Let the Beast Off the Reins

Unclogging Your Life. Get Out of Your Own Way. Build Your Own Rainbow. 

None of these books could help Steven to help himself. He wasn’t the flowery kind. He was efficient. He had a severe haircut and a sharp suit. With a disappointed curl of the lip, he put the paperbacks back on their original shelves and made to leave. As he did, a fluffy salesperson stopped him. 

Oh no, he thought. I’ve been spotted. I knew I shouldn’t have come in here. 

 “Didn’t you find what you were looking for, sir?” 

 “I was just browsing, thanks. Looking for the political science section but I’ll be going now.” 

 But the little man stepped in Steven’s way and picked up one of the books. Steven considered that he looked like a much younger Santa Claus. 

 “Build your own Rainbow,” Mini-Santa said. “This book changed my life. I read it non-stop, you know. Took me a week. Didn’t go to the bathroom or anything.” 

 “Well, that’s fascinating, but-” 

 “But not for a man like you. No, no, no.” 

 Here we go..., Steven thought. 

 “That suit. You’re a man of action. A CEO or a secret agent, no doubt. You need something with more grrr.” 

 Slightly taken aback, Steven turned around. 

 “Do you have anything with grrr, as you say?” 

 “Don’t worry sir. Don’t worry. There’s a book for every reader. I always say that. Now let me look at you.” 

 “There’ll be no need for that.” 

 Steven could do nothing and so stood held against the New Releases stand. 

 “I know exactly who you are.” 

 Steven’s heart sank. 

 “You are a tiger.” 

 “I’m sorry?” 

 “A beast. A wild animal. You don’t expect life to come to you. You chase it down until life tires and you can have your wicked way with it. I know exactly what book to give to you. Now, where is it? Ah, here. Let the Beast Off the Reins: Your Guide to Being a 21st Century Carnivore.” 

 “Oh,” said Steven. “Is it a good one?” 

 “I’d love to tell you it was. Couldn’t finish it, myself. Remember how I didn’t bother with the bathroom when I read Rainbow? Well, I didn’t need to bother when I read this one, if you know what I mean!” He chortled and held Steven’s shoulder to keep himself up. 

 “Well I suppose if it comes so highly recommended, I’ll at least try it. As I said before, I don’t really need all this self-help stuff, but I’ll at least flick through.” 

 “Flick once, sir, and I assure you that you’ll be flicking away all night.” 

 Steven frowned. 

 “That’s a good response; it really is. Would you like to come to the checkout counter?” 

 Steven paid eight pounds and ninety-nine pence for Let the Beast Off the Reins. He insisted on having an opaque plastic bag, despite the cashier’s protestations, in order that no paparazzi would spy him carrying such a book. 

 Outside the shop, his royal guards ushered him into an armoured limousine and Steven began to flick apprehensively through his new book. 

 “Modern society restrains the dangerous beasts because it fears them. Right now, YOU are a lion in a zoo behind invisible barriers. YOU may not see them, but they are as real as your nose. YOU are being fed with daily rations of raw meat. But YOU don’t want raw meat feedings. YOU want to break the cage and bite the zookeeper’s arm off.” 

 Steven lowered the book in amazement. This was outrageous. And yet... 

 “I... do.” 

 “Is everything okay, your majesty?” his driver called from the front. 

 “Yes, yes Stanley. Everything is fine.” Then, after a second thought, “I say, Stanley?” 

 “Sir?” 

 “Your mother passes for a second-rate llama! Ha!” He threw his head backed and roared with laughter. 

 “I beg your pardon.” 

 “Do you? Well, you may not have it! Ha!” He laughed even harder this time. 

 Steven, the heir apparent to the North-Eastern Kingdoms, took the teachings of Let the Beast Off the Reins to heart. Have you heard of the benevolent dictator? Well, Steven was neither of these things. The monarch of the North-Eastern Kingdoms was a largely ceremonial role, and Steven became not so much a tyrant as a spoilt brat. 

 He insulted royal dignitaries and greeted their wives with kisses which lasted for the length of entire songs. He dismissed the traditional garb for a very expensive Adidas tracksuit and he let his hair grow so long that he came to resemble a sort of long-distance running wizard. He had the rules of chess officially changed to add a new piece: the steve. The steve could move in any direction, seduce the queen, pants the bishops and won the game regardless of the result. 

 “And I owe it all to this terrific book!” Let the Beast Off the Reins became Steve’s bible. In fact, he had briefly considered changing the state religion and having hardback copies of the book stored in hotel bedside cabinets. Steve decided against this, as he worried that empowering the inner beasts of his subjects might lead to an uprising. Instead, he had it banned. 

