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The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night, Volume 8 by Richard F. Burton

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THE BOOK OF THE
THOUSAND NIGHTS AND A NIGHT
A Plain and Literal Translation
of the Arabian Nights Entertainments

Translated and Annotated by
Richard F. Burton

VOLUME EIGHT
Privately Printed By The Burton Club



A Message to
Frederick Hankey,
formerly of No. 2, Rue Laffitte, Paris.

My Dear Fred,

If there be such a thing as "continuation," you will see
these lines in the far Spirit-land and you will find that your
old friend has not forgotten you and Annie.


Richard F. Burton.




Contents of the Eighth Volume


King Mohammed Bin Sabaik and the Merchant Hasan (continued)
a. Story of Prince Sayf Al-Muluk and the Princess Badi'a
Al-Jamal (continued)
155. Hassan of Bassorah
156. Khalifah The Fisherman Of Baghdad
The same from the Breslau Edition
157. Masrur and Zayn Al-Mawasif
158. Ali Nur Al-Din and Miriam the Girdle-Girl





The Book Of The
THOUSAND NIGHTS AND A NIGHT




When it was the Seven Hundred and Seventy-seventh Night,

She resumed, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the
old Queen heard the handmaid's words she was wroth with sore
wrath because of her and cried, "How shall there be accord
between man and Jinn?" But Safy al-Muluk replied, "Indeed, I will
conform to thy will and be thy page and die in thy love and will
keep with thee covenant and regard non but thee: so right soon
shalt thou see my truth and lack of falsehood and the excellence
of my manly dealing with thee, Inshallah!" The old woman pondered
for a full hour with brow earthwards bent; after which she raised
her head and said to him, "O thou beautiful youth, wilt thou
indeed keep compact and covenant?" He replied, "Yes, by Him who
raised the heavens and dispread the earth upon the waters, I will
indeed keep faith and troth!" Thereupon quoth she, "I will win
for thee thy wish, Inshallah! but for the present go thou into
the garden and take thy pleasure therein and eat of its fruits,
that have neither like in the world nor equal, whilst I send for
my son Shahyal and confabulate with him of the matter. Nothing
but good shall come of it, so Allah please, for he will not
gainsay me nor disobey my commandment and I will marry thee with
his daughter Badi'a al-Jamal. So be of good heart for she shall
assuredly be thy wife, O Sayf al-Muluk." The Prince thanked her
for those words and kissing her hands and feet, went forth from
her into the garden; whilst she turned to Marjanah and said to
her, "Go seek my son Shahyal wherever he is and bring him to me."
So Maranah went out in quest of King Shahyal and found him and
set him before his mother. On such wise fared it with them; but
as regards Sayf al-Muluk, whilst he walked in the garden, lo and
behold! five Jinn of the people of the Blue King espied him and
said to one another, "Whence cometh yonder wight and who brought
him hither? Haply 'tis he who slew the son and heir of our lord
and master the Blue King;" presently adding, 'But we will go
about with him and question him and find out all from him." So
they walked gently and softly up to him, as he sat in a corner of
the garden, and sitting down by him, said to him, "O beauteous
youth, thou didst right well in slaying the son of the Blue King
and delivering from him Daulat Khatun; for he was a treacherous
hound and had tricked her, and had not Allah appointed thee to
her, she had never won free; no, never! But how diddest thou slay
him?" Sayf al-Muluk looked at them and deeming them of the
gardenfolk, answered, "I slew him by means of this ring which is
on my finger." Therewith they were assured that it was he who had
slain him; so they seized him, two of them holding his hands,
whilst other two held his feet and the fifth his mouth, lest he
should cry out and King Shahyal's people should hear him and
rescue him from their hands. Then they lifted him up and flying
away with him ceased not their flight till they came to their
King and set him down before him, saying, "O King of the Age, we
bring thee the murderer of thy son." "Where is he?" asked the
King and they answered, "This is he." So the Blue King said to
Sayf al-Muluk, "How slewest thou my son, the core of my heart and
