The City of Dreaming Books
(2004, Ages 17 and Up)
5/4/18
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As I was coming in to one of my college classes one morning in the Spring of 2012, my eye caught the picture of a hardcover book belonging to a classmate. I figured it was a read for fun, as it wasn’t one of our required texts, nor did it look particularly frightening (the class in question being Tales of Terror). Upon my asking, she told me a bit about it and allowed me to study it for a moment. Judging from its premise, as well as its insanely creative illustrations, it seemed right up my alley. When I found the book again later at Barnes & Noble, I opened it to a section that I had missed the first time. There, written on the pages that greeted me was a single four-word sentence. A sinister-sounding one despite my not understanding its context, its font maybe half the size of that of the main text, covering the entirety of pages 148 and 149 in five perfect rows and five perfect columns each. The sentence:
“You’ve just been poisoned.”
Reactionary thought #1: “Tales of Terror . . . ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’ . . . We’re reading Salem’s Lot, not The Shining. But still. Reactionary thought #2: “Oh, yeah. This is gonna be good.” I know, I’m weird. But then, I am a writer. ;)
Our story begins on the continent of Zamonia: Dancelot Wordwright, sadly, on his deathbed, his loyal godson and student, Optimus Yarnspinner, at his side. During his final moments of life, he tells Optimus the story of a budding anonymous author who had sent him an unpublished manuscript for him to read long ago. This manuscript, Dancelot claims, is undoubtedly the finest, most perfect piece of writing ever to be put to paper, the work of a bona fide literary genius. Bequeathing this priceless document to Optimus, Dancelot begs him with his dying breath to seek out the writer where he had sent him: Bookholm, where every facet of everyday life is related, established, or dominated solely by books and the written word. But as wondrous and enticing as this place is to the unquenchable imagination of Optimus, it also possesses many dark secrets—a fact he learns too late upon showing his manuscript to the wrong person. Now trapped within the catacombs of Bookholm, Optimus’ quest—and life—are put in jeopardy as he must survive the Fearsome Booklings, murderous Bookhunters, ingeniously deadly book traps, and the mutant monsters that lurk within Bookholm’s underbelly. But even these dangers seem trivial when Optimus is confronted by the legendary being known only as the Shadow King.
Though technically the fourth book in Walter Moers’ Zamonia series, this is the first in a self-contained sub-series, which luckily doesn’t require reading of any prior novels. As of early 2018, only this book and its sequel, The Labyrinth of Dreaming Books, have been released and translated from their original German into English. The third, The Castle of Dreaming Books, is still unreleased, but I very much look forward to seeing what happens after that particularly tantalizing cliffhanger. XD
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Even if I wasn’t already taken in by the idea of a literal paradise for book-lovers, I’d still be thoroughly impressed by Moers’ world-building skills alone. For example, according to the “Translator’s Postscript”, Moers first translated this book – rather painstakingly, he claims – into German from the Zamonian writing of Optimus himself. I adore touches like this because such a connection between an artist and his creation – or an affiliation between one artist and another, as it were – makes even a world as bizarre as this feel more tangible and real. And naturally, no world is complete without exotic locales and fascinating inhabitants. Through his illustrations, Moers shows us his gift for conjuring up such alien but imaginative creatures. From the three-brained Nocturnomaths, the prophetic hags called Ugglies, and the disgustingly obese, multi-armed Shark Grubs, to the fox-like Vulpheads, the pig-like Hogglings, and of course, the race to which Optimus belongs, the reptilian Lindworms.
Speaking of, all this we come to know through the eyes and voice of our narrating protagonist. Often addressing the audience directly as “Dear readers”, Optimus serves as our guide through this strange place as he recounts his story. At the same time, he represents us as well, reflecting our curiosity, fear, and captivation, as we all experience these adventures for the first time along with him, his initial impressions of Bookholm and its literary wonders, for instance, being described with an almost childlike reverence. Plus, let’s be honest. Who among us bookworms hasn’t salivated with breathless delight over the prospect of hundreds upon thousands of books, all ours for the reading, our greatest dilemma being which one to choose first? (Sigh.) So many titles, so little time – not unlike real life.
