God Is My Co-reader
1
God Is My Co-reader
“Do you have trouble getting things done when you work from home? Would it help to let a stranger watch you do it? As creepy as it sounds, some people swear by it. They are devotees of Focusmate, a productivity tool that pairs fellow procrastinators online for 50-minute ‘virtual co-working’ sessions. They introduce themselves via video, state their goals, then get to work—no idle chit-chat, just two remote colleagues toiling away.”
—from “Procrastinating? A stranger watching you might help” by Katie Johnston, The Boston Globe, January 30, 2019
Before I could begin to enjoy my newest fiction purchase—The Peruke of Peril, the tenth installment in The Extensions of Boadicea Brisingamen by Cleo Aquarelle, that best-selling high-fantasy series about a contemporary hair stylist who had a second life in another world as Mistress of Magical Wigs—I had to find a co-reader.
It wasn’t just something I wanted to do, of course—it was the law.
Only a few months ago, Congress had passed the “Mandatory Non-non-fiction Co-Reading Act of 2023,” which stipulated that due to the inherent dangers of all imaginative literature—stories of any and all genres, from rom-com to thrillers, science fiction to historical, comics to horror, that had the potential to transmit ideas and sensations that could be dangerous, confusing, antisocial, disturbing, odd, contrarian, counter-productive, whimsy-inducing or bemusing—anyone who wished to read such work must always consume the product with a co-reader, a fellow consumer selected at random whose alternate parallel viewpoint would place a check on any detrimental influences. In this fashion, outright censorship was avoided. Books of any stripe might still be consumed, but their potentially deleterious effects would be mitigated by having a co-reader who could offer perspective and advice.
Enforcement of the law was obviously spotty, but random raids on the households of people who had purchased books (hello, credit card records!), followed by a few well-publicized trials, had made most people voluntarily compliant.
At least the system was simple and efficient. Thanks to the handy and easy-to-use Co-lecteur software, one could always count on finding a co-reader at any time of the day or night.
It was early evening in my own West Coast time zone, and I wanted to settle down for a good long luxurious literary soak until bedtime in Cleo Aquarelle’s prose, so I brought up the Co-lecteur app on my phone. I entered the necessary data that showed I was just beginning The Peruke of Peril, had finished and enjoyed all nine previous volumes, and wanted a reading stint of no less than three hours, then hit FIND.
Almost instantly on the screen appeared the real-time smiling face of a teenage boy, fair of skin and hair. His name and location showed on the screen: Aiden Pollard, Hazardville, CT.
I was a bit surprised to have been matched with a young fellow, since the readership for Cleo Aquarelle’s stuff usually slanted toward older women, of whom I was one. But I had to trust that the Co-lecteur algorithms knew what they were doing.
“Hello, Aiden. How are you today?”
“Just swell, Celeste. Kinda cold and icy here, though, so I couldn’t do as much biking as I usually do.”
After a little more small talk, we got right down to our main reason for connecting.
I held up the hardcover of The Peruke of Peril, while Aiden showed me his Kindle with the same ebook displayed. I propped my phone up on its stand so the lens focused on me reading. Aiden did the same.
“Let’s go,” said Aiden.
“Right. The standard break every five pages for calibration?”
“Sure.”
I began reading and was instantly swept up into the magical world of Boadicea Brisingamen. When we had last seen her, she had been temporarily exiled from the otherworldly dimension of Follicula, but now it looked as if she were about to regain admission to that fabled land. So engrossed was I that I would have blown past the five-page milestone, had not Aiden interrupted.
“I’ve hit page five. You too?”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
“Did you think that Boadicea’s rude treatment of the customer who asked for a Brazilian blow out, and then complained, was problematical?”
“No, not really. The woman was a jerk.”
“Oh, all right. I just didn’t want to let any antisocial behavior on the protagonist’s part serve as a potentially destabilizing role model for younger readers.”
Younger readers, I thought. They’d have to be kindergarteners. Maybe it was just because I had been reading solo for way longer than Aiden had been alive, but his comment seemed overly fussy and nitpicking to me.
“Let’s go on,” I said.
We reached page ten at the same time. I said confidently, “Nothing objectionable in that section.”
“No? What about when Boadicea ran a red light in her hurry to get to the portal before it closed for another fifty years, and nearly collided with another car?”
“But Aiden, that was so suspenseful!”
“I agree. But it showed total disregard for traffic laws.”
“I think we can cut the writer some slack, since Boadicea’s masterful driving skills allowed her to avoid a collision, and she was acting with the good intentions of returning to Follicula to prevent a war.”
“Well, I guess so …”
Page fifteen was soon attained, and I braced myself for Aiden’s reaction. I already had a hunch about what might trigger him.
“Now Celeste, when Boadicea returns to Castle Longlocks and encounters the Minister of Deportment—”
“Yes, yes, I know what you’re going to object to! She called him ‘a craven lackwit, fit only for peeling zubers in the castle’s kitchens.’”
“And you don’t find her language to be ableist and derogatory against those who are not neurotypical?”
I had had it! Only fifteen pages into my long-anticipated read, and my enjoyment had been totally spoiled. “Aiden, I don’t know what your background is or your sociopolitical affiliations, and I don’t care. But I thought we were co-reading this book as two real fans of the series. I can’t believe you’ve made it through the previous nine installments with this quibbling attitude. I think you’re overly harsh and just looking for anything to complain about!”
Much to my surprise and chagrin, Aiden began sobbing. “It’s true, it’s true. But they forced me to be this way!”
“Who forced you?”
“The Co-reading Police. They caught me reading a Stephen King novel solo, and they promised to dismiss the charges if I acted as a narc. I’m supposed to entrap other readers into expressing subversive thoughts! Or maybe just annoy them so much they go solo themselves. Oh, Celeste, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what to do!”
I pondered the problem for a while as poor Aiden got control of his weeping. Then I said, “Let’s forget all this and just enjoy the novel together. Then, when we’re finished, we’ll use the reporting function of the app to file a charge against your police handler. You can claim he tried to get you to co-read The Turner Diaries, and I’ll back you up. Even if the charges don’t stick, he should have his hands full defending himself for a good long time, and he won’t be able to bug you.”
“You’d really do that for me, Celeste?”
“Of course. We lovers of Cleo Aquarelle have to stick together!”