the light of my sight, without aught of right, for all he had
done thee no ill deed?" Quoth the Prince, "Yea, verily! I slew
him because of his violence and frowardness, in that he used to
seize Kings' daughters and sever them from their families and
carry them to the Ruined Well and the High-builded Castle of
Japhet son of Noah and entreat them lewdly by debauching them. I
slew him by means of this ring on my finger, and Allah hurried
his soul to the fire and the abiding-place dire." Therewithal the
King was assured that this was indeed he who slew his son; so
presently he called his Wazirs and said to them, "This is the
murtherer of my son sans shadow of doubt: so how do you counsel
me to deal with him? Shall I slay him with the foulest slaughter
or torture him with the terriblest torments or how?" Quoth the
Chief Minister, "Cut off his limbs, one a day." Another, "Beat
him with a grievous beating every day till he die." A third, "Cut
him across the middle." A fourth, "Chop off all his fingers and
burn him with fire." A fifth, "Crucify him;" and so on, each
speaking according to his rede. Now there was with the Blue King
an old Emir, versed in the vicissitudes and experienced in the
exchanges of the times, and he said, "O King of the Age, verily I
would say to thee somewhat, and thine is the rede whether thou
wilt hearken or not to my say." Now he was the King's privy
Councillor and the Chief Officer of his empire, and the Sovran
was wont to give ear to his word and conduct himself by his
counsel and gainsay him not in aught. So he rose and kissing
ground before his liege lord, said to him, "O King of the Age, if
I advise thee in this matter, wilt thou follow my advice and
grant me indemnity?" Quoth the King, "Set forth thine opinion,
and thou shalt have immunity." Then quoth he, "O King of the Age,
an thou slay this one nor accept my advice nor hearken to my
word, in very sooth I say that his death were now inexpedient,
for that he his thy prisoner and in thy power, and under thy
protection; so whenas thou wilt, thou mayst lay hand on him and
do with him what thou desirest. Have patience, then, O King of
the Age, for he hath entered the garden of Iram and is become the
betrothed of Badi'a al-Jamal, daughter of King Shahyal, and one
of them. Thy people seized him there and brought him hither and
he did not hide his case from them or from thee. So an thou slay
him, assuredly King Shahyal will seek blood-revenge and lead his
host against thee for his daughter's sake, and thou canst not
cope with him nor make head against his power." So the King
hearkened to his counsel and commanded to imprison the captive.
Thus fared it with Sayf al-Muluk; but as regards the old Queen,
grandmother of Badi'a al-Jamal, when her son Shahyal came to her
she despatched Marjanah in search of Sayf al-Muluk; but she found
him not and returning to her mistress, said, "I found him not in
the garden." So the ancient dame sent for the gardeners and
questioned them of the Prince. Quoth they, "We saw him sitting
under a tree when behold, five of the Blue King's folk alighted
by him and spoke with him, after which they took him up and
having gagged him flew away with him." When the old Queen heard
the damsel's words it was no light matter to her and she was
wroth with exceeding wrath: so she rose to her feet and said to
her son, King Shahyal, "Thou art a King and shall the Blue King's
people come to our garden and carry off our guests unhindered,
and thou alive?" And she proceeded to provoke him, saying, "It
behoveth not that any transgress against us during thy
lifetime."[FN#1] Answered he, "O mother of me, this man slew the
Blue King's son, who was a Jinni and Allah threw him into his
hand. He is a Jinni and I am a Jinni: how then shall I go to him
and make war on him for the sake of a mortal?" But she rejoined,
"Go to him and demand our guest of him, and if he be still alive
and the Blue King deliver him to thee, take him and return; but
an he have slain him, take the King and all his children and
Harim and household depending on him; then bring them to me alive
that I may cut their throats with my own hand and lay in ruins
his reign. Except thou go to him and do my bidding, I will not
acquit thee of my milk and my rearing of thee shall be counted
unlawful."--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to
say her permitted say.

