Thrust: A Novel

My lamb,

Let me tell you my new idea to rid us of this idiocy.

I want to arrange a theft from the British Library. A thief is an artist of extraordinary merit. Do you laugh? I will remind you that I have access to a wide array of clientele with undreamed-of talents and even more capital. What I mean to have stolen, my love, is the perfect object. Better than a painting or work of so-called art. Rather, a keepsake of profound meaning. Even to be near it, I feel sure, would make me tremble.

A book — but not just any book. A book with a kind of frame nested within its leather cover. Framed within one of two ovals on the volume’s front doublure, or decorative lining, rests a lock of Percy Shelley’s hair and a bit of his ashes; in the other is held a lock of Mary Shelley’s hair. The volume itself is a collection of manuscript letters. Devised as a keepsake, it is so much more — a relic! More important to me than pieces of a saint. I want to touch them, these pieces of those extraordinary bodies. I want to kiss them. Even if I must return the object eventually, it would be worth it to have a moment within their aura, no matter how brief.

Your perfect thief,

Aurora

My love Aurora, I am kneeling. I am begging forgiveness, and I love it.

How could I have made such a mistake twice? Tell me how long to kneel and I’ll do it. You know I will.

And a warning: Please do not become a thief. Please do not commit a crime.

Perpetually,

Frédéric

Oh, cousin,

You are, as always, my perfection. Forget not that you are a man of means and merit!

All is always forgiven, as I don’t believe in sin and redemption. Forgiveness is dull. As there is no godhead that can hold me, I call and raise. In place of sin and redemption, I offer my Rooms.

Did I understand you correctly? Darwin married his cousin? Do you see the hilarity of that? He crafts a theory of evolution, with clear implications concerning bloodline and mutation, and he marries his own kin?

I’ve changed my mind! I want to meet him! I want to create a Room for him!

Aurora

Aurora’s Thrust

There was to be a Raid on my house. On the day of the factory fire, a client approaching from the back alley had seen our faces pressed against the window; to him, we must have looked like fugitives, all those faces of children like question marks. The client alerted the authorities. When we learned of the plan — you’ll not be surprised that my sources extend to the city’s official bureaus — we needed an escape, and though I did consider other options, in the end it was that otherworldly girl who won me over, by reciting to me with precision exactly everything that had happened to me and to the children in the last few weeks despite the fact that we had never met.

It was this all-knowing girl who offered the most promising plan: to escape by water.