“There they were, the ‘Dreaming Books’. That was what the inhabitants of this city called antiquarian books because, from the dealers’ point of view, they were neither truly alive nor truly dead but located in an intermediate limbo akin to sleep. With their existence proper behind them and the prospect of decay ahead, millions upon millions of them slumbered in the bookcases, cellars and catacombs of Bookholm. Only when one of them was picked up and opened by an eager hand, only when it was purchased and borne off, could it awaken to new life. And that was what all these books dreamed of.” (Pg. 32-33)
[. . .]
“On and on I roamed, and I’m bound to confess that my powers of recall are overtaxed by all the marvels that met my eyes. I felt as if I were walking through the pages of a lavishly illustrated book in which each flash of artistic inspiration was surpassed by the next: walking letters advertising modern printing presses; murals portraying characters from popular novels; antiquarian bookshops whose old tomes literally overflowed into the street; multifarious life forms rummaging in bookcases and vying for their contents; huge Midgard Serpents hauling wagons full of second-hand rubbish driven by uncouth turnipheads who pelted the crowd with trashy old volumes. In this city one was forever having to duck to avoid being hit by a book. The hubbub was such that I caught only snatches of what was being said, but every conversation seemed to revolve around books in one way or another:
‘. . . I wouldn’t read a book by an Uggly if you paid me . . .’
‘. . . he’s giving a reading in the Gilt-Edged Book Emporium at timber-time tonight . . .’
‘. . . a first edition of Aurora Janus’s second novel, the one with the typos in the foreword, for only three pyras . . .’
‘. . . if anyone possessed the Orm, it was Aleisha Wimpersleake . . .’
‘. . . typographically speaking, a disgrace to the entire printing industry . . .’
‘. . . someone ought to write a footnote novel – just footnotes of footnotes, that would be the thing . . .’
At last I paused at an intersection. Turning on the spot, I counted the bookshops in the streets running off it: there were no less that sixty-one of them. My heart beat wildly. Here, life and literature seemed to be identical: everything centered on the written word. This was my city, my new home.” (p. 40-41)
Among my favorite aspects of this book is some of the most whimsically inventive wordplay I’ve ever seen, especially with regards to this universe’s authors. Many of the names Optimus and the readers come across are actually anagrams of famous real-life authors. The results are as funny as they are outlandish. Just to name a few:
- Lewis Carroll = Sellwi Rollcar
- William Shakespeare = Aliesha Wimperslake
- Charles Dickens = Asdrel Chickens
- John Keats = Honj Steak
- Leo Tolstoy = Elo Snooty
I bet Moers just had a ball making those up. :) On a more character-driven note, and for obvious reasons, I also love the last names of the book-obsessed Lindworms (Yarnspinner, Wordwright, Versewhetter, etc.).
The Lindworms spend their lives cultivating their passion for literature and developing their writing skills in the hopes of becoming masterful story-tellers. Thus, it is in Optimus’ very blood to become a published author. But for all his bibliophilic ambition, he is essentially a dinosaurian Bilbo Baggins. Very much the “adventures make one late for dinner” type, he accepts his godfather’s will out of love for family and fine writing but would prefer to read about a great escapade rather than be in the middle of one. He strives to be sensible and dignified in the increasingly barbaric and insane world he’s found himself in, only to come off as either a near-hysterical coward or a pompous dork. This, however, is key to what initially keeps him from realizing his dream, as well as what I think makes him particularly relatable to any aspiring writers. Like most, Optimus has his own tastes and beliefs regarding what makes good literature. But many of the creatures he meets provide him with a treasure trove of new words, ideas, and writing styles that he never dreamed existed. Moreover, they tell him of the Orm, said to inspire authors to write books so eloquent, and so superb, that to read them is nothing short of Paradise—and which Optimus is quick to reject as superstitious crap. I can’t help but see Optimus’ views of the Orm as a subtle jab at the well-meaning but closed-minded artists whose abilities are undermined simply because they refuse to learn from the masters who came before them, or at least try anything new and expand their horizons, a revelation that Optimus finds most humbling upon entering the Library of the Orm:
“I strolled along the shelves with my head on one side, checking the titles.
The Cloud Cuckoo by Bronsar Morello. Recollections of the Day After Tomorrow by Arlon Dumpsey. A Pig in my Poke by Nestroket Krumpf. Never heard of them, neither the books nor their authors. Were these supposed to be literary gems?