When it was the Seven Hundred and Seventy-eighth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the
grandmother of Badi'a al-Jamal said to Shahyal, "Fare thee to the
Blue King and look after Sayf al-Muluk: if he be still in life
come with him hither; but an he have slain him take that King and
all his children and Harim and the whole of his dependents an
proteges and bring them here alive that I may cut their throats
with my own hand and ruin his realm. Except thou go to him and do
my bidding, I will not acquit thee of my milk and my rearing of
thee shall be accounted unlawful." Thereupon Shahyal rose and
assembling his troops, set out, in deference to his mother,
desiring to content her and her friends, and in accordance with
whatso had been fore-ordained from eternity without beginning;
nor did they leave journeying till they came to the land of the
Blue King, who met them with his army and gave them battle. The
Blue King's host was put to the rout and the conquerors having
taken him and all his sons, great and small, and Grandees and
officers bound and brought them before King Shahyal, who said to
the captive, "O Azrak,[FN#2] where is the mortal Sayf al-Muluk
who whilome was my guest?" Answered the Blue King, "O Shahyal,
thou art a Jinni and I am a Jinni and is't on account of a mortal
who slew my son that thou hast done this deed; yea, the murtherer
of my son, the core of my liver and solace of my soul. How
couldest thou work such work and spill the blood of so many
thousand Jinn?" He replied, "Leave this talk! Knowest thou not
that a single mortal is better, in Allah's sight, than a thousand
Jinn?[FN#3] If he be alive, bring him to me, and I will set thee
free and all whom I have taken of thy sons and people; but an
thou have slain him, I will slaughter thee and thy sons." Quoth
the Malik al-Azrak, "O King, is this man of more account with
thee than my son?"; and quoth Shahyal, "Verily, thy son was an
evildoer who kidnapped Kings' daughters and shut them up in the
Ruined Well and the High-builded Castle of Japhet son of Noah and
entreated them lewdly." Then said the Blue King, "He is with me;
but make thy peace between us." So he delivered the Prince to
Shahyal, who made peace between him and the Blue King, and
Al-Azrak gave him a bond of absolution for the death of his son.
Then Shahyal conferred robes of honour on them and entertained
the Blue King and his troops hospitably for three days, after
which he took Sayf al-Muluk and carried him back to the old
Queen, his own mother, who rejoiced in him with an exceeding joy,
and Shahyal marvelled at the beauty of the Prince and his
loveliness and his perfection. Then the Prince related to him his
story from beginning to end, especially what did befal him with
Badi'a al-Jamal and Shahyal said, "O my mother, since 'tis thy
pleasure that this should be, I hear and I obey all that to
command it pleaseth thee; wherefore do thou take him and bear him
to Sarandib and there celebrate his wedding and marry him to her
in all state, for he is a goodly youth and hath endured horrors
for her sake." So she and her maidens set out with Sayf al-Muluk
for Sarandib and, entering the Garden belonging to the Queen of
Hind, foregathered with Daulat Khatun and Badi'a al-Jamal. Then
the lovers met, and the old Queen acquainted the two Princesses
with all that had passed between Sayf al-Muluk and the Blue King
and how the Prince had been nearhand to a captive's death; but in
repetition is no fruition. Then King Taj al-Muluk father of
Daulat Khatun assembled the lords of his land and drew up the
contract of marriage between Sayf al-Muluk and Badi'a al-Jamal;
and he conferred costly robes of honour and gave banquets to the
lieges. Then Sayf al-Muluk rose and, kissing ground before the
King, said to him, "O King, pardon! I would fain ask of thee
somewhat but I fear lest thou refuse it to my disappointment."
Taj al-Muluk replied, "By Allah, though thou soughtest my soul of
me, I would not refuse it to thee, after all the kindness thou
hast done me!" Quoth Sayf al-Muluk, "I wish thee to marry the
Princess Daulat Khatun to my brother Sa'id, and we will both be
thy pages." "I hear and obey," answered Taj al-Muluk, and
assembling his Grandees a second time, let draw up the contract
of marriage between his daughter and Sa'id; after which they
scattered gold and silver and the King bade decorate the city. So
they held high festival and Sayf al-Muluk went in unto Badi'a
al-Jamal and Sa'id went in unto Daulat Khatun on the same night.
Moreover Sayf al-Muluk abode forty days with Badi'a al-Jamal, at
the end of which she said to him, "O King's son, say me, is there
left in thy heart any regret for aught?" And he replied, "Allah
forfend! I have accomplished my quest and there abideth no regret
in my heart at all: but I would fain meet my father and my mother
in the land of Egypt and see if they continue in welfare or not."
So she commanded a company of her slaves to convey them to Egypt,
and they carried them to Cairo, where Sayf al-Muluk and Sa'id
foregathered with their parents and abode with them a week; after
which they took leave of them and returned to Sarandib-city; and
from this time forwards, whenever they longed for their folk,
they used to go to them and return. Then Sayf al-Muluk and Badi'a
al-Jamal abode in all solace of life and its joyance as did Sa'id
and Daulat Khatun, till there came to them the Destroyer of
delights and Severer of societies; and they all died good
Moslems. So glory be to the Living One who dieth not, who
createth all creatures and decreeth to them death and who is the
First, without beginning, and the Last, without end! This is all
that hath come down to us of the story of Sayf al-Muluk and
Badi'a al-Jamal. And Allah alone wotteth the truth.[FN#4] But not
less excellent than this tale is the History of




