Excerpt from The Librarianist by Patrick deWitt, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Okay, hey, guess what? You just got your television privileges revoked for twenty-four hours. Maybe you'd better just go to your room, have a rest, and think about things."

"Seems to me I've thought about things enough for one lifetime. But the resting part sounds all right." Linus winked at Bob and drove his chair out of sight. There came the sound of a muffled clanking from within the walls of the building; a ramshackle elevator that delivered the residents to their rooms on the second and third floors. Nurse Nancy said, "You shouldn't encourage that one." She pulled up a chair and began channel surfing. She landed on a religious program and Bob went away from the television, thinking to try his luck once more at the long table.

He took a seat, asking those sitting nearby how they were doing. The answers came in the shape of soft noises rather than hard language, but the general mood, so far as Bob could tell, was one of subdued disappointment: things were not going badly, it was true—but no one could claim they were going very well, either. Chip sat just across the table from Bob, and she was apparently looking directly at him, but as she was outfitted in her traditional ensemble it was impossible to say for sure. He waved; she did not wave back.

In the middle of the table sat a caddy filled with safety scissors, paste, and mismatched scraps of paper. Recalling his library days, when it sometimes fell to him to entertain groups of children, Bob took up a sheet of red construction paper, snapped it flat, and folded it onto itself, over and over, into an accordion shape. He was working with a combination of casualness and care that awakened the curiosity of certain of his neighbors; by the time he took up a pair of scissors and started cutting away at the folded paper, they all had been hooked into the mystery of what this newcomer was up to. When at last he unfolded the paper and revealed a bowed chain of hand-holding doll shapes, he saw that his ploy to engage was a success: he had surprised these men and women, he had distracted them, even impressed them. Some among the group wanted instruction, that they might make their own paper chain, and Bob gave a brief tutorial. It was not long before the group lost interest, but Bob was satisfied by this first contact.

Brighty was walking across the room with what Bob took for semiurgent purpose. "Hello, Brighty," he said; when she saw Bob, she altered her course and made for him directly. Seizing his hand, she said, "And to think I used to turn down a dance."

"Oh?" said Bob.

She formed her face into a coquettish expression and held a phantom cigarette to her lips: "'I'm going to sit this one out, thank you.'" She dropped the cigarette and shook her head at the memory of herself. "What in the world was I thinking?"

"You were following your own tastes and whims."

"Tastes and whims, he tells me!" She socked Bob in the arm and hurried off to wherever she'd been going.

Maria had told Bob he should jettison the schedule and come and go as he wished; deciding he'd had enough for the day, he bid the group at the long tables goodbye, and made for Maria's office. Her door was half-open and she was—on the phone. She made a question mark face at Bob and Bob gave her a thumbs-up. She made the OK sign and he saluted. He made walking fingers and she made the OK sign and he bowed and left the center. Stepping down the path, Bob found that he felt happy; and he understood Maria had been correct regarding her adjustments to his visits. The thought he carried with him as he made his way home was that he'd landed in a place where, in getting to know the individuals at the center, he would likely not suffer a boredom.

Excerpted from The Librarianist by Patrick deWitt. Copyright © 2023 by Patrick deWitt. Excerpted by permission of Ecco. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.