Little Enemies by Minimus Suminim. A Cure for the Incurable by Welgo Tark. Warts on a Toad’s Neck by Horam Quackenbush. Nasal Hairs by Hazel Nares.
And those were the books on the top shelf! I’d never read any of them. They were the sort of books I usually glanced at in a bookshop and then forgot for ever. [. . .]
Soft teeth by Carius Molar. The Joys of Gardening by . . . What! I came to a halt and automatically removed a book for the first time.
It was Dancelot’s masterpiece, cheek by jowl with all this worthless trash! I weighed it in my paws for a while. Then the blood rushed to my head!
Yes, dear readers, I felt ashamed because I had behaved as ignorantly as all the stupid fools who had spurned Dancelot’s book. What made me so sure that Arlon Dumpsey’s Recollections of the Day After Tomorrow was of no interest? Or Warts on a Toad’s Neck? Had I ever given those books a fair crack of the whip? Perhaps I had just ignored them for the umpteenth time for reasons I myself couldn’t have explained.
Shame on me! I had to make amends. Taking Warts on a Toad’s Neck from the shelf, I sat down and began to read it.” (Pg. 404)
Similarly to novels like Harry Potter, at least 98% of this story takes place in one location, but that one location is so rich, so enlivened through its bizarre details, eye-popping visuals, and whatever other surprises occupy it that it always feels new and exciting no matter how often you visit or how much you explore. But honestly, I cannot do this story justice with my words alone—not without massive spoilers anyway. Anyone in love with a good book won’t be spellbound by Optimus’ tale just because of zany creatures and clever book puns. This tale is for you, dear readers, who wonder why you are so spellbound by your favorite books and who strive to find the very best ones whose words bring laughter and tears, terror and peace, questions and answers, or otherwise make you feel, deep in your heart, as if your life will never be the same again. I am curious: do you prefer reading such words, or writing them down?
CREDITS:
All images, audio, and links belong to their respective owners; no copyright infringement is intended.
All book excerpts are from The City of Dreaming Books by Walter Moers (U.S. English hardcover edition, published by The Overlook Press, Perter Mayer Publishers, Inc).
MAIN THEME:
“The Call” – Briand Morrison and Roxann Berglund
“You’ve just been poisoned.”
Reactionary thought #1: “Tales of Terror . . . ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’ . . . We’re reading Salem’s Lot, not The Shining. But still. Reactionary thought #2: “Oh, yeah. This is gonna be good.” I know, I’m weird. But then, I am a writer. ;)
Our story begins on the continent of Zamonia: Dancelot Wordwright, sadly, on his deathbed, his loyal godson and student, Optimus Yarnspinner, at his side. During his final moments of life, he tells Optimus the story of a budding anonymous author who had sent him an unpublished manuscript for him to read long ago. This manuscript, Dancelot claims, is undoubtedly the finest, most perfect piece of writing ever to be put to paper, the work of a bona fide literary genius. Bequeathing this priceless document to Optimus, Dancelot begs him with his dying breath to seek out the writer where he had sent him: Bookholm, where every facet of everyday life is related, established, or dominated solely by books and the written word. But as wondrous and enticing as this place is to the unquenchable imagination of Optimus, it also possesses many dark secrets—a fact he learns too late upon showing his manuscript to the wrong person. Now trapped within the catacombs of Bookholm, Optimus’ quest—and life—are put in jeopardy as he must survive the Fearsome Booklings, murderous Bookhunters, ingeniously deadly book traps, and the mutant monsters that lurk within Bookholm’s underbelly. But even these dangers seem trivial when Optimus is confronted by the legendary being known only as the Shadow King.
Though technically the fourth book in Walter Moers’ Zamonia series, this is the first in a self-contained sub-series, which luckily doesn’t require reading of any prior novels. As of early 2018, only this book and its sequel, The Labyrinth of Dreaming Books, have been released and translated from their original German into English. The third, The Castle of Dreaming Books, is still unreleased, but I very much look forward to seeing what happens after that particularly tantalizing cliffhanger. XD
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Even if I wasn’t already taken in by the idea of a literal paradise for book-lovers, I’d still be thoroughly impressed by Moers’ world-building skills alone. For example, according to the “Translator’s Postscript”, Moers first translated this book – rather painstakingly, he claims – into German from the Zamonian writing of Optimus himself. I adore touches like this because such a connection between an artist and his creation – or an affiliation between one artist and another, as it were – makes even a world as bizarre as this feel more tangible and real. And naturally, no world is complete without exotic locales and fascinating inhabitants. Through his illustrations, Moers shows us his gift for conjuring up such alien but imaginative creatures. From the three-brained Nocturnomaths, the prophetic hags called Ugglies, and the disgustingly obese, multi-armed Shark Grubs, to the fox-like Vulpheads, the pig-like Hogglings, and of course, the race to which Optimus belongs, the reptilian Lindworms.
