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Authors: Walter Moers
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adviser of PFISTOMEL SMYKE, incidentally) was able for the space of a year to establish an Ugglian regime in Bookholm that was not only medieval in character but devoid of any legal foundation.”’
‘This really happened?’ I exclaimed. ‘Here in Bookholm?’
The dwarf just glanced at me and read on. ‘“In the course of this short-lived Bookemistic dictatorship it was strictly forbidden (only one of a series of equally bizarre prohibitions) to light any kind of fire within the city limits, whether on an open hearth or inside a stove or even in the form of a candle flame. Quite simply, the Bookemists proclaimed that this natural element was an addictive drug whose use led ultimately to destruction – a contention for which the recent conflagration naturally provided a convincing argument. The city’s inhabitants were still so traumatised by the event that they gratefully accepted anything that promised them protection from another inferno, so what could be more obvious than simply to ban fire itself?
‘“After the fire ban had come into force in the spring of that year, Bookholm swiftly reverted to a condition of almost Stone Age barbarism. Without light there was little protection from wild beasts at night, and it was, of course, impossible to boil water and kill bacteria in foodstuffs. Wolves and bats descended on the city in the darkness, rats and other vermin crawled out of the catacombs, and diseases of all kinds proliferated on an epidemic scale. The unsterile conditions had a disastrous effect on public health.”’
The gnome turned over the sheet and read the rest of the article on the back.
‘“The totalitarian Bookemists suffered least of all,”’ he went on, ‘“because they had claimed the best and safest of the surviving houses for themselves and controlled the city’s food supplies, which they allegedly had to submit to alchemistic spells. Many a Bookholmer reported on the quiet that he had often noticed smoke rising from the Bookemists’ chimneys, seen candlelight in their windows and smelt burnt fat. When the winter of this darkest of all years finally arrived, the Bookholmers’ endurance was put to the hardest test in their history. Notwithstanding, some of them had to perish of cold before even the most obtuse of the city’s inhabitants grasped that civilisation without fire was a lethal misconception that had to be ended at once. And that was how the Fire Revolution of Bookholm, whose centennial we celebrate today, eventually came about.”’
The dwarf drew a deep breath.
‘“If an individual lights a prohibited fire, he is easily identified and punished, but if everyone lights a fire at once, punishment is impossible. The basic idea underlying any revolution is that the oppressed must rebel collectively, not individually. That was what happened on that memorable winter’s night in Bookholm. Fire after fire was lit until the whole city was bathed in a flickering glow that was eerily reminiscent of the Great Conflagration. This time, however, the flames served to cure the city, not destroy it. In the end the townsfolk built a bonfire on which they cooked their first hot meals for a long time. For reasons of journalistic accuracy it should be noted that the fuel with which they stoked this bonfire included their temporary overlord, Naborik Bigosu. Having mentioned his name, however, let us strike it from our records for ever. That was the end of traditional Bookemism in Bookholm. We do not know where the surviving Bookemists disappeared to because the city’s inhabitants preserve a stubborn silence on the subject. It is, however, reported that many hot meals of fresh meat were cooked over campfires that night – and this although meat was in extremely short supply …”’
The gnome ended his reading, folded up the article, stowed it away and looked at me expectantly like a dog waiting for another stick to be thrown.
This was all entirely new to me, dear friends, but it
‘This really happened?’ I exclaimed. ‘Here in Bookholm?’
The dwarf just glanced at me and read on. ‘“In the course of this short-lived Bookemistic dictatorship it was strictly forbidden (only one of a series of equally bizarre prohibitions) to light any kind of fire within the city limits, whether on an open hearth or inside a stove or even in the form of a candle flame. Quite simply, the Bookemists proclaimed that this natural element was an addictive drug whose use led ultimately to destruction – a contention for which the recent conflagration naturally provided a convincing argument. The city’s inhabitants were still so traumatised by the event that they gratefully accepted anything that promised them protection from another inferno, so what could be more obvious than simply to ban fire itself?
‘“After the fire ban had come into force in the spring of that year, Bookholm swiftly reverted to a condition of almost Stone Age barbarism. Without light there was little protection from wild beasts at night, and it was, of course, impossible to boil water and kill bacteria in foodstuffs. Wolves and bats descended on the city in the darkness, rats and other vermin crawled out of the catacombs, and diseases of all kinds proliferated on an epidemic scale. The unsterile conditions had a disastrous effect on public health.”’
The gnome turned over the sheet and read the rest of the article on the back.
‘“The totalitarian Bookemists suffered least of all,”’ he went on, ‘“because they had claimed the best and safest of the surviving houses for themselves and controlled the city’s food supplies, which they allegedly had to submit to alchemistic spells. Many a Bookholmer reported on the quiet that he had often noticed smoke rising from the Bookemists’ chimneys, seen candlelight in their windows and smelt burnt fat. When the winter of this darkest of all years finally arrived, the Bookholmers’ endurance was put to the hardest test in their history. Notwithstanding, some of them had to perish of cold before even the most obtuse of the city’s inhabitants grasped that civilisation without fire was a lethal misconception that had to be ended at once. And that was how the Fire Revolution of Bookholm, whose centennial we celebrate today, eventually came about.”’
The dwarf drew a deep breath.
‘“If an individual lights a prohibited fire, he is easily identified and punished, but if everyone lights a fire at once, punishment is impossible. The basic idea underlying any revolution is that the oppressed must rebel collectively, not individually. That was what happened on that memorable winter’s night in Bookholm. Fire after fire was lit until the whole city was bathed in a flickering glow that was eerily reminiscent of the Great Conflagration. This time, however, the flames served to cure the city, not destroy it. In the end the townsfolk built a bonfire on which they cooked their first hot meals for a long time. For reasons of journalistic accuracy it should be noted that the fuel with which they stoked this bonfire included their temporary overlord, Naborik Bigosu. Having mentioned his name, however, let us strike it from our records for ever. That was the end of traditional Bookemism in Bookholm. We do not know where the surviving Bookemists disappeared to because the city’s inhabitants preserve a stubborn silence on the subject. It is, however, reported that many hot meals of fresh meat were cooked over campfires that night – and this although meat was in extremely short supply …”’
The gnome ended his reading, folded up the article, stowed it away and looked at me expectantly like a dog waiting for another stick to be thrown.
This was all entirely new to me, dear friends, but it
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