Constructing Wilde

Part 2

Thankful to be done with the morning's session with Frank's father, Oscar ambled down the streets of Chelsea to the quaint little publisher's house. He would need to assemble all of the poems he wanted in the volume, which would, naturally, mean going through all of his current work and perhaps coming up with a few new pieces. However, he first needed to see if the local publisher might be willing to print his work.

This particular publisher — David Bogue — was the fifth shop he'd been to today. The others had quite firmly refused to deal with him, saying that his work was shocking and quite certainly not what they were looking for. When he stepped into the store front, he was met by a somewhat rotund but genial man; he looked to be about in his forties.

"Hello, young man!" said the smiling man.

"Hello," replied Oscar, taking off his hat and walking further into the store. "I was looking to speak to someone about publishing a book for me."

"Ah, publishing?" inquired the man, laughing. "Quite popular nowadays. Well, I'm the man to speak to about it. Name's David Bogue, just like the sign outside says."

Oscar shook the man's outstretched hand with a smile. "Oscar Wilde; it's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

"And it's my pleasure to meet you. Now how can I help?"

"Well, I was thinking about publishing a volume of poetry. About 60 poems, I should think; I am looking for someone to print it for me. Would you be interested?"

"Of course, son! Why, I've helped several of the upcoming authors in Britain to get their start just like you are looking to do. Might you have a sample of the work to be included in this?" inquired he.

Oscar nodded and dug about in his satchel before procuring the copy of Ravenna that he'd written several years ago. He handed it to the portly fellow; then he waited patiently as the man read it. He watched the publisher's eyebrows raise; and he saw the slight nod of the man's head.

"Excellent, excellent!" announced the publisher. "I haven't the faintest idea why I oughtn't to help you. Though, I must warn you, I charge for my services. However, I guarantee that you'll be a sensation; I shouldn't wonder at all if you become quite the celebrity or at the least well-known here in England. My publishing house sells all sorts of material, and we distribute it in only the best ways possible."

Oscar sighed; he'd figured it would come down to this. Cost was always an issue, and he knew his poetry was less than conventional. However, he'd approached the publishers with the hope that they would be willing to publish it instead of requiring him to pay all costs necessary. Still, he had the money to pay for it, so he wasn't about to turn down the only publisher in the next fifty miles who was willing to work with him. "Very well. I'll pay whatever's necessary."

The smiling man nodded. "If you pay for all of the printing fees, I'll worry about the distribution, Oscar. It's quite a bargain; most places would require you to pay all of the fees if they weren't going to give you a contract."

"Of course, of course," said Oscar. "I'm sure it's quite a bargain. When do you want to meet to go over this?"

Bogue scratched his chin and shrugged. "Beginning of next week, why don't you drop by here? We'll discuss things, and as soon as you pay for it, I'll get the printing process started. By next month, you ought to be all set."

Nodding, Oscar took the poem from Bogue and tucked it back into his satchel. With a pleasant smile and a quiet farewell, he exited the shop feeling both glad and a bit disappointed at his final success in finding someone to publish his work. Maybe he had to pay all printing costs, but what of it? Others had met with great success in taking that route; why shouldn't he? He had no reason to think he oughtn't to find the same fame they had or at least no small amount of notoriety.

***

"Mother!" Oscar shouted, rushing into the little house where he'd situated his mother and older brother several months ago. "Mother!"

"Oscar, will you please stop the caterwauling?" admonished his mother, stepping out of the parlor. "I've guests, and they don't want to hear you shouting loud enough to wake the dead, I daresay."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mother. You know I normally wouldn't do such a rude thing, but I have wonderful news."

She gave him a skeptical glance. "Your brother said that a lot too, and just look at where he's ended up. Have you any idea where he is right now, Oscar?"

Oscar shook his head. "I haven't the faintest inkling, I'm sure, Mother. Drunk in one of the pubs, no doubt. Was he not home yesterday night?"

She snorted. "What do you think, son?"

"I'll take that for a no, then. But my news isn't of the nature his always was. I actually succeeded at finding a publisher for my collection of poetry, Mother!"

"Have you?" questioned she with a bemused smile.

"I have!" crowed Oscar, clapping his hands together. "Granted, I've got to pay the printing costs, but imagine it, Mother! Published! And I'll get the proceeds from the books too, so I haven't a clue why this shouldn't pan out wonderfully."

"Well, that is good news," said she. "Only, Oscar... Why are you paying the printing costs?"

His delighted expression fell a bit. "Oh, that? Simply put, no one else would take my work. They were quite appalled by its themes and language. England's publishers don't seem quite ready for the work, I'm afraid. But I've found someone who is, and I just couldn't hold back; I had to come tell you."

"I wish I could pay more attention to this grand achievement of yours, Oscar, darling; but I'm currently a bit preoccupied with company. Why don't you come round for dinner on Saturday night? You can tell your brother, assuming he's sober, that is."

Oscar grinned. "Of course, Mother. I'll be by on Saturday, and by then, I expect that I'll have gotten all the details for publishing my works figured out; I should be able to share with you what pieces are going into the work too."

"A grand idea, son. Now off you go," said she, shooing him off with an indulgent smile.

Oscar kissed her on the cheek affectionately and exited the house in high spirits.