Speaking of, all this we come to know through the eyes and voice of our narrating protagonist. Often addressing the audience directly as “Dear readers”, Optimus serves as our guide through this strange place as he recounts his story. At the same time, he represents us as well, reflecting our curiosity, fear, and captivation, as we all experience these adventures for the first time along with him, his initial impressions of Bookholm and its literary wonders, for instance, being described with an almost childlike reverence. Plus, let’s be honest. Who among us bookworms hasn’t salivated with breathless delight over the prospect of hundreds upon thousands of books, all ours for the reading, our greatest dilemma being which one to choose first? (Sigh.) So many titles, so little time – not unlike real life.
“There they were, the ‘Dreaming Books’. That was what the inhabitants of this city called antiquarian books because, from the dealers’ point of view, they were neither truly alive nor truly dead but located in an intermediate limbo akin to sleep. With their existence proper behind them and the prospect of decay ahead, millions upon millions of them slumbered in the bookcases, cellars and catacombs of Bookholm. Only when one of them was picked up and opened by an eager hand, only when it was purchased and borne off, could it awaken to new life. And that was what all these books dreamed of.” (Pg. 32-33)
[. . .]
“On and on I roamed, and I’m bound to confess that my powers of recall are overtaxed by all the marvels that met my eyes. I felt as if I were walking through the pages of a lavishly illustrated book in which each flash of artistic inspiration was surpassed by the next: walking letters advertising modern printing presses; murals portraying characters from popular novels; antiquarian bookshops whose old tomes literally overflowed into the street; multifarious life forms rummaging in bookcases and vying for their contents; huge Midgard Serpents hauling wagons full of second-hand rubbish driven by uncouth turnipheads who pelted the crowd with trashy old volumes. In this city one was forever having to duck to avoid being hit by a book. The hubbub was such that I caught only snatches of what was being said, but every conversation seemed to revolve around books in one way or another:
‘. . . I wouldn’t read a book by an Uggly if you paid me . . .’
‘. . . he’s giving a reading in the Gilt-Edged Book Emporium at timber-time tonight . . .’
‘. . . a first edition of Aurora Janus’s second novel, the one with the typos in the foreword, for only three pyras . . .’
‘. . . if anyone possessed the Orm, it was Aleisha Wimpersleake . . .’
‘. . . typographically speaking, a disgrace to the entire printing industry . . .’
‘. . . someone ought to write a footnote novel – just footnotes of footnotes, that would be the thing . . .’
At last I paused at an intersection. Turning on the spot, I counted the bookshops in the streets running off it: there were no less that sixty-one of them. My heart beat wildly. Here, life and literature seemed to be identical: everything centered on the written word. This was my city, my new home.” (p. 40-41)
Among my favorite aspects of this book is some of the most whimsically inventive wordplay I’ve ever seen, especially with regards to this universe’s authors. Many of the names Optimus and the readers come across are actually anagrams of famous real-life authors. The results are as funny as they are outlandish. Just to name a few:
- Lewis Carroll = Sellwi Rollcar
- William Shakespeare = Aliesha Wimperslake
- Charles Dickens = Asdrel Chickens
- John Keats = Honj Steak
- Leo Tolstoy = Elo Snooty
I bet Moers just had a ball making those up. :) On a more character-driven note, and for obvious reasons, I also love the last names of the book-obsessed Lindworms (Yarnspinner, Wordwright, Versewhetter, etc.).
