My Next, Best Book—In Dot Point

Jack Bastock

1. For my next, best book, I have the first line put up on billboards. In a big, bold font. In every major city.
   1. Other random excerpts appear on the billboards that line roadsides.
      1. In a few places the boards form a sequence. The passages fly by in order of appearance. By the time you reach your destination, you’re a paragraph in. You’re a reader—hook, line, sinker.
   2. On other boards, I post a collage of torn pages from one complete chapter. Left to right, row on row. [You can’t read a thing from below—which means, of course, that now you really want to.]
      1. [Certain readers climb the boards to read the words for themselves. They refuse to come down at the behest of police, and are seen scaling the scaffold merely to “turn” the pages. When they’re arrested, they each say, in testimony, that they “just had to read” what had been written, “way up there—whatever the risk.” I go and thank the accused for their help, and post their bail; then I post my next, best book to them, via-snail mail.]
2. Meanwhile, I have the title of my book spelled out by skywriters. Big, big letters. In the sky over London, Melbourne, Brooklyn.
3. From airships, I have someone read my book’s blurb and back cover matter, aloud, to the people on the ground—with a mega, mega, mega phone.
4. Some years earlier, I had established a print news empire. Now articles about my next, best book are appearing in my flagship papers:
   1. Title: The Long and the Short. Twice-weekly; tabloid. In which the front-page headline is always a book launch. Inside a reader finds all their favourite foldouts, but in this paper the stories are always about books, or their authors.
      1. Local, National, World (books); Business (of books); Lifestyle (of authors); Sport (related-titles).
   2. Title: The Motley. Daily; broadsheet. In which excerpts from new or upcoming books fill every text box, corner and column.
      1. Three kinds of advertisement are permitted on the pages: ads for books, ads for authors and side-job ads for writers.
   3. Both are breaking-even.
5. I also bought a block of land that has since become a busy city square. Now I commission artists to build sculptures in the centre, as a teaser for a book that is ‘Coming Soon’ or ‘Recent’.
   1. When my own (next, best book) comes out, I have a stone statue made by an artist—and erected:
      1. Barack Obama is reading my book (format: hardcover). He’s smiling. He’s seated in the oval office. The name of the statue is: The President At Work On His Summer Reading List. Altogether, it is approximately the same size as the eponymous Lincoln (Memorial, DC).
   2. I establish a museum called ‘The Memories of Readers’. There, the retired sculptures from my city square are displayed for the public, together with book-related paraphernalia (inc. the author’s drafts laid out in glass cases).
      1. In the museum gift shop, there are no plastic miniatures of the statues for sale—only the print books they were built as a tribute to.
6. When at last I have my book printed, I use exceedingly thin, sweet-smelling Bible-paper. The books have a soft, plastic cover. They are designed to fit in your pocket.
7. The first copy of my book is the surprise first prize in a national lottery.
8. The next twenty copies are available for purchase, from me, at the local market.
9. Finally, my book is distributed to an army of hawkers. They are paid to give my book away, for free—at tram stops, train stations, and the doors to parking lots. Copies are dropped off at every café and bar, and on the tables near couches (wherever people are asked to wait, or be seated).
10. There are some other, limited editions of my next, best book.
    1. One is printed on a roll of butcher’s paper. It must be unwound from the tube, as the reader progresses.
    2. In another, my book is broken into paragraphs and short passages. These are all serialised: they are sent to subscribers via SMS, or email, at 5:01pm on weekday evenings.
    3. Finally, the plain text of my book is #posted in its entirety on #social #media (for which every #possible #word of the #text is also a #hashtag).
11. But certain parts of my book are withheld from all these print runs and editions. Instead, they are posted online wherever the traffic is highest.
    1. One section is the first result when searching for ‘dot-points’ on Google; three are trending on WordPress, Twitter and Tumblr; a fourth is this week’s featured article on Wikipedia; etc.
    2. Only when these stats are confirmed do I have these bonus pieces collated, and bound, and sold as a companion volume.
       
       ***
       
12. (The sequel to) my next, best book is released in collectible parts. They are printed on stacks of paper that are all the same size. The left hand margins are pre-punched with holes, for use with a ring binder.
    1. Part I appears, unannounced, on the desk of your local library.
       1. You find this out from your friend, Italo. He heard about the mysterious first part from an acquaintance on Twitter.
       2. You find the bundle there.
       3. You start to read the book. You like it.
    2. Part II shows up in random stacks at indie bookshops.
       1. It is a book of poetry, but it has been re-worked by the author into letters they will send to living recipients.
       2. You find out from your other friend, Jorge, and the next day you call Italo to let him know all about it.
    3. Part III is slipped, as an insert, in the August 16 copy of The Motley.
       1. You keep reading. You want the next part, but it has already been a week. You haven’t heard from your friends. You don’t know where to find it. Then:
    4. Part IV is dropped, unannounced, in your residential mailbox.
       1. This part contains essays, but they have been re-worked as diary entries, in a notebook the author purports to have left on a train carriage.
    5. Part V goes on sale for 99 cents through online bookstores.
       1. This is announced in a special edition of the bookstores’ newsletters.
       2. It appears to contain short stories that have been re-written for a restaurant menu.
    6. You find Part VI in an oversized card on your birthday.
       1. You scream and cry and jump for joy. When you ask your boyfriend where he found it, he says he bought it from a man who had a stall at the market.
       2. But the stall is gone when you arrive with Italo and Jorge. The other merchants at the market say they don’t know anyone there who is giving their writing away.
          1. When you put Part VI in the photocopier, the machine turns off abruptly. You try to snap a page with a smartphone, but the same thing happens. Ditto other copiers and cameras. You say you’re sorry, you don’t understand, they can borrow your copy. But Jorge shakes his head and advises against it.
             1. The next day they find Part VI tucked under their pillows, just as the sun is rising.
    7. Italo calls you on Sunday and says that Reddit is exploding. Part VII was found in a torrent. Nothing happens when you open the file–unless, of course, there is a printer connected.
       1. You follow Italo’s directions (URL; download; open; password = DeathOfTheBooks). As the paper shoots from your printer, you see that it has marks for where you should hole-punch this piece of the puzzle.
    8. It has been a month. You have been left on a cliffhanger. While you wait for the ending, you go to the newsagent to buy a ring binder. But, as you pay the woman behind the counter, she smiles and surreptitiously hands you some cardboard and paper. The paper is titled ‘Part VIII’.
       1. It appears to be an academic paper that has been adapted for the bumper summer issue of a magazine. Glossy paged. Full colour. General interest genre.
       2. The cardboard cover is hole-punched already. It looks a lot like a book’s front and back cover.
          1. You have the parts bound.
          2. You start reading all over.
             