 However, he knew that there was one man who needed to be rewarded. 

 Comparatively unashamed compared to his previous visit, Steven marched into Little Barney’s Bookstore and asked the on-shift salesperson to bring him Mini-Santa Claus. The lady behind the desk smiled, said “Of course, one moment please.” and began typing on her computer. She frowned. 

 “What’s wrong?” 

 “We don’t appear to have that one in stock at the moment. But it’s no trouble. I can order it in for you. Do you know the name of the author?” 

 Steven didn’t understand. 

 “He’s an author now? He doesn’t work here anymore?” 

 “He worked here?” 

 “Well, of course he did. Just a few months ago. That’s why I’ve come here to look for him. He sold me this.” He held up his copy of Let the Beast Off the Reins. The salesperson covered her eyes. 

 “No! No!” she cried. “We don’t stock that book any more. It’s illegal.” 

 “Well, quite right. I made sure of it. But it was not illegal when I bought it.” 

 “Do you know what will happen if you are caught with that? Hand it over and I’ll destroy it. Perhaps you’d be more interested in Building Your Own Rainbow, or a Steven’s Chess Revised Rulebook.” 

 “Get off. How dare you touch this? You are forbidden from touching my inner beast, by the law of the Royal Court of the North-Eastern Kingdoms.” And with that, Steven raised his hand to strike her across the face. She screamed. 

 “Stop, your majesty!” 

 But it was not she who had said this; Steven had heard it come from behind. He turned and saw Mini-Santa. His beard was longer now and his eyes were sadder. 

 “Your majesty, what have you become?” 

 Steven looked from this sad, fluffy, plump little man to the curly haired saleswoman cowering from his hand. What had he become indeed? 

 He put his arms down. He was so stupid. This wasn’t him. He looked into the wise eyes of Mini-Santa. 

 “You called me your Majesty.” 

 “Well, of course. You are the heir apparent.” 

 “You didn’t recognise me before.” 

 Mini-Santa's eyes became a little less sad. He even laughed. 

 “You were embarrassed that day. You didn’t wish to be recognised. What sort of gentleman would I have been to show that I had seen through your disguise? You would have been humiliated.” 

 “I guess I was a little ashamed that I needed help.” 

 “Yes, yes. I understand. But a little shame is a healthy thing. It keeps us humble.” 

 “Gosh, you’re so wise, Santa.” 

 “Santa?” 

 Steven shook his head and said “Never mind.” Mini-Santa helped the salesperson up off of the floor. 

 “You’ve made a mess of things, Steven. My chess club is in anarchy. Nobody can agree on anything.” 

 “I just did what the book told me.” 

 “This thing?” Mini-Santa said, waving the last existing copy of Let the Beast Off the Reins. “Did you read anything beyond the prologue or did you just jump straight into your new lifestyle? It’s a satire!” 

 “A what?” 

 “A parody! A micky-take! Nobody’s actually supposed to live like this. He’s satirising Machiavelli!” 

 “The turtle?” 

 Mini-Santa rolled his eyes and counted backwards from ten. “Look at the cover.” On the front of the book, an enormous lion was eating the planet. “The whole point of the book is how dissatisfying it is to pursue your own goals at everyone else’s expense. I don’t think you understood it at all.” 

 “But why did you give me this book if it’s just stupid pretend help?” 

 “You seemed very self-conscious that day you came in looking for self-help. I thought it would help you more to see how your own self-betterment was not the thing. I mean, you're the heir apparent for goodness sake. You’re supposed to think of others always.” 

 Steven felt like he had learnt more in the last five minutes than he had in his whole time at boarding school. That Mini-Santa... well, he was as wise as Santa Claus and Yoda rolled into one. Steven knew what he needed to do. He took the book and handed it to the lady at the counter. 

 “Miss, I would like to return this book.” 

 Mini-Santa beamed. The saleswoman looked worried. 

 “Don’t worry,” Steven said. “I’ll make it unillegal again.” 

 Mini-Santa sighed. “Well then. I suppose we’d better get you a better book then, hadn’t we?” 

 He made his way to the self-help section but Steven cut him off. 

 “Nope!” 

 “No?” 

 “I’ve learnt my lesson. Thank you for your help and your clever words.” He walked to the door. “But as of this day, I shall never read another book again.” 

 “But-” 

 “Oh, I know. It starts out harmless enough. You try reading to fit in, or to be cool. But you go too far and you end up becoming a dictatorial brute. I can promise both of you: I’m going to stay clean from now on.” 

 And with that, the future king walked out of the door.