The Book of Onan

The Book of Onan

Prologue

811 AD: Hollywood Abbey, a monastery in the Kingdom of Northumbria

The slow, hypnotic toll of the Great Bell and the solemn chanting of the Dies Irae, telling of the Day of Doom when the souls of the wicked would face the wrath of God, accompanied the monks as they made their weary way to the refectory for their evening meal. Once they had eaten, Abbot Onan cleared his throat and spoke: “Gather round boys, and I will tell you a strange tale of times yet to come, of hallows and harlots, of whores and holy men.”

“Boring!”, called out a voice from the back of the room.

“There’s no need to be like that, Brother Oswald”, Onan protested indignantly.

“If it’s that one about that re-animated corpse who goes round sucking the blood out of the living, we’ve heard it before.”

“No, it’s not that one. This is a completely new story. It’s set in the distant future.”

“How far into the future?”

“Oh, a long long time.”

“Can’t you be more specific?”

“Okay then”, Onan snapped. “It’s set 1200 years in the future, give or take a few decades. Is that specific enough for you?”

“I suppose so.”

“Thank you. Now, I want you all to try and identify the underlying themes because I’ll be setting an essay on this and I’ll expect ….. ”

“Is it funny or serious?”, interrupted Oswald again.

“Sorry?”

“Your story, is it funny or serious?”

“Well, it’s essentially serious but it’s got comedic elements, to break the tension so to speak.”

“Is it set in Africa then?”

“No, it’s set right here, only in the distant future.”

“So where do the elephants come in?”

“Elephants?”

“You said it had comedic elephants.”

“Elements! I said it had comedic elements, meaning there are amusing passages here and there”, explained an exasperated Onan. “It’s a story where nothing is ever quite what it seems.”

“Confusing and complicated you mean? And what about sex?”

“What about it?”

“Does your story have a lot of sex in it?”

“Well, there’s a bit I suppose, but only in so far as it propels the narrative. Nothing gratuitous.”

There was a collective groan of disappointment from the monks.

Oswald piped up again: “But you said it was about whores.”

“And holy men, yes. That was to try and grab your attention. And I suppose I couldn’t resist the alliteration.”

“You’re always doing that – you draw us in with some great dramatic fanfare of an introduction, then it turns out to be some dry academic thesis about the nature of existence or some such bollocks”, said Oswald. “Brother Elwyn tells us dirty stories”, he added pointedly.

“Oh, does he indeed? In that case, I’ll be having a word with Brother Elwyn.” Onan glanced at Elwyn, his second-in-command, who promptly looked down at his own feet.

“If there isn’t much sex in it I don’t know if I can be bothered to listen”, said Oswald. There were noises of agreement from the other monks.

“Look, if you don’t want to listen you’re welcome to leave. No one’s forcing any of you to stay …..but I’ll throw in some lurid descriptions of sex here and there if you really want”, Onan said resignedly. “How does that sound?”

There was a collective murmur of approval.

“And some comedic elephants?”, pleaded Oswald.

“Oh, very well. I’ll see what I can do. Can I start now?”

“You crack on mate.”

“Thank you Brother Oswald, I’m most grateful to you”, said Onan. “Now, is the scribe here?”

A monk raised his hand.

“Good, because it is of the utmost importance that the story I am about to tell is recorded for posterity, word-for-word, exactly as I tell it. Well then, before I start I just need to give a bit of context so that the story will make sense to you all. First, ‘The Blues’ is a style of music originating ….. .”

And so the story began, told in nightly instalments. It didn’t get off to the best of starts, with lots of laborious explanation about cultural movements and technological innovations, but Onan finally got into the action and the monks settled down to listen, with, it must be said, increasing fascination as the story rambled on. They were eventually so quiet that the mournful howling of the wolves in the nearby woods could be clearly heard, helping to create exactly the right atmosphere.

’Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make! ….. ’