I sit on my balcony and look down
at the tiny cars below. Nicotine and caffeine give the morning a glazed look,
and I know that this will probably be the happiest I’ll get today. Yesterday’s
paper still sits on the table in front me, my own face handsomely staring back.
The headline reads: Frank Costello’s true
identity revealed! I read the introductory paragraph again,
When Abe Henderson published his first novel, he was so
nervous about how it would be received he opted to publish under the pseudonym
we’ve all grown accustomed to. When the novel ‘Dragonaut’ was published to
critical acclaimed, Henderson decided to retain the Costello moniker, hoping
his later works would capitalise on the early success. The first book in the ‘Holy
Mountain’ series, a sprawling ‘psych-fi’ epic, launched Henderson (or rather,
Costello) into international celebrity. Since then, with five more novels, two
film adaptations and a third in the woodwork, Henderson has become one of this
decade’s most prolific writers. The Times uncovers more of his story…
Something sinks inside my
stomach. I still feel uncomfortable about this. It was my publicist Sandra’s
idea; she thought it was time, right before the release of the last Holy
Mountain book, to drop the bombshell and watch the public go crazy for it. I
had always liked my anonymity, I was happy that I could walk into a movie theatre
and watch a film adapted from my work and not one person would even look at me.
Fame is not something I ever wanted. I just wanted to write and be left alone,
and now I’ve compromised all of that.
The gentle chime of the doorbell
arouses me from this thought and I go to the door to answer. When I open it,
nobody is there. I look left and right down the hall and see no one. It’s then
that I notice the newspaper on the floor. Someone has bought me a paper. I don’t
get the paper delivered, and I don’t understand. But then I do. The front page
headlines read ‘Retraction: Frank Costello True Identity’, ‘Fraudster Impersonates
Writer’ with a much less handsome and much smaller picture of me. My skin feels
hot, I get lightheaded. I need to sit down.
I drop the paper and find a chair
to collapse into. After a minute, I go to retrieve my phone, which is still on
silent since I‘d screened two consecutive calls from Sandra much earlier that
morning. Many more calls from her had been missed. I try her, but it goes to
answer phone.
“Sandra Chinaski, Parkfield
Entertainment, leave a message.” The shrill beep punches me in the brain.
“It’s Abe, we need to talk. Come
over. Or call me... Please.”
My
phone slips out of my hand as I’m putting it on the table. I’m sweaty, and I
feel all hot and gross. I begrudgingly walk to the shower, turn it on, remove
my shorts and t-shirt and get in. How could this have happened in one day? I
don’t get it. Who did this to me, and why? Jesus, I haven’t even read the
article yet. Sandra will know the details. Did she leave voice mail? Why didn’t
I check? Jesus. I hear the phone ringing and reach for a towel and run to the
living room still wet and naked, drying as I run. Sandra’s finally getting back
to me. I grab the phone.
“Hey, I’m
freaking out a little bit here.” I say, as calmly as I can.
“Is
this Abe Henderson?” A man’s voice, deep, unfamiliar. I look at the phone
display, it’s an unknown number. Why didn’t I check it? “Is this Abe Henderson?”
He asks again, in the exact same tone.
“Yeah,
this is Abe. Who am I speaking to?”
“This
is Frank. We need to talk. I’m coming over. Where are you?”
“Frank
who? I don’t know a Frank.” I tried to think of a Frank I may have met at some
point. I come up blank.
“Abe.
It’s Frank.” What the fuck. Who is
calling me?
“Look I
don’t have time for this shit” I grab a smoke and head back to the balcony “I
don’t know how you got this number, but don’t fucking call me again, or I’ll
get the authorities involved.”
“You’re
in that New York penthouse aren’t you? I can hear the traffic outside. That’s
New York traffic Abe. I can tell. I’ll see you soon.” He hangs up.
I don’t
know how long I stood there, those words froze me. Jesus. What the fuck? How
did he know where I was? Did Sandra put someone up to this? If somebody’s really
coming here then I’ll see who they are as soon as I open the door. Maybe all of
this is some weird joke. Do I call the police? Do I get out of the country? I
go to my room and put on jeans and a shirt. I stare at the mirror a while. Shit
I look old.
When I
walk back into the living room I’m stopped dead in my tracks. He’s there,
sitting on the couch, smoking a cigarette. Of course it’s him. Frank, the
living embodiment of my adopted persona. He even looked exactly like I’d
pictured him once, while tripping. A slightly younger, more handsome version of
myself. Cooler too. I sat with him.
“What…”
My head falls into my hands, and all of a sudden I can’t find words. “I, I just
don’t know what’s… happening?”
“I came
to tell you that it’s over Abe. You’re not me. I’m me. You’re you. And you are
Abraham Henderson. You didn’t create me. I created you. I wrote a short story
when I was in college about an aging acid-fried writer who lost his mind and
was convinced the ghost of his literary alter ego was haunting his apartment. Does
that sound familiar Abe?”
“That’s
ridiculous! That’s my story, and where I took the name of… the character… Frank.
