The Tara Bookshop

The Tara Bookshop sat improbably between two towering, convoluted buildings in a winding alleyway in the centre of Dublin. From the front, it looked as if it was being squeezed in on either side by its neighbors, as if, having finished the street, someone had decided to force in an extra building on either end, squashing the little bookshop into a spindly line. On the inside, however, it was a different matter.

It was immense. The roof was high. Huge beams soared upwards in unfathomable triangles. Space warped around itself like a falling envelope. Time snuck its way up through the floorboards like a cautious monkey. It was a veritable zoo of incorrigible items. Objects that had no logical correlation harmonized in beautiful and bizarre ways. There was a stuffed owl on top of an old bike. There was a collection of walking sticks propping up a tower of crystal drinking vessels. Shelves and cabinets of various emotion formed passageways which led off into the clutter.

But most of all, there were books. Books, books, and more books.

On a rainy Friday morning in October, Patrick and Brendan Beckett went into the Tara Bookshop. These young boys were brothers, and boys on a mission. Having devoured an immensity of literature between them, they had come to the joint conclusion that they had had enough of the ‘usual stuff’. They wanted something different. Something really different. Something magical. It was for this reason that they had come to what was generally considered the most unusual bookshop in Ireland.

The boys were astounded at first by the bookshop itself.

“Why is it so small on the outside and so big on the inside?” asked Brendan.

“Like a book, Brendan, I reckon, like a book,” replied his brother.

They didn’t know where to start. The books had been categorized in an extremely odd fashion. The business section, for example, was called: “The Curse of the Drinking Classes” while the history section was entitled: “The Nightmare from Which I am Trying to Awake”.

Brendan was drawn to the geography section. He opened up an atlas and then motioned to his brother. They couldn’t figure out what was going on with the maps. There was one big map of the Iberian peninsula, for example, but no mention of Spain, Portugal, Catalonia - any recognizable region in fact. Another map left the land blank but had the sea floors dotted with thousands of settlements. Yet another map, showing Africa, had the entire continent covered in snow and had little drawings of polar bears everywhere. It was all mighty strange, thought the boys.

“Brendan,” said Patrick, “this place is mighty strange.”

“Mighty strange is right, brother of mine,” agreed Brendan, “maybe we should ask someone for a nod in the right direction.”

“A good idea, brother,” replied Patrick.

The main desk was an intricate monolith behind which sat a very serious looking, well-dressed, public man with a sharp nose.

The boys explained that they were looking for something magical.

 “We hate to bother you,” said Brendan, “But we came here to look for something…..magical, if that makes sense.”

The public man smiled as if he was looking at himself from twenty years before.

“Go down the back of the shop, boys, and at the back of the section marked “As above, So Below”, you will find what you are looking for.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Patrick.

“William,” said the man.

“Thank you William.”

The boys headed off for the section marked “As above, So Below”. They followed an aisle between two bookcases as it travelled past the classics and poetry, (marked “Please Sir, Can I have Some More?” and “No, That is Not it at All”), past huge reference books with strange letters stamped into the spines, past books which seemed to rearrange themselves as the boys walked by, until finally they arrived at a section entitled:

 “DO NOT READ THESE BOOKS!”

Exactly what we are looking for, thought the boys. They scanned along the spines and read the titles.

Isn’t Because It Isn’t: The Antithropic Principle.

The Politics of Bread.

22 Reasons Not To Put Yourself in a Jar of Pickles.

When the Moon Suns the Moon: Studies in Reflection.

The boys opened up the last book to see what it was about:

“Light from the First Moon combines with light from the Sun as they both strike the mercury waters of Moon 2. The rebounding light combines then with entering light from the Sun and First Moon to create the Moonbow.”

What is that all about, thought the boys. They opened another book:

“The Arblegrund sleeps for almost 90% of its adult life and only emerges from the crysalthunk to nibble at sausage-lilies as they attempt to scale the cliffs. How the Arblegrund detects the sausage-lilies is still a matter of investigation as the sausage-lily emits no odour, makes no sound, and is, as mentioned, invisible.”

“What on Earth is an Arblegrund?” said Patrick.

“Or a sausage lily?” said Brendan.

Their gaze then fell onto a book entitled:

The Ever-Enveloping Tale of You.

They opened it up and started reading.

Patrick and Brendan Beckett were on a mission to find something different, when they stumbled fortunately upon the book that was to change their lives forever.