HASAN OF BASSORAH.[FN#5]



There was once of days of yore and in ages and times long gone
before, a merchant, who dwelt in the land of Bassorah and who
owned two sons and wealth galore. But in due time Allah, the
All-hearing the All-knowing, decreed that he should be admitted
to the mercy of the Most High; so he died, and his two sons laid
him out and buried him, after which they divided his gardens and
estates equally between them and of his portion each one opened a
shop.[FN#6] Presently the elder son, Hasan hight, a youth of
passing beauty and loveliness, symmetry and perfect grace, betook
himself to the company of lewd folk, women and low boys,
frolicking with them in gardens and feasting them with meat and
wine for months together and occupying himself not with his
business like as his father had done, for that he exulted in the
abundance of his good. After some time he had wasted all his
ready money, so he sold all his father's lands and houses and
played the wastrel until there remained in his hand nothing,
neither little nor muchel, nor was one of his comrades left who
knew him. He abode thus anhungred, he and his widowed mother,
three days, and on the fourth day, as he walked along, unknowing
whither to wend, there met him a man of his father's friends, who
questioned him of his case. He told him what had befallen him and
the other said, "O my son, I have a brother who is a goldsmith;
an thou wilt, thou shalt be with him and learn his craft and
become skilled therein." Hasan consented and accompanied him to
his brother, to whom he commended him, saying, "In very sooth
this is my son; do thou teach him for my sake." So Hasan abode
with the goldsmith and busied himself with the craft; and Allah
opened to him the door of gain and in due course he set up shop
for himself. One day, as he sat in his booth in the bazar, there
came up to him an Ajami, a foreigner, a Persian, with a great
white beard and a white turband[FN#7] on his head, having the
semblance of a merchant who, after saluting him, looked at his
handiwork and examined it knowingly. It pleased him and he shook
his head, saying, "By Allah, thou art a cunning goldsmith! What
may be thy name?" "Hasan," replied the other, shortly.[FN#8] The
Persian continued to look at his wares, whilst Hasan read in an
old book[FN#9] he hent in hand and the folk were taken up with
his beauty and loveliness and symmetry and perfect grace, till
the hour of midafternoon prayer, when the shop became clear of
people and the Persian accosted the young man, saying, "O my son,
thou art a comely youth! What book is that? Thou hast no sire
and I have no son, and I know an art, than which there is no
goodlier in the world."--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day
and ceased saying her permitted say.

When it was the Seven Hundred and Seventy-ninth Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the Persian
accosted the young man saying, "O my son, thou art a comely
youth! Thou hast no sire and I have no son, and I know an art
than which there is no goodlier in the world. Many have sought
of me instruction therein, but I consented not to instruct any of
them in it; yet hath my soul consented that I teach it to thee,
for thy love hath gotten hold upon my heart and I will make thee
my son and set up between thee and poverty a barrier, so shalt
thou be quit of this handicraft and toil no more with hammer and
anvil,[FN#10] charcoal and fire." Hasan asked, "O my lord and
when wilt thou teach me this?"; and the Persian answered,
"To-morrow, Inshallah, I will come to thee betimes and make thee
in thy presence fine gold of this copper." Whereupon Hasan
rejoiced and sat talking with the Persian till nightfall, when he
took leave of him and going in to his mother, saluted her with
the salam and ate with her; but he was dazed, without memory or
reason, for that the stranger's words had gotten hold upon his
heart. So she questioned him and he told her what had passed
between himself and the Persian, which when she heard, her heart
fluttered and she strained him to her bosom, saying, "O my son,
beware of hearkening to the talk of the folk, and especially of
the Persians, and obey them not in aught; for they are sharpers
and tricksters, who profess the art of alchemy[FN#11] and swindle
people and take their money and devour it in vain." Replied
Hasan, "O my mother, we are paupers and have nothing he may
covet, that he should put a cheat on us. Indeed, this Persian is
a right worthy Shaykh and the signs of virtue are manifest on
him; Allah hath inclined his heart to me and he hath adopted me
to son." She was silent in her chagrin, and he passed the night
without sleep, his heart being full of what the Persian had said
to him; nor did slumber visit him for the excess of his joy
therein. But when morning morrowed, he rose and taking the keys,
opened the shop, whereupon behold, the Persian accosted him.
Hasan stood up to him and would have kissed his hands; but he
forbade him from this and suffered it not, saying, "O Hasan, set
on the crucible and apply the bellows."[FN#12] So he did as the
stranger bade him and lighted the charcoal. Then said the
Persian, "O my son, hast thou any copper?" and he replied, "I
have a broken platter." So he bade him work the shears[FN#13] and
cut it into bittocks and cast it into the crucible and blow up
the fire with the bellows, till the copper became liquid, when he
put hand to turband and took therefrom a folded paper and opening
it, sprinkled thereout into the pot about half a drachm of
somewhat like yellow Kohl or eyepowder.[FN#14] Then he bade
Hasan blow upon it with the bellows, and he did so, till the
contents of the crucible became a lump of gold.[FN#15] When the
youth saw this, he was stupefied and at his wits' end for the joy
he felt and taking the ingot from the crucible handled it and
tried it with the file and found it pure gold of the finest
quality: whereupon his reason fled and he was dazed with excess
of delight and bent over the Persian's hand to kiss it. But he
forbade him, saying, "Art thou married?" and when the youth
replied "No!" he said, "Carry this ingot to the market and sell
it and take the price in haste and speak not." So Hasan went
down into the market and gave the bar to the broker, who took it
and rubbed it upon the touchstone and found it pure gold. So
they opened the biddings at ten thousand dirhams and the
merchants bid against one another for it up to fifteen thousand
dirhams,[FN#16] at which price he sold it and taking the money,
went home and told his mother all that had passed, saying, "O my
mother, I have learnt this art and mystery." But she laughed at
him, saying, "There is no Majesty and there is no Might save in
Allah, the Glorious, the Great!"--And Shahrazad perceived the
dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.

