Listing to Port

1. The Alexandrian Rook. We are unsure whether this beast was originally a book or a bird. It is believed to draw its origin from the sack of library of Alexandria; the first specimens being either burned and librarian-haunted books that nonetheless managed to escape, or crow-like birds who found themselves able to successfully hide in the book ash. These days they appear whilst roosting to be small books with all-black pages. When threatened with reading, they unfold themselves and fly off. However, over the years they have evolved exceptionally dull titles and as a result are rarely removed from the shelves.

2. The Gentlemen. Each library has its own unique code for summoning the Gentlemen. For example, one might take out and put back the third book on the bottom shelf nearest the door, the favourite book of the head librarian, and each book whose author begins with Z. Once summoned, the gentlemen (who are impeccably groomed) will enter the library. An extremely polite request will be made, usually of something the summoner cannot afford to lose. The summoner’s liver is a common example. The Gentlemen will wax lyrical about how happy this item will make them. Most people still manage to refuse, but are left with a vague but uncomfortable sense of having violated the social contract. No punishment is exacted. The Gentlemen may be heard to tut slightly as they leave.

3. The late fine. Initially animated by Doris of Sendai, the original pirate-witch-ninja, the late fine is a sentient pile of pieces of eight which has spent the past eighty years wandering the libraries of the world. It is believed to be looking for a library from which Doris once borrowed and neglected to return a book on practical cutlass use. Sadly the fees accruing to that withdrawal are now likely to exceed the value of the late fine. Being a rather timid beast which does not fancy a telling-off, we believe it may have ascertained the correct library many years ago and have been avoiding it ever since.

4. The Gudrunsen collection. In 1849, a small village in Northern Sweden was cursed into books by something that came out of a tree in a hollow. The books, which are attractively leather-bound, contain what appears to be an ever-evolving stream of consciousness from each resident. Some are aware that they are trapped in books, though most believe that they are dreaming. The Gudrunsen collection was held in a library funded by relatives of the books for nearly a hundred years, but was accidentally sold to a Finnish collector in the years following World War II. Its current whereabouts are unknown.

That book that you lent to someone and then they lent it to someone else, those books in that great lost library, that book that you saw floating far out to sea and it was always a mystery as to how it got there in the first place, books that end by eating themselves, books that end by eating you and consequently are believed to have been thrown in some great lost book jail, that book at the picturesque centre of that illustration of urban decay, that book that the vet had to remove from the dog, that book that you loved as a child and nobody would ever have thrown out but it’s still not here, the book that was propping up that thing that fell over, ice books that have melted, that book that would have truly changed the world if only that person had read it, that other book, that book that you thought you remembered but the physical version seems subtly different, the book that that awesome person wrote way back in time but then destroyed in some heartbreakingly romantic way, that book about book destruction that you ironically saw in someone else’s bin when checking down the street to see if a different stolen book had been flung in there, edible books that have been eaten, books tattooed on the bottoms of missing people, books that went into the removal van and did not come back out again, the records of lost cities, those that have flown away.

1. Stephen King’s ‘It’ was originally published under a different name. However, an early edition of the book was invited to a book party at which various volumes were playing a game of 'it’ and/or 'tag’. 'It’ was tagged and, as a rather large and ponderous volume, was not able to bounce fast enough to tag any other books in turn. Although 'It’ has attended many book parties since in an attempt to get its original title back, it has not yet been able to do so. But keep an eye out: maybe, someday soon, some other book on your shelves will be called 'It’.
2. Every twenty-seventh copy of 'Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban’ on sale is actually a small box containing a compressed house elf and a spell to make readers believe that they have finished the book. This scheme, part of a wider effort to disperse house elves more widely among the non-wizarding world, has been in place for some fifteen years. The spell is rather imperfect in its effect, so you can sometimes tell if you have one of these copies by how well you remember the plot of the book.
3. It is nearly impossible to keep the Complete Works of Shakespeare on a shelf together without one of them eventually stabbing another one. Savvy librarians often use stab-proof inserts between copies to prevent book damage. Titus Andronicus is particularly notorious for its scrappy nature, and has been known to spring off the shelves in an attempt to grapple with the works of Kit Marlowe from above.  
4. If you leave a copy of the Lord of the Rings in an area thick with marijuana smoke for a few hours and then give it a good shake, you can sometimes get a sleeping hobbit to fall out. If this happens, you should make sure to carefully insert the hobbit back where they fell out from, or the story may be irreparably changed. For example, copies from which Frodo has been ejected sometimes mutate into biographies of a heroic band of orcs, perhaps demonstrating that histories are usually written by the victors.

