In the words of my fellow Hostess, Miss Holl, ‘for a reminder of what the heck is bizarre question thursday here is the faq.’

We’d really love you to play, so if you feel like having a go, pop over to Holl’s and sign her Mr Linky. 

and today’s question :

there you are, sitting with your cup of and , settling into a good night’s reading. behind you, a fight breaks out on your bookshelf. which characters are slugging it out [from which books] with each other, and how do they resolve their dispute? what was the argument about?

I’m drinking a white zinfandel and sitting on the chunky red sofa in the dining room.  Dressed in my fluffy white bath robe and soft woollen slipper socks I feel cocooned in the half circle of our bay window.  The curtains are closed, the world shut out and I’m reading Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson (and loving it).  

Suddenly the sweet serenity that is an empty room in a house full of sleeping people, is interrupted by a harsh, rasping, yet well spoken voice.  Think Darth Vader meets Mr Darcy.

Death:  ”As I have said before, nice has nothing to do with me, now I must ask you to leave me be madame, or I may have to act…hastily.   ”

Vianne Rocher: “But I think I may have something you’ll like…”

The second voice is female, French sounding, and slightly sultry but with an edge of playfulness.

Death:  ”I’m not here to ‘like’ anything.  That is not my role.”

VIanne Rocher:  ”I know, but I’m usually veryy good at zis.  Erm, somesing dark, rich…le cafe creme?

Death:  ”Really, I don’t do chocolate.  I have no need for sustenance of any kind.  My role is purely one of intervention and delivery.  Think of me as the immortal parcel express or something.  And you really shouldn’t even be able to see me goddamit.”

Vianne Rocher:   “But I can see you.   And more so, I can see into you.  I can see a longing, a sadness, an ozerworldliness…”

Death:  ”Well of course you blumming can you silly bint.  I’m Death..”

Vianne Rocher:  ”Peanut Brittle??”

Death: ” …I’m not of this plane but merely a visitor, a gatherer of souls, a harbinger of doom.  And peanut brittle, yack.” 

Vianne Rocher:  ”But even harbingers need a little chocolatey love mon petit peu.  How about a Cocoa Gem?  Marzipan Fruit Garland?  Go on, knock your socks off.”

Death:  ”No, no, no.  I am Death.  I do not eat, I do not sleep.  I have but one purpose, one function, one..”

Vianne:  ”But you’re not really Death are you?”

Death:  ”I beg your pardon?”

Vianne Rocher:  ”I said, you’re not really Death Monsieur.  You are like me, a character, a creation, only really alive in ze reading.   And I’m almost certain you’d melt if you just tasted a cherry Parfait.”

Death:  ”But..I..”

Vianne Rocher:  ”Rum Truffle?  Hazlenut Whirl, Kit Kat?”

Death:  silence

Vianne Rocher:  Ah, but you are sulking now?   Hmmm, I’m zinking a Lemon Twist or some Bitter Noir in zat case, you mardy git.

Death:  ”Urr urrr urrr.  Urr urring umm urree urree urrr. ”

Vianne:  ”Well now you’re just being childish.  Maybe I should give you some white mice and a lollipop Monsieur?”

Me:  ”Oh for chrissakes.  He said he’s given up and he’s chewing on a great big enormous chunk of sticky toffee.  Here, have some.” 

Vianne Rocher:  ”O la la, c’est tres bien.   Merci Madame.  Urr urrr mumble, slurp, burble.”

Me:  ”Yes I know, yummy, now let’s get you two back in the book case.  Hmmmmm, I think we’ll have Chocolat in the dresser, and The Book Thief can go in the shelf on the other side.

And with that, silence returns once more to le salle a manger de Jo Beaufoix.  And I return to The Gargoyle which is blumming marvellous.  Chocolate Frog anybody?