‘I don’t know how much of this you know, so forgive me if I go over old ground. MacGregor’s publisher rejected his first manuscript. Sir Sidney Beresford even threatened to burn it if MacGregor didn’t remove it from their premises. I confess, I had always regarded Sir Sydney as a typical pietist—public virtue private vice, that sort of thing—but having read MacGregor’s first draft, I believe he had a real fear of prosecution. Under Scottish Common Law, it was an offence to print, publish, or otherwise disseminate material liable to cause public disorder. Of course, the real objection was against politicking and religious dissent, but it included offences against public decency, and I am certain MacGregor’s text would have fallen foul of the law.’
O raises an eyebrow so at least he’s paying attention.
‘It may surprise you, but MacGregor’s original text is quite different from the familiar version. The sexual content, though unexceptional by modern standards, would alone have condemned it, and the Alban Church would have denounced the explicit practice of magick. Even had Sir Sidney and John Lucas accepted the first volume of This Iron Race, the Lords Advocates would not.’
He nods, which I take as agreement. There is something on the ceiling. Saw it move just then. Of course, could be a reflection from outside. Passing car or a chap walking by the window.
‘Now, in my view, the new edition is a much better work than the familiar version; it is richer, more truthful about human emotion, and the merging of the supernatural and spiritual with the natural world is more satisfying, even for one, such as I, who disapproves of magick. In other words, what improves it today are the very attributes that condemned it in MacGregor’s time.
Of course, this leaves us with a puzzle: why would anyone write a text knowing it cannot be published? Especially if one is newly married and has a growing family to support, as was MacGregor. I cannot imagine Beresford & Lucas’ reaction came as a surprise to him, and for all his protestations of wishing to write with a new naturalism, he must have known it could not be published, which, when you think about it, rather militates against any notion the book had some hidden magickal purpose, don’t you think?’
O shrugs. Better say again. Damned important point.
‘A book only has power if it is read,’ I tell him. ‘Without the application of the reader’s consciousness it’s quite impotent. Why then would MacGregor produce a text no one would read?’
O looks doubtful.
‘Of course, I mean hardly anyone. Sir Sidney and John Lucas must have read enough to reject it and MacGregor’s wife read it in full, along with a few of his close friends, Sir Charles Palliser among them. Possibly King Charles as well, though one cannot be certain on that. And of course, the original text has been unseen for the last one hundred and fifty years!’
O leans forward and taps the cover of the new edition. I accept his point.
‘Indeed, with this new edition he is finally getting what he wanted. Or rather, I believe this edition is as close as we shall ever get to it. I accept if it has some hidden purpose regarding magick, then I am not the one to see it. But nor am I inclined to fancy what is not there.
‘I cannot say this edition is definitive. Were the university to give Zelden access to MacGregor’s text he might interpret them differently, though whether he has the necessary skills is another matter. It is one thing to make an uncertain text read as you wish it to read; quite another to understand what the writer intended.’
As I say that I am painfully aware of the many times I had to trust to my own judgement on the matter. MacGregor’s text was at times impenetrable. One got the gist without knowing the precise phrasing intended. Another sip of water.
‘Even so, I cannot condemn Van Zelden. In fact, I admire his abilities, even if I cannot approve how he uses them.’
Doing one’s best not to sound bitter. Known too many old duffers always moaning about the latest new poet or novelist who catches the moment and outsells them by thousands. They forget they were once the darling of their publisher’s eye. Though I’m not sure I was ever anyone’s darling. Except for Edith. I was hers, for a year or two at the beginning. Another whisky would be welcome. Tonic water soothes the throat but does nothing for a man’s spirits. Still, better not.
‘Returning to the text. MacGregor knew the published text was inferior to the original, but he had hopes it would be published unexpurgated in his lifetime. Of course, that wasn’t to be, and he died in 1872.’
He was only a few years older than I am. There’s a sobering thought.
‘Lady MacGregor offered them for publication in 1905, a year after L H Durrants’ Wives and Lovers. No British publisher replied but there was interest from the French. Félicien Alberix wanted to translate and publish them in Paris—French literature had been progressive ever since the failed prosecution of Flaubert’s Madame Bovary—but Lady MacGregor’s death in 1907 put an end to that hope and MacGregor’s literary effects were donated to King James University where they should have been perfectly safe.
Unfortunately, by the time public taste in Anglia was ready for an unexpurgated This Iron Race, MacGregor was out of fashion and the fair copies had gone missing in mysterious circumstances.’
O sympathises.
I have my suspicions but best keep quiet about them. There are rumours of an unpleasant mishap during the Zeppelin War when the library was short of staff. An under-librarian misfiled a reserved manuscript on the main shelves and apparently several dozen texts vanished into thin air before they realised the error. My hunch is the fair copies for This Iron Race were among them. There’s a certain irony if they were gobbled up by a bit of misplaced magick.
The other possibility is theft, but nothing has been proven.
‘Collectively, the lost fair copies for This Iron Race have become the Holy Grail for anyone fascinated by MacGregor’s legacy. Though as Van Zelden’s purchasing power rather dwarfs mine, I would prefer they remain lost than have them fall into his hands. I suspect he thinks they’re in the Reserved Manuscript Depository, but I’m certain MacGregor would not have written something hazardous to his reader!’
O cracks a smile. Least I’m not boring him. I take a sip of tonic water.
‘Now, as I saw it, my task was to restore MacGregor’s original text but without the fair copies I turned detective, examining MacGregor’s journals, correspondence with his publisher, even his source materials, where they are known; hence my three visits to the Reserved Manuscript Depository. I immersed myself in his creative world and became as much amanuensis as editor. Though of course I would never claim MacGregor was guiding me and, unlike Van Zelden, I never attempted to communicate with his ghost! It was an entirely academic and scholarly process.
‘Where MacGregor’s intentions were not obvious and I had to make a creative choice, I took care to leave a note explaining my decision. Alas, Hare & Drum decided that was too intrusive and cut them. Not a decision I approve of. In any event, I hope this is the book MacGregor intended it to be. Others can judge whether I succeeded.’
‘Now, why did I choose to restore This Iron Race? A good question, no?’
It would be if he asked it. Rum sort of interview where one chap does all the talking.
‘The text rejected by Beresford and Lucas gained an unwonted reputation as a panegyric for magick, which is what Van Zelden picked up on. Supposedly, it’s filled with formulae for summoning demons, angels, and ghosts! Well, I promise you I haven’t seen any. It is simply a novel and, in my estimation, a damn good one. I hope the new edition proves popular and in due course the rest of the series will follow.’
He seems content. Hard to tell with that face. Assume I’ll have a chance to look at the proofs.
‘Van Zelden has put me to a great deal of trouble, but truly I pity him. Mr Drake has shown me the visitors’ book for the Reserved Manuscript Depository. I said the precautions are to prevent theft, but the danger is to the reader, not the books. Van Zelden made seventeen visits in eight months. Believe me, no one could do that and remain untouched by what is in those books. He is, I’m afraid, past saving. But what I may save is MacGregor’s reputation as Scotland’s greatest writer, and to do so I must reclaim him from Hendryk van Zelden.
‘Now. I believe that concludes matters. Are we agreed?’
He nods.
‘Excellent. Would you like your book signed? Of course: what name shall I give?’
At last!
‘May I borrow your pen? Thank you. For O’Brien. Kind regards, Nevil W.’’