In Which I Became a Published Author

I must report the most important development of my scholarly life so far.

I am a published author.
Please pause here for proper appreciation.
Longer.
Thank you.

This began, as many important things do, with instructions from Legible. Earlier, at the Tea Party, Legible told me that I needed to learn about The Library. Not merely a library. Not merely a very large library. The Library. A place connected to all other libraries everywhere.
Naturally, upon hearing this, my soul attempted to leave my body and run there immediately.
However, Legible also gave proper directions, which are essential when pursuing sacred knowledge. First, I was to go to the University. Then, to the University’s library. Then, once there, I was to specifically request the Dax Terlotta Memorial Library.

This is a very particular set of instructions, which made me trust them even more.
A vague instruction may be a rumor. A precise instruction is a door handle.
So I set out to follow them exactly.
My new friends Vellea and Rascal agreed to accompany me, which was both kind and practical. Visiting an ordinary library is already a serious matter. Visiting a library connected to all other libraries everywhere seemed like the sort of expedition where witnesses would be useful, especially if I became too excited to communicate in a normal fashion.

We arrived at the University library and met one of its librarians. His domain, as best I understood it, concerned farming and irrigation. This may not be the exact formal title, but it is close enough for now, and I intend no disrespect to either farming or irrigation, both of which seem very important if one enjoys food and not being thirsty.
He explained some things about the library, including its card catalog.
At this point, we had to explain the card catalog to Rascal.
This was surprising at first, but then I remembered that not everyone has had the good fortune to be properly introduced to the majesty of ordered index cards. A card catalog is a system by which knowledge tells you where it has been placed. It is an agreement between seekers, shelves, titles, subjects, numbers, and patience.
Rascal now knows this.
This is good.

We also asked the librarian my Top Questions, as is proper when meeting a person of interest and possible future citation. His answers have been documented in the appropriate section of the Ledger. Then we asked about The Library. The librarian gave us directions to the part of the library where Ook could be found.

Ook.

Please understand that this name is not simply a name.
It is also, as far as I can tell, most of his spoken vocabulary.
Ook is an orangutan in a white lab coat. He can say only “ook,” but this does not mean he communicates only one thing. This is an important distinction. Some people use many words and say very little. Ook uses one word and says quite a lot.
He also uses hands, facial expressions, timing, book placement, and what I believe were meaningful pauses.

I asked careful questions.
Or at least I asked questions which were careful in my head.
Ook answered with “ook.”
And somehow, through persistence, gestures, expressions, and the correct arrangement of hope, we had quite the conversation.

The room itself was beautiful in a way that made my bones stand respectfully.
It was circular, with bookshelves from floor to ceiling. Every shelf was full. Every book had its spine torn off. Instead of titles along the spine, each book bore only a number.
This is where I understood, with sudden force, why the card catalog matters.
Without the card catalog, the room is impossible.
With the card catalog, the room is a universe that has agreed to be searchable.

I was trying to absorb all of this when Ook carelessly threw a book over his shoulder.
It landed exactly where it belonged.
Not near where it belonged.
Not close enough.
Exactly.
On the correct shelf, in the correct place, as if the book and the shelf had always known they were meant to reunite and Ook was merely assisting destiny.

I have seen swordsmen with worse aim.
I have seen archers with worse aim.
I have seen people attempting to put cups on tables with worse aim.
Ook belongs in a category of precision all his own.

Then came the matter of my journal. My first journal from home. The beginning of Ledger’s Ledger. I had carried it through my travels, through questions, through tea, through battle, through ink stains, through the effort of making the world more properly documented. It was not perfect. Some pages were cramped. Some entries had too many arrows. Some notes had been written while walking, hiding, healing, or attempting not to be stabbed. But it was mine. And it was true to what I had seen.

I do not know if I was breathing correctly as Ook took it from my hands, He tore off the spine.
This was alarming.
Then he smashed a banana peel against the raw edge of the book.
This was more alarming.
Then, in the banana smush, he wrote the number: 1000839
Book number one million eight hundred thirty-nine.

Suddenly I understood, Ook was publishing MY book!
I need to write that again.
Ook decided to publish Ledger’s Ledger.
In his library.
In The Library.
In the beautiful circular room connected to all other libraries everywhere.

I had alyways thought publication would involve copying, binding, perhaps stamping, perhaps a certificate, perhaps a small speech.
Ook had a different procedure but a glorious one.
And now… Ledger’s Ledger had a number.
An official number.
A library number.
A place in the ordered universe of searchable knowledge.

Then Ook threw it over his shoulder.
I watched my book fly.
There are moments in life when the heart becomes a drum, a bird, and a very small screaming scholar all at once.
My book landed exactly where it belonged.
On the correct shelf.
In The Library.
Published.
Catalogued.
Real.

I did not explode.
This should be noted as a personal achievement.

At my request, Ook also created a copy for me to take home, so that I may continue documenting my adventures and return in the future with a sequel to add to his collection.

A sequel.
I now have a responsibility to write a sequel.
This is wonderful. This is terrifying. This requires more paper.
When we left, I was no longer merely Ledger, traveler and documenter of important questions. I was Ledger, published author.

I may have mentioned this once or twice.
Or many times.
Or to everyone I could find.
Or to people who were not yet standing still but might become available if I walked beside them long enough.
This was necessary. News of scholarly importance must be distributed.

Important conclusions from meeting Ook:

1. The Library is connected to all other libraries everywhere.
2. To reach it, one must ask correctly.
3. Card catalogs are sacred instruments of findability.
4. Rascal now knows what a card catalog is.
5. Ook says only “ook,” but communicates a great deal.
6. A circular room full of numbered books is both beautiful and intimidating.
7. Book spines are less permanent than I previously believed.
8. Banana may be a cataloguing medium.
9. Ook has perfect book-throwing aim.
10. Ledger’s Ledger is now book number 1000839.
11. I am a published author.
12. I am a published author.
13. I am a published author.
14. I should bring Ook a sequel.

I will continue writing.
Obviously.
With official publication, great pride, and a copy of my own book,

Ledger