1. Eat words. Devour them book by book. Chew them over, casually and quietly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Take words on picnics beneath waterfalls. Raid the library at midnight for juicy poetry.
2. Be a fan of words. Follow them about. Ask others where to find the best words and go to the places they recommend and hang about there trying to look interesting. Have sweet reveries about words before you fall asleep at night.
3. Get to know words. Go out for a coffee and bring your words with you and look up five hours later to see that your coffee has gone cold. Stay out with words until it is slightly too late. Have silly little adventures with words that make you giggle, but which you cannot quite explain to other people. Write letters to words and wait breathlessly for their reply.
4. Have a relationship with words. Dream all day of the moment when you get to touch them. Look words in the i and tell them what you are going to do to them, and then do it.
5. Have a bad relationship with words. Lie awake at 5 a.m. wondering where you went wrong with words. Take long walks alone to avoid the messes that you and words have made together. Let words hold you and explain why they no longer love you, but only cry when they have gone.
6. Murder words. Cut them. Cut them again and again until you can no longer quite see what they were before. Wall up words in dead-end paragraphs and leave them there to decay unread.
7. Rewrite history. Raise words from the dead, raw and new and clean, and shape them back into something that can be set free into the world. Keep their history a secret. Let them only know that you love them. Watch them go away from you and hope that they come back.
8. Grow old with words. Let them get well-worn and familiar. Let them be polished smooth like seeds while time roughs you up. Hold words in your hand and live together until you die, then let them close your eyes. Let them mourn. But leave them plenty of good soil, so that they can grow when you are gone.

1. First you will need to choose your book. Although it is possible to get lost in a short book, it is much easier in a long one. Some people find it easier to get lost in a good book, whilst others relish the hypnotic tedium that comes from getting lost in the phone book or a detailed technical manual.
2. Obviously you cannot get lost in your book without going in. To do this, you will need to find the book’s emergency exit door. It is usually around page 32. Try turning the page on the ‘wrong’ side - if it opens, you have found the door.
3. To go in, you will need to get small. When you have got small, pack a bag with supplies for a few days - we recommend energy bars, bottles of water and a warm blanket - and enter the book.
4. You may want to leave your shoes by the way in. Some books are very particular about this.
5. Books differ, but you will generally have a choice of ways to go. Always remember that your primary aim is getting lost. Do not follow any routes that look like they will lead to the end of the book. In particular, you will want to avoid any resolution of plots, the revelation of secrets, deathbeds, the use of objects casually mentioned earlier on, weddings and journeys home.
6. Explore subplots. If you can find a subplot of a subplot, go there. If you can find a story within a story, go there. If you can find a circular plot or paradox, go there. Paradoxes are particularly good places for a picnic.
7. It is easier to get lost by going down than by going up*. If it feels like you might be about to get a good view of the plot, take another route. If the route starts to seem familiar to you - perhaps the first flowerings of a juicy trope - take another route. Some books only offer the option of navigating via familiar routes. You will have to work extra hard at forgetting to get lost in these books.
8. Do not explore too deeply in books that contain infinities, or mathematical texts concerning particularly large numbers, unless your goal is to be lost forever. If your goal is to be lost forever, bear in mind that the sort of book in which you can be lost forever often does not contain much in the way of food or drink. You will need to be resourceful, and perhaps bring a large knife.
9. If it all becomes too much, remember that you can generally find your way out of a book by always turning left.
10. Do not forget to pick up your shoes on the way out. It is very bad manners to leave shoes in a book.

*You should take care not to get stuck in a footnote when using this method, though.

