What’s your book about?
Sometimes, the simplest questions cause the most problems
Here I am, at the front of the hall, looking forward to my first public appearance as an author. My appearance in the local paper the week before seems to have drawn a good number of people, eager to listen to my talk.
They look keen, friendly and welcoming, laughing at the strange and amusing incidents I recount from my time as an environmental health officer. Like the time the mayor fell over the ‘Falls Awareness Exhibit’ as he posed for local media photographers.
Needing to move on and talk about my new career as an author, I hold up a copy of my first published book, No Accident, and tell my audience to feel free to ask questions at any time.
A lady at the front raises her hand. “What’s your book about?”
Without hesitation, I say, “It’s about an ordinary person who solves murders. Complex murders like Agatha Christie.”
A librarian in the audience reminds me that Agatha Christie didn’t commit or solve murders, complex or otherwise. “She wrote books about people solving murders. Is that what you meant?”
I nod, undaunted. “I write traditional murder mysteries with lots of suspects and red herrings, like Agatha Christie, only set in today’s world.”
“But you’ve only written one book. That’s what it said in the local paper.”
“I’ve only had one book published,” I say.
The lady at the front crosses her arms and sighs. “So, what’s your book about?”
“It’s a murder mystery.”
“That’s the genre,” the librarian says. “To Kill a Mockingbird was about one man’s fight against racial oppression and injustice. What’s your book about?”
I’m doomed. Comparing my writing to Agatha Christie was tempting fate, but my book can’t compete with a novel as hallowed as To Kill a Mockingbird.
Aware everyone’s waiting, I take a sip of water and consult my notes. “My book’s about an environmental health officer who solves murders. Let’s call him an EHO to keep things simple.”
As most people have no idea what EHOs do, I should be on safe ground.
A woman looks up from her phone. “We had a noisy neighbour, so I called the EHO. I could have murdered him. He kept telling us to fill in diary sheets when it was noisy. It’s always noisy, I told him. The walls are paper thin.”
The nods and murmurs suggest EHOs are no longer as popular as they were a few moments ago, tripping up the mayor.
A man with executive glasses waves his hand to attract my attention. “If I murdered my noisy neighbour, would the EHO investigate? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Not exactly.” I draw a breath, telling myself I can get through this. “In my story, the EHO investigates a fatal work accident.”
The librarian sighs. “I thought you said it was a murder.”
“A murder disguised as a work accident.” I give her a knowing nod. “That’s why an EHO investigates, not the police.”
Noisy neighbour woman frowns. “How did he know the accident was a murder?”
“He didn’t. He thought it was a work accident. If he’d suspected murder, he would have called the police.”
“You said he solved murders,” she says. “Now you’re saying he called the police.”
“He didn’t work out it was murder for some time.”
The librarian chips in. “It that when he called the police?”
“He didn’t have enough evidence to show it was murder.”
“Then how could he be sure it was murder?”
“You’ll need to read the book to find out.” I sip some water, certain no one will buy a copy at the end of the talk. “I don’t want to spoil the plot.”
A woman with blue hair raises a hand. “If your officer investigates the murder, wouldn’t he be in danger? It’s not like he has a stab vest or a van filled with police officers to protect him.”
“That’s what makes it more exciting.”
“I don’t see how,” the librarian says. “Your EHO hasn’t got much evidence of murder. What if he’s mistaken? What if it’s just an accident?”
Someone calls out from the back. “The clue’s in the title. It’s called No Accident.”
Before I can thank this person, Noisy Neighbour woman calls out. “Why isn’t it called, It’s Really Murder?”
“Because that doesn’t sound like a classic whodunit.”
“So, it’s not a murder mystery then?”
Somehow, I make it through the rest of my talk. I sell one of the twenty copies of No Accident I brought along.
Back home, I spend days defining and refining what my book’s about, ready for my next public appearance the following week.
This time, I tell a few more humorous environmental health anecdotes, including the one involving Dr Windbreaker’s Fart Powder.
No one asks me what that’s about.