When it was the Seven Hundred and Eightieth Night,

She continued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when
Hasan the goldsmith told his mother what he had done with the
Ajami and cried, "I have learnt this art and mystery," she
laughed at him, saying, "There is no Majesty and there is no
Might save in Allah, the Glorious, the Great!"; and she was
silent for vexation. Then of his ignorance, he took a metal
mortar and returning to the shop, laid it before the Persian, who
was still sitting there and asked him, "O my son, what wilt thou
do with this mortar?" Hasan answered, "Let us put it in the
fire, and make of it lumps of gold." The Persian laughed and
rejoined, "O my son, art thou Jinn-mad that thou wouldst go down
into the market with two ingots of gold in one day? Knowest thou
not that the folk would suspect us and our lives would be lost?
Now, O my son, an I teach thee this craft, thou must practise it
but once in each twelvemonth; for that will suffice thee from
year to year." Cried Hasan, "True, O my lord," and sitting down
in his open shop, set on the crucible and cast more charcoal on
the fire. Quoth the Persian, "What wilt thou, O my son?"; and
quoth Hasan, "Teach me this craft." "There is no Majesty and
there is no Might save in Allah, the Glorious, the Great!"
exclaimed the Persian, laughing; "Verily, O my son, thou art
little of wit and in nowise fitted for this noble craft. Did
ever any during all his life learn this art on the beaten way or
in the bazars? If we busy ourselves with it here, the folk will
say of us, These practise alchemy; and the magistrates will hear
of us, and we shall lose our lives.[FN#17] Wherefore, O my son,
an thou desire to learn this mystery forthright, come thou with
me to my house." So Hasan barred his shop and went with that
Ajami; but by the way he remembered his mother's words and
thinking in himself a thousand thoughts he stood still, with
bowed head. The Persian turned and seeing him thus standing
laughed and said to him, "Art thou mad? What! I in my heart
purpose thee good and thou misdoubtest I will harm thee!"
presently adding, "But, if thou fear to go with me to my house, I
will go with thee to thine and teach thee there." Hasan replied,
"'Tis well, O uncle," and the Persian rejoined, "Go thou before
me." So Hasan led the way to his own house, and entering, told
his mother of the Persian's coming, for he had left him standing
at the door. She ordered the house for them and when she had
made an end of furnishing and adorning it, her son bade her go to
one of the neighbours' lodgings. So she left her home to them
and wended her way, whereupon Hasan brought in the Persian, who
entered after asking leave. Then he took in hand a dish and
going to the market, returned with food, which he set before the
Persian, saying, "Eat, O my lord, that between us there may be
bread and salt and may Almighty Allah do vengeance upon the
traitor to bread and salt!" The Persian replied with a smile,
"True, O my son! Who knoweth the virtue and worth of bread and
salt?"[FN#18] Then he came forward and ate with Hasan, till they
were satisfied; after which the Ajami said, "O my son Hasan,
bring us somewhat of sweetmeats." So Hasan went to the market,
rejoicing in his words, and returned with ten saucers[FN#19] of
sweetmeats, of which they both ate and the Persian said, "May
Allah abundantly requite thee, O my son! It is the like of thee
with whom folk company and to whom they discover their secrets
and teach what may profit him!"[FN#20] Then said he, "O Hasan
bring the gear." But hardly did Hasan hear these words than he
went forth like a colt let out to grass in spring-tide, and
hastening to the shop, fetched the apparatus and set it before
the Persian, who pulled out a piece of paper and said, "O Hasan,
by the bond of bread and salt, wert thou not dearer to me than my
son, I would not let thee into the mysteries of this art, for I
have none of the Elixir[FN#21] left save what is in this paper;
but by and by I will compound the simples whereof it is composed
and will make it before thee. Know, O my son Hasan, that to
every ten pounds of copper thou must set half a drachm of that
which is in this paper, and the whole ten will presently become
unalloyed virgin gold;" presently adding, "O my son, O Hasan,
there are in this paper three ounces,[FN#22] Egyptian measure,
and when it is spent, I will make thee other and more." Hasan
took the packet and finding therein a yellow powder, finer than
the first, said to the Persian, "O my lord, what is the name of
this substance and where is it found and how is it made?" But he
laughed, longing to get hold of the youth, and replied, "Of what
dost thou question? Indeed thou art a froward boy! Do thy work
and hold thy peace." So Hasan arose and fetching a brass platter
from the house, shore it in shreds and threw it into the
melting-pot; then he scattered on it a little of the powder from
the paper and it became a lump of pure gold. When he saw this,
he joyed with exceeding joy and was filled with amazement and
could think of nothing save the gold; but, whilst he was occupied
with taking up the lumps of metal from the melting-pot, the
Persian pulled out of his turband in haste a packet of Cretan
Bhang, which if an elephant smelt, he would sleep from night to
night, and cutting off a little thereof, put it in a piece of the
sweetmeat. Then said he, "O Hasan, thou art become my very son
and dearer to me than soul and wealth, and I have a daughter
whose like never have eyes beheld for beauty and loveliness,
symmetry and perfect grace. Now I see that thou befittest none
but her and she none but thee; wherefore, if it be Allah's will,
I will marry thee to her." Replied Hasan, "I am thy servant and
whatso good thou dost with me will be a deposit with the
Almighty!" and the Persian rejoined, "O my son, have fair
patience and fair shall betide thee." Therewith he gave him the
piece of sweetmeat and he took it and kissing his hand, put it in
his mouth, knowing not what was hidden for him in the after time
for only the Lord of Futurity knoweth the Future. But hardly had
he swallowed it, when he fell down, head foregoing heels, and was
lost to the world; whereupon the Persian, seeing him in such
calamitous case, rejoiced exceedingly and cried, "Thou hast
fallen into my snares, O gallows-carrion, O dog of the Arabs!
This many a year have I sought thee and now I have found thee, O
Hasan!"--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased
saying her permitted say.

