The Talkative Tomes – Verity Limond, age 15

"Can you feel the camaraderie on this shelf?" an Oxford English Dictionary remarked. "Indeed it is hardly elusive," replied an adventure book. "It reminds me of one of my stories in which some children protect gold from the avarice of a man." The dictionary looked interested. "Do you have a lot of plots that are interestingly delineated in yourself?" The other book agreed, "Oh yes, my plots are all of high quality. But I am really famed for my descriptions. My author used words such as 'vociferous', 'laconic' and 'querulous'."

“I am quite an authority on words,” the dictionary remarked. “I have many that would be good for an adventure story, ‘insignia’ is a lovely one or ‘interrogate’, though you might prefer ‘equanimity’!” “He faced the situation with equanimity,” the other chipped in, “that is a sentence in one of my stories.” “My, but you are articulate for an adventure book,” the dictionary complimented, “all the ones I have known have been very taciturn.”

"Thanks," was the reply, "I was a protégée of Robinson Crusoe, and he was such a one for talk!" The books fell into reveries as they remembered past words and stories.

The adventure book broke the silence with a sigh. “I remember how old I’m getting at times like this; nobody’s taken me down in ages. These days, the young folk don’t want to read about the theft of a valuable gabardine coat. They want violence and love.” The dictionary attempted to offer solace with a remark about the beauty of the celestial objects they could see through the window opposite their shelf. Since this didn’t seem to work, the dictionary began to discourse about trigonometry. Soon the conversation changed to happier matters.

“Where did you come from originally?” the dictionary enquired. “Well, I have a misprint in me, a small one,” the adventure book added, seeing the look the dictionary shot at him. “So I was given to the son of a man who worked at the publishers I came from, Armada. He was very fond of me and he is the man who lives in this house, only now I belong to his daughter. She seemed to like me when she read me first but she tends to be very forgetful of the books on this shelf.” “Yes,” the dictionary replied “but she looks up interesting words. I think that ‘gabardine’ was the last one she looked up, just like your story.” The other book seemed pleased by this. Suddenly they straightened up. “Here she comes; maybe she will take one of us, quiet now.”