Can You Read Me Now?

by Paul Di Filippo

     “It's no secret that the mobile phone market is huge, but publishers may just now be realizing that teens aren't the only ones attached at the ear to the devices. Joining publishers like Random House and HarperCollins — which have both arranged mobile content deals to promote their books within the past year — Simon & Schuster is entering the fray with a partnership between Simon Spotlight Entertainment and cellular content provider MobileSidewalk.
     “The deal, which will target 18 to 34 year-olds, will allow the imprint to market a number of its current and forthcoming titles through a subscription-based service that sends text messages, excerpts, previews and cover art to cell phone users. There will be ‘a nominal fee’ for the content, with a portion of the revenue going to S&S. The service will launch in May and be promoted online at sites like Yahoo, MSN and various book-centric portals.”
     —“Simon Spotlight Goes Mobile,” Rachel Deahl, PW Daily, 4-18-06.

     Jogging through Penn Station, I was trying to call my wife, but I got Dan Brown instead.
     “Hi there, reader! I’m Dan Brown, best-selling author of The Da Vinci Code. How are you doing today?”
     “Uh, fine, I guess… Say, how did my call go through to you?”
     “Don’t worry, you’ll get to speak to your intended party eventually. But your call was automatically and temporarily rerouted to me by your service provider. It’s all part of the new package you signed up for.”
     I had a vague memory of the salesman at the cellphone store telling me something about this feature of my new plan. But I hadn’t paid any attention at the time. Now I regretted this obliviousness.
     “My records,” continued Dan Brown, “indicate that you purchased a paperback copy of my monumentally successful book last week, after enjoying a bargain matinee of the film adaptation, starring Oscar-winner Tom Hanks and the winsome Audrey Tautou.”
     “Wait just one darn minute! How do you know all that?”
     “Access to your credit-card transactions. Didn’t you read your provider agreement at all?”
     “Obviously not. Well, what about my purchases?”
     “You’re in the prime demographic to enjoy the long-awaited sequel to The Da Vinci Code.”
     “The Solomon Key?”
     “That’s not the title any longer. Recent controversial and potentially lucrative news developments have dictated a change. It’s now The Judas Gospel. And before you ask, more lawyers than are employed by Exxon have vetted the deniability of any connection with National Geographic and all its subsidiaries. Now, can I interest you in a sneak preview of this grippingly esoteric, Opus-Dei-bashing thriller?”
     If I didn’t inform my wife soon that the my train was running half an hour late on the night we were due to attend little Lucinda’s violin recital, I was going to be in deep doo-doo. I had to get this guy off the line.
     “If I say yes, will my original call go through?”
     “Of course. As soon as you scroll through the entire text that we’ll transmit.”
     “Yes, then! Send me the preview.”
     “There’ll be a nominal fee.”
     “Just send it!”
     “Very good. Thank you for your patronage.”
     Something occurred to me then. “Are you the real Dan Brown, or just a telemarketer?”
     The voice of “Dan Brown” suddenly acquired a nervous Hindi accent. “Um, I have to go now! Gotta write today’s wordage—“
     I lowered my phone from my ear. On the color screen was now displayed the dustjacket of The Judas Gospel. In a few seconds it faded, and the first screen of text appeared.
     Intending to scroll at top speed through the excerpt just to reach the end and contact my wife, I nonetheless found myself reading the sentences with interest as they flowed off the top of the screen. Before I knew it I was caught up in the story, and slowed both my footsteps across the terminal and the pace of my scrolling.
     I barely managed to get onboard my train. Curse that seductively simple-minded prose style!
     Settling into my seat, phone against my ear once more, I soon heard the voice of my wife.
     “Hi, honey, it’s me.” I explained everything that had caused me to run late.
     “Oh, that’s a shame! Lucinda is going to be so disappointed if you miss the start of her performance. She’s at the school now. You’ll have to call her.”
     I dialed my daughter’s cellphone number.
     J. K. Rowling came on the line.
     “A cheery greeting from the magical realm of Harry Potter, sir! As his author, I couldn’t help but notice that you were calling your daughter, whose blog indicates that she’s read every one of the adventures of my young wizard several times apiece. I note that Hogwarts on Ice will be arriving next week at your local civic center. Wouldn’t you be simply the best of muggles if you bought her and the rest of your family tickets to that brilliant event?”
     “All right, all right! Here’s my credit card information—“
     “No need, sir, we have it already on file. Enjoy the show!”
     Finally I was put through to Lucinda’s phone.
     “Sweetie? It’s Daddy. Look, I’m afraid I’m going to miss part of your show—“
     “Uh-huh, sure, that’s fine—“
     “Honey, is there anything wrong? You sound kind of distant—“
     “Gee, no, Dad, everything’s cool. It’s just that you interrupted me while I was reading the latest Redwall book on my phone, and Martin’s ghost had just appeared!“
     “Oh. Well, I’ll see you after the show. Maybe we’ll get a pizza to bring home.”
     “Great. Gotta run!”
     Emerging from its tunnel, the train was out of Manhattan by now, and I could feel my workday cares evaporating. I planned to settle back into my seat and relax. But first I figured I’d call the pizza place and order the pie to be ready for after the concert.
     And so I did. But not until I had purchased Rachel Ray’s newest cookbook and downloaded what sounded like a really wonderful thirty-minute recipe for Andouille Dawgs with Gumbo Sauce.