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Elliott Kastner obituary

John Makinson says that if people want to read using new technology, that's what publishers must give them

Penguin this week celebrates its 75th year and is marking the anniversary by repackaging a series of seminal books from the 1960s to the 1980s. Although the company might afford itself a brief look backwards, it feels as though there is little room for nostalgia in book publishing now, as the industry turns its face firmly – and apprehensively – to the future.

Amazon last week announced sales of ebooks on its US site had outnumbered hardbacks for the first time, stunning casual observers, even if it had not been entirely unexpected in the trade.

The launch of the iPad has added a sense of urgency. Where music went first, books are set to follow, although Penguin and other publishers would hope without the same devastating effects. Amazon this week launched a cheaper, more lightweight version of its Kindle ebook reader and a digital store on its UK site, while others, including Google, are muscling in. Digital book sales are still less than 1% of Penguin, but the direction of the market is clear. In the US, digital books already account for 6% of consumer sales.

Penguin chief executive John Makinson says he is a convert. The day after we meet he is on his way to India, as part of David Cameron's delegation, and had loaded titles on to his iPad, including a manuscript by John le Carré and some Portuguese classics (in English) ahead of Penguin launching a range in Brazil. He is also reading Lord Mandelson's diary. It simply makes sense, he says, instead of carting an armful of books in your carry-on luggage.

Innovation

"It does redefine what we do as publishers and I feel, compared with most of my counterparts, more optimistic about what this means for us," he says. "Of course there are issues around copyright protection and there are worries around pricing and around piracy, royalty rates and so on, but there is also this huge opportunity to do more as publishers."

Publishing, he says, must embrace innovation: "I am keen on the idea that every book that we put on to an iPad has an author interview, a video interview, at the beginning. I have no idea whether this is a good idea or not. There has to be a culture of experimentation, which doesn't come naturally to book publishers. We publish a lot of historians, for example. They love the idea of using documentary footage to illustrate whatever it is they're writing about."

The very definition of a book is up for grabs he says, although the company has just published a version of Ken Follett's The Pillars of the Earth for the iPad in the US that might provide clues – and horrify traditionalists. It includes scenes from a TV adaptation embedded in the text, as well as extras including the show's music soundtrack and Follett's video diary during the making of the series.

For now, Makinson says, digital books are expanding the market; hardback sales in the US are up this year, despite the march of ebooks. Piracy is not yet a significant issue and lessons have been learned from the music business.

"You have to give the consumer what the consumer wants – you can't tell the consumer to go away. So we didn't participate in this experiment where a number of publishers deferred publication of the ebook until a certain number of months after the hardcover publication. I thought that was a very bad idea. If the consumer wants to buy a book in an electronic format now, you should let the consumer have it."

He has added confidence, because with tablets such as the iPad, consumers are used to paying a subscription to the wireless operator and for "apps", creating a more benign environment than the wild west of the PC, where users are used to getting everything for free.

Penguin's profits more than doubled to £44m in the first half of the year. The company gained market share, but one reason for the dramatic improvement was the outsourcing of some design and production to India last year; the company now has around 100 designers in Delhi making books for Dorling Kindersley, belying the idea that Britain can at least live off its creative industries. Makinson defends the decision and says DK is now back in profit, which means it can reinvest in Britain: "We can't pretend we can do everything here. In order to be internationally competitive, some work needs to be done in other places."

