeonâs desk. He made himself some tea and toast, most of which he managed to keep down, and stared in horror at the pile of first editions that he had violated the night before. He had a vague sense that they did not represent the entirety of his efforts, for he dimly recalled returning some to the shelves, singing merrily to himself as he went, although he was damned if he could bring to mind the titles of all the works involved. So ill and appalled was he that he could find no reason to stay awake. Instead he curled up on the couch in the hope that, when he opened his eyes again, the world of literature might somehow have self-corrected, and the intensity of his headache might have lessened. Only one alteration did he not immediately regret, and that was his work on Anna Karenina. The actions of his pen in that case had truly been a labor of love.
He rose to sluggish consciousness to find Mr. Gedeon standing over him, his face a mixture of anger, disappointment, and not a little pity.
âWe need to have words, Mr. Berger,â he said. âUnder the circumstances, you might like to freshen up before we begin.â
Mr. Berger took himself to the bathroom and bathed his face and upper body with cold water. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and tried to make himself as presentable as possible. He felt a little like a condemned man hoping to make a good impression on the hangman. He returned to the living room, and smelled strong coffee brewing. Tea, in this case, was unlikely to be sufficient for the task at hand. He took a seat across from Mr. Gedeon, who was examining the altered first editions, his fury now entirely undiluted by any other emotions.
âThis is vandalism!â he said. âDo you realize what youâve done? Not only have you corrupted the world of literature, and altered the histories of the characters in our care, but youâve also damaged the libraryâs collection. How could someone who considers himself a lover of books do such a thing?â
Mr. Berger couldnât meet the librarianâs gaze.
âI did it for Anna,â he said. âI just couldnât bear to see her suffer in that way.â
âAnd the others?â said Mr. Gedeon. âWhat of Jude, and Tess, and Sydney Carton? Good grief, what of Macbeth?â
âI felt sorry for them, too,â said Mr. Berger. âAnd if their creators knew that, at some future date, they might take
Similar Books
