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In Good Company
The Alliance of Independent Authors recently invited its members to write 500 words on why they chose to self-publish their books. I decided to write my piece as a flash-fiction story, and started by doing a little research. I was amazed by how many famous authors self-published works that have become classics of English literature. How many writers and their books can you identify here?
In Good Company
‘Did Mr McGregor really eat my father?’
‘Hush,’ said Mrs Rabbit. ‘I’m going to the library. Run along, and don’t lose your new jacket!’
Peter waited until his mother had left, then he abandoned his clothes and lolloped down the lane to the gamekeeper’s cottage. He peeped through the window and saw Mellors with a lady. The two of them were as bare as Peter!
‘Theer on thy own, eh?’ asked the gamekeeper. Peter froze. The man must have seen him. But Mellors was not interested in the plump little rabbit. He only had eyes for Lady Chatterley, and that was dull, so Peter went on his way.
Further along, he came to a river, where a canoe was moored under the willows. Peter hopped closer. In the boat was a boy, lying on his back and smoking a pipe. Beside him was an axe. As Peter approached, the boy opened one eye and grinned.
‘What you doin’ here, rabbit?’
Peter felt reassured. ‘Exploring,’ he said. ‘But don’t tell my mother.’
‘I ain’t a-going to tell,’ said the boy. ‘Name’s Huck. What’s yourn?’
‘Peter.’
‘You got anythin’ to eat? I ain’t had nothing but fish since I butchered that hog all them days ago.’
Huck picked up his axe and Peter turned to flee, but there was a rustle in the bushes and two young women appeared.
‘Elinor, look, it’s a dear little rabbit.’
Peter frowned, but he let himself be picked up.
‘Have some sense, Marianne. See his face? We do not want a surly rabbit,’ said Elinor.
But Marianne cradled Peter on her shoulder and took him home. Peter wondered if he should ever see Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail again, but he did not care. In the Dashwoods’ house he could play on the carpet and eat lettuce and carrots all day.
Soon, however, Peter became bored. He scrabbled at the door, and when Marianne opened it, he ran away as fast as he could.
He was close to home when he met a couple walking arm in arm.
‘Peter,’ murmured the woman.
Peter jumped with surprise. Then he realised she wasn’t talking to him.
‘Mrs Dalloway!’ replied the man, laughing.
Peter wondered whether to follow them, but he had had enough adventures. He returned home and was struggling back into his blue jacket when Mrs Rabbit arrived.
‘Self-published books from the library, my dears,’ she said, depositing her heavy basket.
And there, on the top cover, was Peter. Even more astonishing, in the other books were all the characters he’d met.
‘Why am I in a book?’ he protested. ‘I’m real!’ His whiskers trembled. ‘Aren’t I?’ he whispered.
‘Of course you are, dear,’ said Mrs Rabbit. ‘Thank goodness these famous writers didn’t lose heart. They published their books themselves, or none of us would have existed. Now we all live on in readers’ imaginations. We’re real, and people love us.’
‘Even me?’ asked Peter, anxiously.
Mrs Rabbit straightened his collar and smiled. ‘Especially you!’
‘Hush,’ said Mrs Rabbit. ‘I’m going to the library. Run along, and don’t lose your new jacket!’
Peter waited until his mother had left, then he abandoned his clothes and lolloped down the lane to the gamekeeper’s cottage. He peeped through the window and saw Mellors with a lady. The two of them were as bare as Peter!‘Theer on thy own, eh?’ asked the gamekeeper. Peter froze. The man must have seen him. But Mellors was not interested in the plump little rabbit. He only had eyes for Lady Chatterley, and that was dull, so Peter went on his way.
Further along, he came to a river, where a canoe was moored under the willows. Peter hopped closer. In the boat was a boy, lying on his back and smoking a pipe. Beside him was an axe. As Peter approached, the boy opened one eye and grinned.‘What you doin’ here, rabbit?’
Peter felt reassured. ‘Exploring,’ he said. ‘But don’t tell my mother.’
‘I ain’t a-going to tell,’ said the boy. ‘Name’s Huck. What’s yourn?’
‘Peter.’
‘You got anythin’ to eat? I ain’t had nothing but fish since I butchered that hog all them days ago.’
Huck picked up his axe and Peter turned to flee, but there was a rustle in the bushes and two young women appeared.
‘Elinor, look, it’s a dear little rabbit.’
Peter frowned, but he let himself be picked up.
‘Have some sense, Marianne. See his face? We do not want a surly rabbit,’ said Elinor.
But Marianne cradled Peter on her shoulder and took him home. Peter wondered if he should ever see Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail again, but he did not care. In the Dashwoods’ house he could play on the carpet and eat lettuce and carrots all day.
Soon, however, Peter became bored. He scrabbled at the door, and when Marianne opened it, he ran away as fast as he could.
He was close to home when he met a couple walking arm in arm. ‘Peter,’ murmured the woman.
Peter jumped with surprise. Then he realised she wasn’t talking to him.
‘Mrs Dalloway!’ replied the man, laughing.
Peter wondered whether to follow them, but he had had enough adventures. He returned home and was struggling back into his blue jacket when Mrs Rabbit arrived.
‘Self-published books from the library, my dears,’ she said, depositing her heavy basket.
And there, on the top cover, was Peter. Even more astonishing, in the other books were all the characters he’d met.
‘Why am I in a book?’ he protested. ‘I’m real!’ His whiskers trembled. ‘Aren’t I?’ he whispered.
‘Of course you are, dear,’ said Mrs Rabbit. ‘Thank goodness these famous writers didn’t lose heart. They published their books themselves, or none of us would have existed. Now we all live on in readers’ imaginations. We’re real, and people love us.’
‘Even me?’ asked Peter, anxiously.
Mrs Rabbit straightened his collar and smiled. ‘Especially you!’
All images from original book covers on Wikipedia.
