Send at once for our fresh-from-the-press selection of curiosa! For mature readers and collectors of wizarding amatory lore. Owl-order only, discretion guaranteed.
Fifty Shades of Greyback by Ana Froddis-Yak. An Ilvermorny good girl learns the art of savage love after she meets the tycoon of Were Incorporated.
Fatal Sticks and ‘Dying a Little’: A Glossary of Grindelwaldian Innuendoes by Sigmund Silberbaum. The true – and taboo – story behind G.G.’s irresistible charisma.
Voodoo-Voo, Mam’selle by Mimi Delacour. A sizzling war romance between an undercover Creole warlock and a Belgian farm maiden. You’ll never look at a haystack in the same way again!
Fantastic Babes and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander. The perfect terrain map for the cosmopolitan gay dog!
Contact MM. Booklegger & Smutelf, Tin Man Alley, Brooklyn.
Mr ‘Smutelf’,
I’m afraid there has been some misunderstanding.
N. Scamander
--------------------------------
Hot socks, Newt! Thanks for Tuesday night! It was swell seeing you again – once they’d peeled the kiddies off your legs and arms, aww. You looked spiffy! Tina thought you did, and she’s real proud of you for making good on the book. Just saying. But, honey, can you do a girl a favour?
It’s Jacob. See, Teen doesn’t want me to visit him too often on account of it’s still no go, even if Mr Graves has been a big sweetheart, looking the other way. But he – Jacob, I mean – has set up that Koffeeski Happy Hour, eleven to noon. That’s when he’ll give you a cup of coffee across the counter, free gratis for nothing, and talk a bit more with you. I went once, but… the gents at the counter, see, they want to talk to me. It’s not practical. So I been thinking, if I bring Newt along, he can keep the gents off and I can have a word with Jacob – no spilling, promise – honor bright!
Can you? Please? When you’re not too busy with the book and the beasties?
Work’s calling – gotta run!
Queenie
---------------------
Dear Newt,
Ever been to Coney Island at the peak of July?
It was the one time for me, long before the War. Coney was still quiet, private like, with only four or five rides on the Bowery. Not like these days when every good must be cranked up to a hundred an hour to bring the nickels home, and the joes are packed like beach sardins on Coney. Back then, the beach was off reservation. But Grandma had saved for a treat, and she and I had a bet that if I kept my wits and my tummy about me on the Red Devil, she’d buy me a frankfurter. I loved frankfurters best after Grandma, Grandma’s donuts and Jesus (who could produce five thousand of them and turn down the nickels), and I rode that coaster out. But when I got my land legs back, I couldn’t speak at first. Baba Liwia asked how it was, but my head was like a jackpot of sky and sun and bits of colour, and I could only smile.
Buddy, that book of yours – it’s the ride. The jackpot. All over again.
I read it yesterday night and today first thing, waiting for the milk, and again at lunch. Some places, it wasn’t reading. It was like I saw right through the page and what was behind looked back at me. And I knew them. The little black guy and Old Man Whiskers, with his silver coat of hair, I knew them! And, next thing I knew, I was seeing me on the ice, hooking it like I was still Private Kowalski of the 8th Division and this was Siberia,1920. But… the air was pure. Didn’t smell of mud and iron.
And there was somebody there that made it all right, the cold and the bolting, like he was a friend. Real close, like his face a breath away, lying right next to me on the ice even if I can’t make out any of his face. And he cheering me. Newt, I was never a thin child and today I’m on the roly-poly side, but in that vision? I felt like my heart was a big guy on its own.
So I have to ask. Newt…was it the War? Were you there, too, when it was so bad half the lads were splitting their brains and keeping half for what wasn’t there, so the other could hold? Like, an underworld, no humans allowed, only creatures that were good and clever and bolted for fun and not dear life? Because if you did, and it kinda vaporized on me, then it’s okay. It’s okay, pal. A body does what a body gotta do to see himself over to the safe side, and if it ends in a book or a bread that will make people glad, who ain’t got a clue about the other side, that’s the okayest thing.
