Game of Tomes: An Alternate History of Brooklyn’s Literary Tribes
No one saw who fired the fatal shot, but everyone suspected a rival clan. Seconds after Lethem shuffled off this mortal coil, the Brooklyn Public Library became a war zone. Knives were drawn; arcane spells were readied; adrenaline, dormant since the writers were bullied at the nation’s finest prep schools, began to flow. In the ensuing chaos, Lethem’s body vanished and Jennifer Egan was murdered by a mace. Faced with an immediate power vacuum, each group of authors holes up in its bookstore of choice.
As Emma Straub led the way to the BookCourt observatory, high above their vaunted skylight, she curtsied to Safran Foer. “Surely, you have every right to the throne, sir.”
Foer arched his eyebrows, “Why?”
“Because you wrote your first story about being 13 when you were 13.”
Hodgman, looking through his tattered books of lies, seconded Straub’s reasoning. “She’s right, you know. You are our new king.”
In ceremony, they exchanged good reviews, bottles of sugary wine and talked about whether they would have been friends when they were teenagers (if they had had friends). “Coronation,” hummed Foer. “What a beautiful, bell-sounding word!”