Ich bin ein bibliothekar is also the title of one of his books. This is quite clearly a man who takes the expression ‘live your life like a book’ seriously.
‘Ha, ha,’ Titus laughs. ‘I know, but I thought you worked in Södertälje.’
‘My boss, Eva Larsson, carried out an excellent reorganisation of the entire region. Now I’ve been posted here for a year to replace the legendary librarian Oliver C. Johansson! The C stands for Cromwell. For the time being, Oliver is the acting head of department of cultural services in Strängness. The general impression is that he won’t be there very long. There is talk of malign narcissism. He has evidently used dubious methods to try to buy out the entire library services in the Mälardal region with the help of venture capitalists. According to their slogan, they’re going to offer “wide-ranging experiences for the people”. But, whatever – I am the acting director of the library! Here and now!’
‘I see… congratulations are in order then,’ says Titus, who is slightly surprised by the formal tone and the long explanation.
Outside the library walls, Christer is a totally different person who likes to boast about his tennis skills and his literary successes: ‘The critics loooooove me.’ But at work he is evidently down-to-earth and irreproachable.
‘And how can I help you, Titus? Something about the rise and fall of the Roman Empire?’
‘No thank you,’ says Titus, and curses his parents for calling him Titus. Always these jokes about emperors and the Roman Empire.
‘I’m working on an essay about reading habits and need some help with something special. First I need to get hold of all the copies of The Swedish Bookseller magazine from the last five years. Then I want to borrow all the books that have been on their various bestseller of the month lists for the same period.’
‘Aha! Glad to hear it – you have come to the right place. We love tasks like that. We’ll fix it. If you go and have a cup of coffee, it will be ready in about fifteen minutes. The Dan Brown books might be out on loan. They usually are.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ says Titus, and breaks into a smile. He had envisaged having to run around the shelves himself to pick up the books. What service!
When he walks towards the café, he sees Christer Hermansson gather several colleagues and gives them orders. Wonderful people, these library types, Titus thinks. They really do a great job on the quiet.
The library gradually starts to fill with people, mainly students and pensioners who graze among the newspapers and the books. The silence is pleasant. In the same way that voice volumes are turned down, the visitors move around slowly, as if a sudden movement would be just as disturbing as a loud noise. I must come here more often, thinks Titus.
En route to the café, he passes a lecture hall and some small reading rooms. The door to one of the rooms is ajar. At the far end of the room sits a student with a hairstyle that is almost as brilliantly coloured as that of Eddie X. He is studying and the desk is cluttered with books. His face is buried in his hands.
Ah, there’s the café, over there. Or, to be more exact, the coffee machine. Titus puts in a few coins and presses the button for ordinary black coffee. The café is fairly empty and there are plenty of free tables. Titus sits on a chair right in the corner and thinks for a while. He already knows quite well what is going to happen in The Best Book in the World. Perhaps it is a bit over-the-top to be doing all this thorough research? What he really ought to be doing is sitting and writing. After twenty novels, he has mastered the form of the novel, so the actual structure isn’t going to be a problem. Above all, what he needs to improve is the non-fiction genre. Facts, facts, facts. He must, amongst other things, get hold of the best pizza recipe in the world, humour to knock you over, and a management book that promises salvation. He has already dealt with the slimming thing with the ABC method. And he has also got quite a long way with giving up smoking and drinking thanks to the threat and reward images. He can easily include them in the chief inspector’s life. You can’t have too much sex, so he will have to read up on that. Not to mention therapy. He must absolutely be the best at therapy.
His thoughts are suddenly interrupted by his mobile ringing. He sees on the display that it is from a withheld number. He retreats as far as he can into his corner so that he won’t disturb those around him when he answers in as quiet a voice as possible.
‘Yes, this is Titus Jensen.’
‘Hello, Titus, hello. My name is Fabian Nadersson. Can you spare a moment?’
‘Er, well, I suppose so. What’s it about?’
‘Well, Titus, I am ringing on behalf of Mensa. They have a special offer just for you, Titus.’
‘What? Mensa? You mean that club that only admits intelligent people?’
‘Yes, exactly, Titus. Now you can buy an interactive training package for only two hundred and ninety-nine kronor, you see. With this package you will be able to improve your IQ. Then you can apply for membership of Mensa.’
‘What do you mean? Should I buy an intelligence test for two hundred and ninety-nine kronor? And why would I want to join Mensa?’
‘Mensa is a worldwide network. You can gain great advantage from being a member of Mensa.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, you can meet people of a like mind. Other gifted people that you can share experiences with. That’s exactly what it’s about, Titus! Yes, indeed. Shall I sign you up for a training package?’
‘If I am smart enough to be in Mensa, is it people like you that I will come across if I wanted to become a member?’
‘No, unfortunately. I am only an agent for their online courses. I am not a member myself.’
‘So you haven’t gone on the course?’
‘Yes, but I am not a member…’
‘You mean you didn’t pass the test?’
‘Er… I have a mate who bought the training package. It took him two weeks and then he became a full member.’
‘But answer my question! Would you yourself want to be a member of Mensa?’
‘Yes, of course. Everybody would, surely? Does a training package sound interesting? Only two hundred and ninety-nine kronor if you order it now, during the summer.’
‘No, I don’t think so. I don’t understand why people with a certain IQ would have anything in common. You might just as well start clubs for people with a particular skin colour. And no thank you, we’ve seen enough of that sort of club in history.’
‘So you want me to book you down for a training package?’
‘No! Do you have difficulties in understanding?’
‘Okay, Titus. Thank you anyway. Have a nice day!’
Titus shakes his head. Intelligence is an uninteresting measure of a person’s gifts. It is like trying to pick out the best colour in a painting. It’s the composition and the combination of colours that determine whether a painting is good, not how many litres of paint have been used. Besides, intelligence is far too abstract a concept. It is almost impossible to conceive of a life with a different intelligence than the one you are equipped with yourself. Ask anyone at all if they want to change their appearance or get a higher IQ and they are guaranteed to choose bigger breasts, a smaller tummy, fuller lips or a super-equipped cock.
When Titus returns to the lending counter, Christer Hermansson looks grim.
‘Sorry, Titus. I have bad news.’
‘What has happened?’
‘The books are already out on loan.’
Inside Titus’s corduroy jacket, his heart goes sour.
‘All of them?’