Your Perfect Year(16)
“We’ve also seriously miscalculated on certain titles.”
“Which ones?”
“For example”—Bode picked up the pile of papers, leafed through it, and finally took out a single sheet—“this one.” He handed the page to his boss.
Jonathan glanced at it. “The Loneliness of the Milky Way?” he exclaimed in surprise. “But that was nominated for last year’s German Book Prize!”
“That may be,” Bode continued, undeterred. “However, not only did we pay too much for it in the first place, but we printed thirty thousand extra copies after the nomination, of which twenty-seven thousand are still in storage. And we’re already getting returns from some booksellers.”
“Hmm. Why’s that?”
“I’d say it’s because people don’t want to read it.”
“But it’s a great novel!” Jonathan had read the manuscript because Bode had asked his opinion before they’d acquired the rights. He had been absolutely convinced that The Loneliness of the Milky Way was an important work of literature, one that satisfied all the right artistic criteria.
“You think so, I think so—but readers prefer one of those erotic potboilers or a Grisham.” He sighed. “‘Thinking of Germany in the night, puts all thoughts of sleep to flight.’”
“Precisely.” Jonathan held back from remarking that Bode—like so many—was quoting Heinrich Heine’s “Night Thoughts” completely out of context. The poet had composed the verse while exiled in Paris, as an expression of his homesickness and, above all, his longing for his mother, not as a criticism of Germany. “So what do you suggest?”
“That’s what I’m asking you,” Bode replied.
“Me?”
“Well, yes. You’re the publisher.”
“And you’re the expert,” Jonathan fired back reflexively.
Bode cleared his throat in a mixture of embarrassment and pride. “True. But I can’t set the future course of Grief & Son Books on my own.”
“Easy, now,” Jonathan said. “Just as one swallow doesn’t a summer make, one flop doesn’t mean ruination. I don’t think we need to be considering a new course just yet.”
“But I’m sorry to say we’re not talking about one flop.” He slid a few more sheets across the table. “It’s more a case of our whole list. And it’s been going on for some time. I’ve simply been trying to tell myself that it’s in line with the fluctuations in the rest of the industry. And we’ve always been able to milk Hubertus Krull for all we could. But we urgently need a new strategy.”
“Hmm.” Jonathan leaned back in his chair. “If you say so. But I’ll have to think about it for a while.”
“Of course, I’m not saying we should completely revise our whole portfolio starting tomorrow,” Bode conceded. “But I had to let you know the current position. To make sure we keep an eye on things and react quickly.”
“Yes, yes.” Jonathan nodded. “Fine. So now I know.”
The two of them sat pondering silently for a while. Jonathan couldn’t help but think of the young man by the Alster who had reminded him of Harry Potter. What did he like to read? Maybe he should have asked the guy.
“Well, now.” Markus Bode eventually broke the silence. “So, I . . . I’ll leave the documents here for you to look through.” He stood.
“Okay,” Jonathan replied, also getting to his feet. “Thank you for keeping me informed.” They shook hands. For a little longer than usual. Jonathan wondered again if it would be appropriate to say something. Anything. “I hope things sort themselves out for you soon,” he said finally, clapping Markus Bode stiffly on the shoulder.
“Thank you very much,” Bode said. “I only hope my wife doesn’t come back.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Joke.”
With a shake of his head, Jonathan watched his CEO trot out of the office. What a weird sense of humor!
8
Hannah
Two months before:
Monday, October 30, 10:47 a.m.
“First, the good news: your car’s outside, in perfect condition—not a single scratch.”
“Oh, no!” Simon cried, pulling Hannah into his arms. “I’m soooo sorry!” he sobbed into her ear, holding her so tight that she could hardly breathe. “Honestly, I can’t tell you how sorry I am!”
She disentangled herself from his embrace. “Why? Should I have driven it into the ground?” She struggled to suppress a snort of laughter.
“I don’t mean the car!” Simon said. “But if that’s the good news, then I’m guessing the bad news is that the opening was a complete washout. I’m such an idiot!” He smacked his forehead with his palm.
“We-e-ell.” She was grinning broadly. “It was a total success!”
“But you just said you’d start with the good news.”
“That’s right. To be followed by the excellent news!” Hannah laughed cheerfully.
“Ah.” Simon shook his head. “Let’s go sit in the kitchen. I put the kettle on for tea.” In his robe and slippers, he shuffled down the corridor ahead of her. Despite his “Pity me, I’m so ill” getup, he looked remarkably better than he had the day before. At least he was on his feet and able to walk unassisted. Good thing, too, as Hannah had a favor to ask him.