The Lindworms spend their lives cultivating their passion for literature and developing their writing skills in the hopes of becoming masterful story-tellers. Thus, it is in Optimus’ very blood to become a published author. But for all his bibliophilic ambition, he is essentially a dinosaurian Bilbo Baggins. Very much the “adventures make one late for dinner” type, he accepts his godfather’s will out of love for family and fine writing but would prefer to read about a great escapade rather than be in the middle of one. He strives to be sensible and dignified in the increasingly barbaric and insane world he’s found himself in, only to come off as either a near-hysterical coward or a pompous dork. This, however, is key to what initially keeps him from realizing his dream, as well as what I think makes him particularly relatable to any aspiring writers. Like most, Optimus has his own tastes and beliefs regarding what makes good literature. But many of the creatures he meets provide him with a treasure trove of new words, ideas, and writing styles that he never dreamed existed. Moreover, they tell him of the Orm, said to inspire authors to write books so eloquent, and so superb, that to read them is nothing short of Paradise—and which Optimus is quick to reject as superstitious crap. I can’t help but see Optimus’ views of the Orm as a subtle jab at the well-meaning but closed-minded artists whose abilities are undermined simply because they refuse to learn from the masters who came before them, or at least try anything new and expand their horizons, a revelation that Optimus finds most humbling upon entering the Library of the Orm:
“I strolled along the shelves with my head on one side, checking the titles.
The Cloud Cuckoo by Bronsar Morello. Recollections of the Day After Tomorrow by Arlon Dumpsey. A Pig in my Poke by Nestroket Krumpf. Never heard of them, neither the books nor their authors. Were these supposed to be literary gems?
Little Enemies by Minimus Suminim. A Cure for the Incurable by Welgo Tark. Warts on a Toad’s Neck by Horam Quackenbush. Nasal Hairs by Hazel Nares.
And those were the books on the top shelf! I’d never read any of them. They were the sort of books I usually glanced at in a bookshop and then forgot for ever. [. . .]
Soft teeth by Carius Molar. The Joys of Gardening by . . . What! I came to a halt and automatically removed a book for the first time.
It was Dancelot’s masterpiece, cheek by jowl with all this worthless trash! I weighed it in my paws for a while. Then the blood rushed to my head!
Yes, dear readers, I felt ashamed because I had behaved as ignorantly as all the stupid fools who had spurned Dancelot’s book. What made me so sure that Arlon Dumpsey’s Recollections of the Day After Tomorrow was of no interest? Or Warts on a Toad’s Neck? Had I ever given those books a fair crack of the whip? Perhaps I had just ignored them for the umpteenth time for reasons I myself couldn’t have explained.
Shame on me! I had to make amends. Taking Warts on a Toad’s Neck from the shelf, I sat down and began to read it.” (Pg. 404)
Similarly to novels like Harry Potter, at least 98% of this story takes place in one location, but that one location is so rich, so enlivened through its bizarre details, eye-popping visuals, and whatever other surprises occupy it that it always feels new and exciting no matter how often you visit or how much you explore. But honestly, I cannot do this story justice with my words alone—not without massive spoilers anyway. Anyone in love with a good book won’t be spellbound by Optimus’ tale just because of zany creatures and clever book puns. This tale is for you, dear readers, who wonder why you are so spellbound by your favorite books and who strive to find the very best ones whose words bring laughter and tears, terror and peace, questions and answers, or otherwise make you feel, deep in your heart, as if your life will never be the same again. I am curious: do you prefer reading such words, or writing them down?
CREDITS:
All images, audio, and links belong to their respective owners; no copyright infringement is intended.
All book excerpts are from The City of Dreaming Books by Walter Moers (U.S. English hardcover edition, published by The Overlook Press, Perter Mayer Publishers, Inc).
MAIN THEME:
“The Call” – Briand Morrison and Roxann Berglund
EPISODE SONGS:
“Dreams of Lost Books” - Fred Keller
“Dreams of Lost Books” - Fred Keller
“March and Jejune”- Fred Keller
“Dromedary Dunewalk” - Fred Keller
Download the full 15-minute episode here!
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Walter Moers on Wikipedia
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The City of Dreaming Books on Wikipedia
Walter Moers on Wikipedia
The City of Dreaming Books on Fandom
The City of Dreaming Books on Tv Tropes
Walter Moers on Tv Tropes
The City of Dreaming Books on Goodreads
Buy The City of Dreaming Books on Amazon
Buy The City of Dreaming Books on Barnes & Noble
Buy The City of Dreaming Books on Ebay
^^ Back to Books, Graphic Novels, and Other Works of Literature