About 8% of the publisher's sales are from its classics, including Jane Austen and Charles Dickens, and revenues are still growing, despite much of the copyright being in the public domain. It is launching the range in Mandarin, Korean and Portuguese. But it is not all highbrow. What would Penguin's founder, Sir Allen Lane, whose aim was to publish quality paperbacks for the masses, have made of Penguin putting out books "by" Peter Andre or Ant & Dec?

"Allen Lane's view was that we should publish good writing of all kinds for all audiences at affordable prices," Makinson says. "I'm not saying he would necessarily have approved every single publishing decision we take, but would he have approved of Penguin being a very democratic publishing company, publishing for lots of different tastes? I think he would definitely have approved."

Makinson has long been mentioned as a successor to Dame Marjorie Scardino, who runs Pearson, Penguin's parent company. Her departure has been a perennial question, though she has defied the investment community's chattering classes by staying in her post for well over a decade. She has also confounded expectations by keeping Penguin and the Financial Times in a group dominated by educational publishing. Makinson says it now makes more sense than ever for Penguin to remain part of the group, as the digital era draws each division closer.

He says there will still be the need for publishers in the digital world: "I used to have this discussion with [Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy author] Douglas Adams. He created this thing called the digital village, an online publishing platform. Douglas's argument was, 'all of my friends will come along and publish on digital village and you the publishers will be disintermediated, you will be irrelevant'. Well, it hasn't happened. I am not aware of any successful direct to consumer publishing model that exists.

"The reason it doesn't work is that the publishers do actually perform quite a useful service: they edit the book, then they publicise it." In the physical world, they make sure it is stocked in bookshops, he adds.

Clubbable

Makinson, 55, perhaps feels more adaptable than some of his counterparts because he arrived at Penguin as an outsider. A clubbable character, he has taken an unusual career path, from a journalist on the Financial Times, to working for the Saatchis, setting up his own investment consultancy, running the Financial Times and then becoming Pearson finance director, despite having no training as an accountant.

But his passion for books is evident. Five years ago, he and his brother bought a bookshop in the small Norfolk town of Holt. For an out-of-the-way independent, the Holt Bookshop attracts a starry line-up of authors for events, including Stephen Fry, due to talk about his new autobiography, which, perhaps not surprisingly, is published by Penguin.

"We are all terribly sentimental about books," Makinson insists. "It is terribly important to me that we sell lots of wonderful books in my little independent in Norfolk, and when I talk about digital I do sometimes worry that it looks as though I am neglecting all this," he points to the books on the shelves behind him, "which I am not."

CV

Born: 1954, Derby.

Education: Graduated from Cambridge with honours in English and History.

Career: 1976-1979, journalist, Reuters; 1979-1986, journalist, Financial Times; 1986-1989, vice-chairman, Saatchi & Saatchi; 1989-1994, co-founder of capital markets advisory firm Makinson Cowell; 1994-1996, managing director, Financial Times; 1996-2002, finance director, Pearson; 2002-present, chairman and chief executive Penguin Books.

Other interests: chairman of the Institute for Public Policy Research, a director of the National Theatre and of the International Rescue Committee, a humanitarian organisation.

Family: Married with two daughters.


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The nostalgia narrative now aches to a different tune | John Freeman

Late-flowering writer of biographies and children's books

Verily Anderson, who has died aged 95, published more than 30 books – memoirs, biographies, children's stories and work ranging from personal reminiscences to Shakespeare scholarship and 10 Brownie books. She was a late starter: her breakthrough as a writer came in 1956, at the age of 41, when she published Spam Tomorrow, a deft and frequently uproarious account of her wartime experiences on the home front. Critics hailed it as a new kind of memoir, one of the first to explore the lives of women in wartime.

Before the success of Spam Tomorrow, she led a life that was colourful but frequently impecunious. Born in Edgbaston, Birmingham, the fourth of five children of the Rev Rosslyn Bruce and his wife Rachel (nee Gurney), Verily was always certain that she wanted to be a writer. As children, she and her brothers edited and wrote a nursery magazine which they called the News of the World. Verily's haphazard schooling ranged from a few years at Edgbaston high school for girls to being taught at home by her mother, to a brief and unsuccessful stint at the Royal College of Music in London. She said she worked at "100 different jobs" (including writing advertising copy, illustrating sweet papers and working as a chauffeur) before the outbreak of the second world war, when she enlisted with the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, on the grounds that if there were going to be a war, it would be "less frightening to be in the middle of things".