             ***
             
13. I have a soundtrack composed for my next, best book. It’s bass heavy, ft. a popular rapper. Although it includes words from my book, it is mostly orchestral. It has leitmotifs. It is catchy.
14. There are teaser trailers for my next, best book.
    1. They’re cut short (-1 min). They’re cut fast, in time to my book’s OST.
    2. Couture costumes. Ensemble cast. Guns. Cars. Fire. Beautiful bodies wearing little or nothing.
    3. The trailers are untitled. My book’s name goes unmentioned. There are a few word-for-word passages, but the scenes are still all performative interpretations.
    4. The completed trailers drop on YouTube. They’re screened as previews in cinemas, but only after the screen has stretched, and the audience has hushed, and the lights have gone out.
    5. They trend.
    6. They go viral.
15. Later, I have other videos made in the lyrics-on-screen style, displaying passages from my book as they are being read aloud by the pre-recorded audio of a (familiar) voice persona.
    1. These are also put online, and in cinemas.
    2. They are dropped without an intro, outro, or any other info.
16. Meanwhile, I have my own photo booths installed around Sydney, San Fran and Los Angeles. Inside, visitors have their pictures taken while one of three clips is played through the speakers: a passage from my book, the audio of its trailer, or a reading of a piece from The Long and the Short (in which a writer speculates on my next, best book’s contents).
    1. Photos are taken at 5, 10, and 15 second intervals, then again after 20, 25, and 30 seconds through the audio. They are printed on a 3×3 sheet. $5 only. All proceeds go to the promulgation of my next, best book.
17. My book then goes on tour.
    1. I book only underground clubs that take off after midnight. The support acts are as follows: Grimes, The Presets, The Prodigy.
    2. Although my book is scheduled to appear at 12, it is fashionably late.
    3. @ 1:00-2:00am I appear on stage on my book’s behalf. I wear a different mask on each night of the tour. The bat mask, the anonymask, a masquerade mask (selected in advance by the audience, in an online poll for ticket holders).
       1. My set is a dance remix of the soundtrack for my book,
          1. in which the voice of someone reading my book is frequently sampled.
       2. There is an accompanying light show.
       3. There is an accompanying projection.
          1. At first, the visuals are adapted from imagery in my next, best book.
          2. Later, as the heat is climbing, and the patrons are peaking, footage of my eBook’s pages appear on the screen. They are magnified x10, and are facing the dance floor. They are turning to the beat, beat, beat.
18. (The sequel to) my next, best eBook is available in-store or online.
    1. On day one, it is leaked to the NYT, The Long and The Short and The Motley.
    2. On day two, it is given away at urban pop ups.
       1. (On a first come, first serve basis.)
       2. There are no books or shelves in the stores. There are only phones in cradles, such as one finds in telecommunication stores.
       3. The phones are all on, set to full brightness. My eBook is on every display: its front cover, or its first page, are set to full-screen mode.
       4. Customers can swipe-to-read for 20 minutes, or until they reach Part II.
          1. When they exit the store, they receive a free pass to the Memories of Readers, and a unique code with which to download the rest of my (DRM-free) eBook.
       5. Every surface in the store is spotless, scrubbed and gleaming. It smells of product packaging.
    3. On day three, my book is made available on my personal website, on a pay-what-you-want model.
    4. On day four, my book drops for 99 cents on every major app-form.
       1. The advertising copy for my eBook is done in the style of a dot-point feature list:
          1. [My next, best book] is available as a self-contained app on your home screen
          2. Swipe, tap, scroll or push-to-read the pages from [my non-linear book] in all 4 screen directions
          3. See 1,000+ high-FPS .gif illustrations and Video Interludes
          4. Get author updates, and watch as they type their addenda to the book in InstaPub real-time
          5. Enjoy total social web integration to like/share/spread your favourite paras, lines,
             1. words, and
                1. lett
                   1. ers
                      1. .
                         
                         ***
                         
                         
19. My next, best book will be unimaginably enormous, and circular, “with a continuous spine that goes completely around the walls” of the universe.
    1. The universe will be an indefinitely large library.
       1. The library will contain every possible book that can be written
          1. in 410 pages of 40 lines of 80 characters
             1. (letters, commas, spaces, and periods).
    2. “All [books, including:]
       1. the detailed history of the future,
       2. the autobiographies of the archangels …
       3. the true story of your death.“
          1. —Borges, Ficciones.
       4. & a book that vindicates all that you have done, and are doing.
          
          

© 2019  Jack Bastock

Jack Bastock is queer and does not eat animals. He is a graduate of the creative writing program at the University of Melbourne, with recent work appearing in Farrago Magazine, Antithesis Journal, and Plumwood Mountain. He lives in Princes Hill with friends, and on the internet with you.