Wow! they thought, how on Earth did that happen? Who wrote this? This must be some kind of…………….. magic.

They read on.

They wondered what kind of book they had come across. This must be some kind of magic, they thought. And they were correct. This was indeed a book of magic. But Patrick and Brendan heard a noise just then and they put the book down.

Just then Patrick and Brendan did hear a noise.

A clip-clop of shoes had sounded its way down the bookshop towards them. They looked up into the bright eyes of a young woman with long chestnut-brown hair.

“Hi boys,” she smiled at them, “how are you getting on?”

She had a fresh but warm demeanor.

“Fine, fine,” said Brendan, “We are just looking.”

“So I see. And I hear that you are looking for something different. A different experience with books, I presume?”

“Yes,” the boys replied.

“What are you interested in, boys?” asked the chestnut-haired woman.

“I dunno,” said Patrick, “everything. It depends.”

“Well, give me one thing.”

“Cowboys,” said Brendan. His brother looked at him as if to say what are you embarrassing us for.

“Cowboys! Okay, well, I’ll let you get back to your book,” the woman smiled and left.

The boys exchanged a glance, shrugged, and opened the book again.

The boys opened the book again and found themselves at home on a Sunday morning. Patrick Beckett heard a noise. He put down his book and hopped off his bed and went to the window. He looked outside and couldn’t believe his eyes. There was a cowboy on a horse outside his window! Patrick opened his window and called to the cowboy.

“Howdy!” said Patrick. That was what he knew was the correct way to address cowboys.

“Howdy partner,” said the cowboy, squinting up at Patrick. The cowboy’s horse tossed its head and made a horse sound which was probably, Patrick figured, how horses said ‘howdy’. Patrick tried his best to speak with the cowboy in cowboy language.

“You be a stranger in these parts,” said Patrick.

The cowboy continued squinting and chewed on a piece of grass.

“Come from a long ways away, partner,” said the cowboy, “gotta water ma mule.”

“Em….okay,” said Patrick, “I’ll be right with you.” Patrick didn’t think that last sentence sounded very cowboy so he added “partner”.

Patrick rushed out of his bedroom and onto the landing, where he bumped into his brother, Brendan.

“Woah!” said Patrick, still in cowboy character. “Brendan! You gotta come with me partner! There’s a cowboy outside and he wants us to water his mule!”

“Wow!” said Brendan, “Let’s go!”

Both boys rushed downstairs and into the hall. They opened the front door and ran into the garden. Brendan found the watering can near the cherry tree and they quickly filled it up with water from the tap. They ran out to the front of the house where the cowboy was. The cowboy had dismounted and was fixing the horse’s saddle. Brendan ran up to the horse and started watering its head. Someone was standing beside them in the bookshop.

“Woah, partner!” said the cowboy, “that wasn’t what ah meant. Ma mule be needing a drink – he’s not a plant.”

“Are you enjoying the book, boys?” said the owner of the bookshop as the boys put down the book.

The boys put down the book. It was the public man, who asked them if they were enjoying the book.

“This book is amazing,” said Brendan, “but what is going on?”

“You tell me,” said the public man.

“It was like the book was being written according to what we were thinking. Like we were writing it,” said Patrick.

“No,” said Brendan, “it was like the book was writing us.”

“That’s closer, young man,” said the public man.

“But how does it work?” asked Brendan.

“Ah! Maybe you can tell me that, when the book is finished!” The public man laughed.

“So, can we buy it?” asked Patrick

“No,” the public man replied, “This isn’t a book you can buy, boys. This is a book that is not here yet, do you understand?”

“We don’t understand. How can we finish it if we can’t take it with us?”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t take it with you. You can take it with you. But you can’t buy it! And you won’t have it in your hands!”

The boys watched as the book disappeared in their hands.

Mighty strange once again, thought the boys. Again they heard a clip-clop of shoes and the woman with the long chestnut-brown hair reappeared. She stood next to the public man.

“They don’t get it,” said the public man to the chestnut-haired woman.

“I’ll explain it to them,” she said. “Boys, you came here looking for a book. Something magic. We don’t disappoint our customers. You will leave with exactly that.

“Leave here now and take the book with you. You will have nothing in your hands. But when you go, you will have the book. Or maybe I should say that the book will have you. But that’s the magic boys. That’s the other side of the magic of books. ”

Patrick and Brendan Beckett left the Tara Bookshop and went home without the book, and the book, which was about a cowboy and two young boys, wrote them.