1. On nights when the moon shines through the windows, the books in the horticultural section may rise up on their ribbonlike stems and open up to the moonlight. The energy gained from moonlight powers the growth of new pages, often detailing highly unusual plants. Therefore it is worth your while as a librarian to site the horticultural books near a window with a good view of the sky. The opening of the books is often accompanied by a great swarm of b’s out from the other books in the library to sip at the illustrated nectar. By the morning they will be back in place, just a little fatter and shinier.
2. Gymnastics books like to slip from the shelves in the dark and practice bending and stretching. Often they can be observed (if one has set up a book hide in the library, that is) performing slow flips across the floor and back again. This is why books on gymnastics often have cracked spines.
3. Much of the nature section will be particularly quiet, for fear of waking up the animal books. Animal books hibernate for most of their lives, but can be induced to wake by a dark but noisy environment - for example if the library is situated next to a nightclub or main road. The other books dislike this and will sometimes sing book lullabies in the hope of stopping it happening. The consequence of a mass book waking is usually a vast and savage bookfight between works on predators and works on prey. Sometimes a book on both may even attempt to devour its own interior pages in a frenzy of curiosity. Needless to say this also wakes up the b’s, which will grumpily swarm around and may sting any stray librarians who have the misfortune to still be present.
4. Books for babies often wake up in the night and will sometimes fling themselves off the shelves or spit up pages onto the floor. Those without fluff or mirrored pages can be found poking those with these things. Books for slightly older children, usually shelved in an adjacent section, can sometimes be found jumping back and forth in an effort to rock the baby section back to sleep.
5. Needless to say, many of these happenings involve a fair bit of mess. Look out for those unusually conscientious books who clean up the mess, mend pages and poke the plant books back into their dust covers in the morning. It is difficult to say which books will take on the role of book shepherd - it varies by library - but often large print fiction, young adult novels and works of philosophy can be found helping out.

1. The bose mark. Often mistaken for a full stop, the bose mark is in fact a tiny black dog nose. Its inclusion in text is used to indicate an almost irrepressible joy bubbling just beneath the surface.
2. Fake fly specks. Fly specks, which are relatively common in old books, are the feces and/or regurgitation marks of household flies. If you come into possession of a book that has spent time in a region with particularly intelligent or resourceful flies, however, you may also come across fake fly specks. These are pretty much what you might expect. Flies do not have a very sophisticated sense of humour, and find fake turds hilarious. You can detect fake fly specks by showing them to some flies and seeing if they giggle.  
3. The secret mark of the Society of Stealth Chemists. This consists of a single, unremarkable full stop, printed in ink which has a distinctive and unusual isotopic signature. Although four or five of these are known to have been printed, the Society of Stealth Chemists prides itself on none ever having been found.
4. Quompons. These look like ellipses, but are in fact the result of incorrect insertion of punctuation into the text. This often comes about as a result of using too large or dense a font, or insufficient line spacing. As a result, the full stops cannot make their way to their designated places in time, and may be forced to queue to make it through any particularly constrained bottlenecks. These queues are known as quompons and may be of any length. They are particularly common in British documents.
5. The Smogadon. It has become customary among certain alien species, when writing in English text, to mark statements of unusual finality with a tiny or distant black hole rather than a full stop. For example, one might end the sentence ‘I would not go out with you if you were the last being on earth’ with a Smogadon. This obviously requires careful use of containment technology (in the 'distant’ case one requires a portal into space, pointed in the correct direction and with the right orientation to frame a suitably-chosen supermassive black hole). There are numerous cases of Smogadons exiting confinement. The result is usually a large explosion but in extreme cases whole planets have been lost. As a result, use of the Smogadon is discouraged by most style guides.  
6. Gronking pats. These may be found in books that have lain closed for a long time. Letters are patient, but after a few hundred years unread they become restless, cranky, and sometimes horny. Gronking pats are small pieces of letters that have been chipped off by the letters fighting, fucking, or generally flinging themselves about the page with reckless abandon.
7. Exploding punctuation. There exist certain rare inks that can, when tapped with a pen, produce a small and localised explosion. Although less destructive than the Smogadon (q.v.), exploding punctuation is capable of causing injury and even death, and as such has been employed in a number of literary assassination attempts. It is responsible for at least three of the recorded cases of someone being literally unable to put a book down (in this case because the jolt from setting the book down on a surface might be enough to set it off).