During the war she met Donald Anderson, a writer who specialised in military history. They married in 1940 and had five children. With his encouragement, she made a precarious living as a freelance writer, while papering her lavatory walls with rejection slips received from publishers for her book projects. Her persistence was at last rewarded with the success of Spam Tomorrow – and a further half-decade on the bestseller lists. These years included a film adaptation of her 1958 memoir, Beware of Children, called No Kidding and starring Leslie Phillips and Geraldine McEwan (1960).

Donald died in 1956, and by the mid-60s Verily was again struggling financially. She was rescued by the actor Joyce Grenfell. They had struck up a friendship when Verily interviewed Grenfell for the BBC. Grenfell was so shocked at the conditions she found Verily living in that she bought her a home in Northrepps, a village in Norfolk, where she stayed for the rest of her life, writing dozens more books (including the critically acclaimed The Northrepps Grandchildren in 1968) and glorying in the role of matriarch to an ever-expanding family of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. When Verily married Paul Paget, architect and surveyor to the fabric of St Paul's Cathedral, in 1971, Grenfell was matron of honour.

In 2008 I conducted what turned out to be Verily's last interview. Letting myself in after some fruitless bell-ringing, I followed the sounds of a piano to her study door. "Oh my dear," she said, looking up at my knock. "There you are. Now – shall we have a gin, before we start?"

I had already heard all about Verily through her daughter, my friend the writer Janie Hampton, and so had a good idea what to expect. Janie's main piece of advice on hearing that we were going to meet was: "Whatever you do, don't let her pick you up from the station – she's half-blind." She also said: "Don't eat any of the cake she offers. She's always got some, and it's always about five weeks old."

Verily did have cake and it was past its best – but Verily definitely was not. She regaled me with anecdotes. I came away with the image of a woman with a twinkle in her eye, who after eight decades of writing was still full of energy and enthusing about her latest project. This – a memoir of the time she spent at Herstmonceux Castle, Sussex, in the 1930s and 40s – was completed the day before she died.

Verily is survived by her children, Marian, Rachel, Eddie, Janie and Alexandra, 16 grandchildren, 14 great-grandchildren – and Alfie, her beloved RNIB guide-dog.

• Verily Anderson, writer, born 12 January 1915, died 16 July 2010


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Tom Stoppard returns to BBC with Ford Madox Ford adaptation

The American literary genre of you can't go home again – that fertile ground farmed by Faulkner, Twain and Kerouac – has in the last half-century found a new voice abroad

At six foot, six inches tall, Thomas Wolfe had trouble entering most rooms. But he also had a problem with going back through them, especially if they led to the past. He had told too many truths – and too many lies – about where he came from in North Carolina.

In his posthumous 1940 novel, You Can't Go Home Again, he gave Americans a literary catchphrase for the pain so many of us who wind up far from where we grew up feel acutely.

After all, in the case of many Americans, if you leave the provinces only to return home, you are marked as a failure. At the very least, you run the risk of finding that flight has spoiled any fond memories you managed to smuggle out.

Think of the successful ad-man hero of John Updike's The Farm, who returns to his family's crumbling Pennsylvania farm for an emotionally fraught visit, or Quentin Compson of William Faulkner's Absalom, Absalom, shivering in his dorm room at Harvard, who begins his defence of the American south with the ringing endorsement, "I don't hate it ... I don't hate it."

This thread of conflicted nostalgia is strongest in America's most autobiographical novelists, especially the ones who had to leave to write but continuously dial back the past in their work: writers such as Jack Kerouac, who frantically travelled America, but wrote most of his later books about Lowell, while living with his mother in Queens and Florida.

Then there's Mark Twain, whose autobiography appears in the new issue of Granta, who rose out of Missouri and saw the world, but settled in Hartford, Connecticut in a white mansion that everyone around him could see looked exactly like a river steamboat.

But like so many things America feels it has invented, from democracy to baseball, the you-can-never-go-home again narrative is hardly unique to it. In fact, in the last half-century (and especially in the last 20 years, as diaspora writers from the Dominican Republic to Nigeria to India and Pakistan have emerged as some of our most vigorous storytellers), nostalgia – which is a combination of "returning home" and "ache" – has taken on a different texture.

In Granta's new issue, there's a story by the Sudanese writer Leila Aboulela, about a young man who has come to London from Khartoum to study mathematics. His mother, who worries he will never return, arranges for him to marry a devout Muslim wife – a move which backfires when she comes to London and reminds him of everything he left behind. Chimamanda Adichie, meanwhile, has a story about a Nigerian "big man" whose life is turned upside down when his ex-girlfriend announces she has come back to Lagos. As he speculates about the reasons for her return, Adichie's hero worries whether he has sacrificed something essential in his rise to the top.

In stories like these, not to mention the novels of Monica Ali or Kiran Desai or Uzma Aslam Khan, the export duty to elsewhere is high. The past isn't just the past – it's another country. And for reasons political and personal, there is no going back.


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