Costello…” As I say it a massive weight comes off my shoulders. But not in a
good way, leaving me feeling lighter, but also weak and hollow.
“It’s
over Abe. I’m killing you off. I can’t have you floating around anymore. You
were a shit idea and now you’re giving me a headache.” My muscles tighten. “Oh
shit! Don’t panic, I’m not gonna murder you Abe!” He laughs, smiling ear to
ear. “I’ll write your suicide when I get… outta here. It won’t be a spectacle
or anything, something subtle, easy, you know?”
Breathing
becomes increasingly difficult. Logic says there’s no way this can be
happening. But it is. And I believe it. How could my own creation do this to
me? Why am I not laughing in his face?
“Abe. I’ll
give you one chance. Prove to me you’re not the Abe Henderson I created. Become
your own character. Get out of here. Be real. Don’t come back to the apartment,
or up to the farm. Just get out of here, get out of this life and go find your own.
Then I’ll let you live. I’ll give you two days to make a start, get as far away
from here as possible.” He stands up, and walks toward the door. “Abe,” I stare
back at him, because he commands it. “If you come back here, I’ll be waiting.”
He winks, and then is gone.
Near
the elevator on the same level as Abe’s huge apartment, a man and a woman meet.
“What
happened? How did it go?” She stands close and speaks quietly.
“Pretty
well. He seemed, well, terrified. It was very strange.”
“I
know, look… thank you so much for
taking the time out to do this. It means a lot to us. I know it’s extremely unconventional
psychiatric treatment. Schizophrenia can be so sensitive and you’ve been
amazing.”
“It’s
no trouble. In a way, I guess, it’s the ultimate flattery.” He says with a
laugh that morphs into a solemn face towards its end. “He seems like a really
troubled guy. I hope I’ve helped.”
“You
have, so much, I hope, and yes, he was a huge fan before all of this started.”
“He
must have been. His story is so intricate and detailed. It’s amazing. It must’ve
been really hard to find that old story of mine too.”
“Yes, well, his family is of
tremendous wealth and resources, thus the apartment. It also doesn’t help that
he shares his name with your protagonist. Anyway, I should get in there. That’s
pretty essential right now.”
“Okay.”
He almost takes a step away. “Oh, by the way, I saw that doctored newspaper in
there, it looked great!”
Already
part way down the hall, she turns back to face him. “Oh, thanks. That was our IT
guru. You’re cheque will be in the mail.”
“Okay!
Thanks Sandra.”
Commentary:
For my fan fiction I decided to take a slightly different
approach to Philip K. Dick’s writing. Rather than creating a piece of fiction
set inside the world of High Castle
or A Scanner Darkly, or using
characters from one of these texts, I decided to write a piece in the spirit of
Dick’s writing, employing some of the themes that were present in both the
texts we looked at in weeks seven and eight. In the scheme of fan fiction, I
feel as though this is a slightly more enjoyable approach to take. Similar to a
band, while regular fan fiction might be seen as a covers band of a great
artist, my approach is more like that of a tribute band, playing in the style
of the artist rather than playing the artist’s songs.
The
main theme I’ve employed here is that of splintered identities, and the idea
that the world is not as it seems. This theme was very much present throughout
both High Castle and A Scanner Darkly.
In my
fan fiction I employed elements of Vogler’s (1998) Mythic Structure. Act one,
according to Vogler, “establishes setting, characters” and “raises the central
question of the story.” The first three paragraphs establish the setting and character,
while the fourth presents the catalyst; the newspaper dropped at Henderson’s
door. This device “precipitates the first turning point” which is, of course,
Henderson’s realisation that he has been labelled a fraud.
This
turning point marks the transition into the second act, where Henderson “encounters numerous obstacles while
trying to achieve a goal, reach a destination, or solve a crime.” In act two,
Henderson is trying to come to terms with what’s happening. His obstacles
include publicist Sandra’s apparent lack of availability, the ominous phone
call from someone claiming to be his own fictional alter ego. During this time
Henderson becomes increasingly anxious and panicked. The second turning point
ultimately arrives in the form of Frank Costello “magically” appearing on his
couch. According to Vogler’s theory, this “gives a new sense of urgency and
momentum, pushing the story towards its conclusion.”
Act three consists of our
climax; where Costello reveals what is happening to Henderson. Vogler states
that in this moment of climax, the “central question is answered.” We see
Henderson struggling to understand this answer, and when the reader leaves
Henderson in his apartment, the resolution takes place, which “ties up any
loose ends.” The resolution sees Costello and Sandra speaking in the hallway, revealing
that the entire thing was an experiment
in treating schizophrenia, and in fact, Henderson’s identity crisis existed
only in his own head.
As an extra, I made reference to
High Castle in naming Henderson. Abe
Henderson is an extension of Dick’s character Abendson. I can’t say for certain
whether the style I’ve employed reflects Dick’s work, but I feel as though I’ve
captured the central theme as well as I can in such a short space.
Vogler,
C. (2007). The
Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers. California, United States: Michael Wiese Productions.
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