1. Miss Helen Thirnwicket, London. Unlike the other librarians on this list, Miss Thirnwicket was not a natural adventurer. Rather, she was the unfortunate victim of a typo. Instead of signing on, as she thought,  as a librarian of Acton (West London) she found herself under contract to be a librarian of Action (no location specified). The local authority duly supplied her with a small mobile library and instructions to take it to perilous locations. Miss Thirnwicket dutifully hauled the library through a selection of mountains, caves, cliff faces and urban wastelands. Although she prided herself in introducing the works of the Bronte sisters to places they had not previously been, in practice very few withdrawals were made from the library, because many of her clients did not have the necessary ID on them to be issued with a library card. However her small store of Kendal Mint Cake and whisky soon became rightly famous among thrill-seekers.
2. Mr. Dalton Kingsbury, Charlotte. Mr. Kingsbury was unfortunate in inheriting a particularly rowdy library. The words would squeeze out of the books at night and gallop around the library floor, often leaving surfaces splattered with exclamation marks. Instead of wearily cleaning up the mess each morning, however, Mr. Kingsbury took a more confrontational approach. Each night he chased the wild words with a small net, often stuffing them back into the wrong books and locking them in. In later years he became famous as a word-tamer and wrote a number of extremely tightly-controlled books. He was never quite trusted by words, however. He died at age 45 after choking on a rogue ‘incarnadine’ that had somehow made it into his clam chowder.
3.  Omar of Alexandria, Egypt. That we do knot know more about Omar of Alexandria is testament to his unfortunate end. Omar was one of the last librarians to desert the Library of Alexandria before its destruction, and managed to save a number of books that had been thought lost. These included Berossus’ Babylonaica, the complete works of Hypatia, and a humorous book about cats thought to have been written by Sappho under a rather weak pseudonym. Having become obsessed with the idea that libraries were unsafe, Omar took to keeping these books under his pillow. As a result, he was unable to sleep well. Eventually he fell asleep on an elephant with the books under his arm, and both he and they fell into the Nile and were drowned.  
4. Mrs. Vera Hawthorne, Rye Central Library. Mrs. Hawthorne is famous for having gone to extraordinary lengths in chasing down a particularly obscure inter-library loan. As it turned out, the requested book’s entry in the British Library catalogue was in error, the book having been stolen by pirates in 1823. Undeterred, Mrs. Hawthorne joined a group of international literary vigilantes, tracked down the descendants of the pirates, and ascertained that the book had been abandoned when the pirates’ ship was beached on an obscure subantarctic island. After a brief course on sailing at the local marina, Mrs. Hawthorne set off to collect the book in a small dinghy, surviving due to her remarkable facility in making friends with dolphins. The book had been used as unconventional nesting material by a large colony of penguins but Mrs. Hawthorne devotedly reassembled it, before stowing away on an Antarctic Research vessel to bring the book home. Sadly, the original submitter of the loan request had passed away by this time, and the British Library declined to take the book back due to its strong odour of penguin guano. Instead, Mrs. Hawthorne took it home with the intention of reading it and possibly writing an autobiography. Nothing has been heard of her since. Interestingly, the original loan request is no longer available, so the identity of the book itself remains obscure.  
5. Dr. Loic Laplace, Paris. Dr. Laplace is the head librarian of the International Centre for Perilous Books in Paris, a combined library and safe house for books that have, through no fault of their own, been used as accesories to murder. The collection includes a number of curiousities that require particularly careful handling: books that have been treated witch contact poisons; those that are particularly large, heavy or spiky; books that have been hollowed-out to make space for weapons; and books that are highly radioactive. As a result, Dr. Laplace has been hospitalised sixteen times and is missing two fingers and half the hair on his head. It is a testament to his great love of difficult books that he perseveres. The Centre is entirely funded by donations; ten thousand euros is believed to be enough to obtain a no-questions-asked library card and certain specialised instructions from the staff.

