THE HUNDRED-AND-FOURTH PAGE

The arrival of the brass knuckles a week or so later lent but a grace note to the little concerto of crime, but it’s not an object often seen. Their use probably had to be explained to the younger staff members, and the more talk the better, we thought. Box cutters might be the youngsters’ weapon of choice nowadays; the knuckles provided an instructional bit of history. Also, they might have to confront an angry author someday and they should be prepared.

It had not occurred to me that perhaps I was helping set up an arsenal against a siege of embittered authors who had been abused as severely as I over the years. What a disturbing notion: the siege of the Alamo, Gettysburg, Algiers, Dien Bien Phu--book publishing as a battlefield? That would be a battle worth fighting. Alas, there was only a ragtag little band fighting the enemy: my books and I.

If you believe the brass knuckles arcane, what about the billy club? I’d impulsively picked the thing up at a Camden Passage flea market in London years ago. I had no idea what I’d do with it, but an odd investment always pays off. The truncheon’s arrival sparked enormous interest when My Editor’s assistant walked from office to office inquiring what the object might be. The general impression was that it was a paperweight until the innocents were put straight by an elderly author passing through.