Fill - When the Clouds Roll By (3/?)
Fifty Shades of Greyback by Ana Froddis-Yak. An Ilvermorny good girl learns the art of savage love after she meets the tycoon of Were Incorporated.
Fatal Sticks and ‘Dying a Little’: A Glossary of Grindelwaldian Innuendoes by Sigmund Silberbaum. The true – and taboo – story behind G.G.’s irresistible charisma.
Voodoo-Voo, Mam’selle by Mimi Delacour. A sizzling war romance between an undercover Creole warlock and a Belgian farm maiden. You’ll never look at a haystack in the same way again!
Fantastic Babes and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander. The perfect terrain map for the cosmopolitan gay dog!
Contact MM. Booklegger & Smutelf, Tin Man Alley, Brooklyn.
Mr ‘Smutelf’,
I’m afraid there has been some misunderstanding.
N. Scamander
--------------------------------
Hot socks, Newt! Thanks for Tuesday night! It was swell seeing you again – once they’d peeled the kiddies off your legs and arms, aww. You looked spiffy! Tina thought you did, and she’s real proud of you for making good on the book. Just saying. But, honey, can you do a girl a favour?
It’s Jacob. See, Teen doesn’t want me to visit him too often on account of it’s still no go, even if Mr Graves has been a big sweetheart, looking the other way. But he – Jacob, I mean – has set up that Koffeeski Happy Hour, eleven to noon. That’s when he’ll give you a cup of coffee across the counter, free gratis for nothing, and talk a bit more with you. I went once, but… the gents at the counter, see, they want to talk to me. It’s not practical. So I been thinking, if I bring Newt along, he can keep the gents off and I can have a word with Jacob – no spilling, promise – honor bright!
Can you? Please? When you’re not too busy with the book and the beasties?
Work’s calling – gotta run!
Queenie
---------------------
Dear Newt,
Ever been to Coney Island at the peak of July?
It was the one time for me, long before the War. Coney was still quiet, private like, with only four or five rides on the Bowery. Not like these days when every good must be cranked up to a hundred an hour to bring the nickels home, and the joes are packed like beach sardins on Coney. Back then, the beach was off reservation. But Grandma had saved for a treat, and she and I had a bet that if I kept my wits and my tummy about me on the Red Devil, she’d buy me a frankfurter. I loved frankfurters best after Grandma, Grandma’s donuts and Jesus (who could produce five thousand of them and turn down the nickels), and I rode that coaster out. But when I got my land legs back, I couldn’t speak at first. Baba Liwia asked how it was, but my head was like a jackpot of sky and sun and bits of colour, and I could only smile.
Buddy, that book of yours – it’s the ride. The jackpot. All over again.
I read it yesterday night and today first thing, waiting for the milk, and again at lunch. Some places, it wasn’t reading. It was like I saw right through the page and what was behind looked back at me. And I knew them. The little black guy and Old Man Whiskers, with his silver coat of hair, I knew them! And, next thing I knew, I was seeing me on the ice, hooking it like I was still Private Kowalski of the 8th Division and this was Siberia,1920. But… the air was pure. Didn’t smell of mud and iron.
And there was somebody there that made it all right, the cold and the bolting, like he was a friend. Real close, like his face a breath away, lying right next to me on the ice even if I can’t make out any of his face. And he cheering me. Newt, I was never a thin child and today I’m on the roly-poly side, but in that vision? I felt like my heart was a big guy on its own.
So I have to ask. Newt…was it the War? Were you there, too, when it was so bad half the lads were splitting their brains and keeping half for what wasn’t there, so the other could hold? Like, an underworld, no humans allowed, only creatures that were good and clever and bolted for fun and not dear life? Because if you did, and it kinda vaporized on me, then it’s okay. It’s okay, pal. A body does what a body gotta do to see himself over to the safe side, and if it ends in a book or a bread that will make people glad, who ain’t got a clue about the other side, that’s the okayest thing.
Just wish I could see that friend’s face.
Jacob