1. There was a bookshop that left a crate of books in a damp, unattended cellar for a little too long, and the books went musty and feral. When the crate was finally levered open, a book on British Birds had eaten half the cover of a second edition of Peter Rabbit and a pair of vampire novels had sucked half the other books dry of words and were entwined in a suspiciously damp tangle of pages at the bottom of the box. The bookseller opened up one of the vampire novels and began reading, in hope of seeing if there was some way of retrieving the lost text.
2. By page 238 the vampires, who were languid lovers of elegance who largely obtained their blood off-page, were draping themselves over the mouldering couches of a vacant Los Angeles mansion. It was said to have been left abandoned after the death of a 106-year-old silent movie actress some years before; the true owner was a matter of legal contest, with the estate probably having been left to one of a number of nearly-identical cats. Although the mansion satisfied their craving for glamour, they were uncomfortable with its mirror-heavy decoration. During the daytime the sexier of the two would wander around the shuttered rooms, gazing at their deserted reflections and feeling only half-real. It seemed an odd choice of decor, given that the actress reportedly had had all obtainable trace of her image on screen destroyed. In puzzlement, he turned to her diary, which they had found under a floorboard when looking for a place to hide bones.
3. It was in the third year of the diary, sometime in the mid-60s, that the actress installed the mirrors. By this time she was well into her years of seclusion, and looking after her triplet granddaughters, who had been orphaned the previous year. She dreamed in those days of a house full of children, of laughter and midnight feasts and tears that always stopped when her comfort was offered. But there were never enough children. The mirrors helped her pretend somewhat. But behind everything the house remained, implacably cold and silent, untouched by the brief merriment of three rather melancholy toddlers. On Sundays they gathered in the blue parlour, which had been entirely lined with mirrors, and the actress read fairy stories to her infinitely reflected line.
4. The children were particularly fond of the story of a poor man’s daughter who put on the clothes of a boy and set out on the road through the great forest to find her fortune.  By and by she came to the castle of a horned queen, deep in a valley far from the official paths, and entered her service in exchange for protection from a following spirit that she had picked up on her travels. She was given a series of tasks to complete, including finding the queen’s mother’s heart, which had been buried beneath a flagstone, and counting the magpie spirits that came each morning to peck silver leaf from the castle gates, and negotiating with the creatures that used the bottom of the well as an entrance to this world. It seemed that she might inherit the castle if she was successful in all that was set her. But by the end of the tasks she did not want the castle. She asked instead for the Queen’s Book of Secrets, which she kept inside her pillow, and with the book she went down the well and was never seen again.
5. The Book of Secrets contained many things that were hardly known in that day and age. Perhaps it was a leftover from a more knowledgeable time. Though none of them were magic as such, they mainly concerned knowledge that would give one power over others, and devices that could be seen as magical by those who did not know their secrets. One page described how to make a clockwork man, perfect in every detail, and how to maintain the illusion that he was an independent servant (for, as specified in the book, the clockwork man could be made to do a single task, but not to change tasks). Many of these servants had been made in the past, but they had a tendency to outlive their usefulness and end up packed away for centuries. I hear tell that there was a bookshop once found one in a cellar and used him to shift books, but he was forever leaving them in the wrong place.

1. There was once a small public library in Dorking which had a book that one could get lost in. Many books are said to have this property; however, this book had it to an unusual and somewhat dangerous degree. The average time lost in the book was approximately three days, after which point readers would emerge hungry, thirsty and glad that they had not left the gas on. After a number of deaths were attributed to the volume, it was thrown into a locked strongbox by a courageous librarian and dropped from a ferry into the North Sea. It is not recorded exactly which book it was, though I believe it was shelved with the large print doctor-nurse romance section.
2. In the private library of the Duke of Norfolk, for some years, there existed a set of small, yellow books entitled ‘The Trap, Volumes 1-10’. In this case, the title was entirely appropriate, since the books were engineered to violently snap shut on readers’ fingers. Their origin is unknown, but perhaps was some kind of practical joke. In any case, they no longer exist, having been added to a compost pile in 1872. One of the metal frames was preserved as a curiosity and may be viewed in the library to this day.
3. There was a book once that was banned from a bar at the request of its owner, who was tired of having the book come home mysteriously soaked in gin. It is possible that the book had help in its drinking exploits but if so then the real culprit seems to have gotten off scot-free. I believe this book still exists, but it smells a little and some of the pages are stuck together.
4. A Concise Atlas of Eastern Nevada, 1872. Possibly the world’s most pornographic atlas, owing to the unfortunate habit of its compiler, Fred Carson, of doodling various scenes of copulation in the blanker bits of maps. When challenged in court, Fred claimed that, firstly, doodling in the blank bits is an ancient map-making tradition and, secondly, he only ever drew things he had actually seen occurring at each location. These were not accepted as excuses by the court, which did its level best to eradicate all copies. However, it is believed that some issues still remain in the collections of local connoisseurs of that kind of thing.
5. Sidthorpe’s Comprehensive Encyclopaedia of Moles. Only a hundred copies of this tome were ever printed, the publishers rightly assuming that its audience would be limited. However, something peculiar must have happened during the printing process, because owners of the Comprehensive Encyclopaedia soon began complaining that the book would occasionally open by itself. Worse yet, if nobody was about a small grungy kind of goblin-thing would lean out of the book and unleash a thin stream of goblin-piss onto the nearest flat surface. All copies were pulped at the request of the book’s mortified author, one Mrs. Elizabeth Jane Sidthorpe. In later years she came to believe that the incident was punishment for pissing in a fairy ring as a small child.