Urban Theory Meets Capitalism

Morty loved his mountain of books. They were stacked in every crevice, every nook, on top of every table, radiator, even kitchen appliance in his snug little apartment. He liked to think he was literary and that the books indicated this fact to visitors, who would see the clutter on his radiator and know it was safe to mention Nabokov.

Still, as in most matters, Esther’s opinion was more important than Morty’s and what the books were starting to indicate to her, Morty’s only human visitor in some time, was that the apartment was a dusty mess. Dangerous, even. Six years ago, after five years of insisting he clean the place, she had taken matters into her own hands and hired Lucy’s cousin Manuela to come in and dust while Morty was out and his Workers Party meetings. They were now a year into that arrangement and Morty still had no idea that his apartment was being dusted behind his back. Manuela was desperate to break it off, had been since week two when a water bug had come flying out of a Shakespeare volume, and began claiming that the excessive number of books creating an excessive number of crannies, hoping to at least get a raise.

Esther was certainly not willing to pay even more to clean Morty’s apartment, so she hatched another plan and began the great book removal project. Instead of dusting, Esther asked Manuela to visit twice a week, during Morty’s meetings, and take 5 books at a time out of the apartment. Classic novels were to go first, since Morty had almost definitely read those. Then literary criticism books, followed up books about science and architecture. Within three months they had made headway in the kitchen, removed all flammable objects from the radiators, and emptied one of the kitchen cabinets that had been used as overflow book storage. Morty was none the wiser, and things continued in this vein until the Jane Jacobs incident.

Morty had once met urban theorist Jane Jacobs at an academic conference and liked to reference their friendship when waxing poetic about the changes taking place in the neighborhood.

“We were closr neighbors,” he was fond of saying, though it was untrue. In fact Jane had indicated to a friend of Esther’s, who actually knew her, that she had no idea who Morty was. Recently she had gone and died, which put the matter to rest once and for all, but Morty still liked to reference her books from time to time.

The first Jane Jacobs book was declared misplaced with little fanfare and only a minimal amount of cursing, but in its absence Morty had attempted to find the second and third and fourth to no avail. He put the building on high alert, stopping neighbors to warn them to a rash of thefts he was certain was being propagated in the area. He was continually dismayed to find that nobody else was missing anything, so he began letting himself into other apartments to look for his books. He did the apartments he had keys to first. Emery was clean. Mr. Turtle (nobody knew that he had this key) lived in a dump but hadn’t taken the book. Esther was clean, for once. During a security breach he snuck into Bean’s place and found it too vast and book-free to even bother searching.

When Liseli noticed something was off-kilter in her apartment she called the police, further fueling rumors that a thief was on the lose. Soon, neighbors were asking Morty for a full inventory of what he had lost, hanging on his every work as he dramatically reenacted the moment his books had been noticed missing.

Esther called the book removal project off around this time, vowing to continue when matters calmed down a bit. The removed books were not gone for good, they had simply been sold for $1 a pop to her niece’s friend the designer, who was planning an installation in the home of an oil maven who wanted to look literary.

“These come from the library of a deceased academic,” she had told them. “Many very rare and very important volumes.” So far she was grossing $74 on the whole operation and was sad to see this revenue stream disappear.

That Mr. Hertz had happened to pick up a Jane Jacob’s book around this time was a coincidence. That Aggie had noticed he was reading it was especially unfortunate because she told Bean who told Jefferson who told Turtle who told Emery who told Morty that Mr. Hertz was the perp they had been looking for. Morty did not feel like talking to Mr. Hertz, of course, so he pawned the job off on Esther, who was oddly happy to accept the mission.

Down in Mr. Hertz’s apartment, she laid out her case. “I could get you a dollar for each of these books. For a cut, of course.”

“Really? I’ve been thinking about downsizing."

“Oh yeah, you have some good ones here. Colorful. Russian authors. I bet we can get $2 per for the Russians.”

“We’ll I’ll think about it.”

When Esther reemerged, Morty was anxious for details. “Did you tell him off? Did you make him pay?”

“I most certainly did, Morty. He must have sold the ones he took but he’ll never do it again. Your books are safe.”

“Sold them, eh? For how much?”

“$1 per. Sometimes $2.”

“They’re worth more.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, wandering back towards her apartment, counting the potential profit of her new revenue stream. "But I promise you this, Morty. I knows not to do it again."