‘Books for Dogs’,

1.

He was looking out of the window onto his calm, residential street, sipping a cup of coffee, when he heard shouting. A shaggy pack of dogs tore past his house, knocking over a banana stall and narrowly missing a small child. Behind them followed two men, yelling and cursing. The dogs kept on running, as if on a mission. Each one was clutching a book in its jaws. The men gave up, dropped back, and looked at each other, angry at first, then perplexed.

2.

Soon such sights became common, and he was unable to remain a bystander.

The first time the dogs managed to break into his flat they grabbed some books from a pile by his shoe stand. He was in, but as his boyfriend had called to say he couldn’t come over he was busy pleasuring himself. So they made off with three paperbacks.

But the dogs became bolder. Even if he locked his windows they would jump through them, and take off with any books they could reach. Once, when he and his boyfriend were asleep, they took Win Oo’s Beauty’s Hate. His boyfriend chased after them, but the dogs were too fast.

Soon, aside from four or five books that he salvaged and kept in his fridge, the dogs had run off with his entire collection.

The last straw was when they barged in and snatched Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore from his hands as he was reading it, in broad daylight.

Enraged, he went to the Municipal Office to petition for eradication of these dogs. A huge crowd had already lined up outside the office. He queued a while, then went home, frustrated.

3.

His publisher delivered him the next installment of strange goings on. “As you might expect, we’re having to respond to the dog situation.”

“You mean, lock up more books?”, he asked.

His publisher was not potbellied and greasy-faced like other publishers, but was a well-built and good-looking young man, whose defined cheekbones were a key reason why he did not switch.

“That’s proving futile. I’m talking about a more proactive response. Writing in the way the dogs like.”

“What the….?” He felt sure the publisher must be joking. Never, in his life, had he heard of dogs reading, still less demanding certain types of books.

 “Orders are skyrocketing”. The publisher continued, straight-faced. “We can’t print enough.”

“Really?”

“You should know that all my regular writers have now switched to writing dog’s literature. I’m letting you know so that you, too, have a chance to change.”

“What - write books for dogs?”

His publisher’s eyes glinted. “You know your last book about the guy who became a ghost after falling off a rickshaw?”

“Corpse Carrying Rickshaw.”

“Well, its sales have decreased by 50% in a week.”

He clenched his teeth. He knew full well that, in this market, if orders drop by that much, it is a danger signal to publishers, who always try to keep track of what readers want. He’d already seen trends for comedy, romance and horror. Whatever the audience was in the mood for, writers had to satisfy. But he had not anticipated dog fiction. He had no idea what the genre even required.

“Can you show me some samples?”

“Sure.” Five books came out of the publisher’s bag, all covered with pictures of lolling canine tongues and paw prints.

“Even the covers are rabid!”

“Maybe to you, but they’re selling. Look, just read these and write me something along those lines but with your own twist of originality. I’ll call you in two weeks to collect.”

Two weeks was tight. He considered refusing.

“I’ll give you an advance now. 2,000,000 kyats. Okay?”

There was an offer he couldn’t refuse.

4.

Soon the only books to be found on bookshop shelves were dog fiction books. Bestsellers all had titles like A Call from the Hill of Bones, Only Bone Bearers Allowed, and No Bone More Sweet.

Despite now writing them himself, he still found dog stories revolting to read. He couldn’t bear to finish one. Word on the street was that most other human readers didn’t like them either, but they were too scared to protest. He wished he could go back to writing what he wanted.

But he had to eat, didn’t he? Plus, his boyfriend was only attracted to him because he was a famous writer. So he would have to reconcile himself to writing dog stories until further notice. He started thinking about his next title. Beef on a leash?

It was nearly three o’clock. His boyfriend was coming later. He decided he’d better start making him a beef stew from his new doggy delights cookbook.

Myay Hmone Lwin

index on censorship: What's the taboo?

Autumn 2015