The next evening, the BBC studio was brightly lit.
Presenter Richard Whiteley sat before the camera, straightened his tie, and gave the teleprompter a professional smile.
“Good evening, viewers.
Welcome to tonight’s Good Night, Great Britain.”
“Today, we have a special feature,” the presenter said with deliberate suspense, “about a book that is changing the landscape of British publishing.”
The camera switched to a bookshelf backdrop filled with copies of [Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone].
“Over the past three weeks, this fantasy novel by debut author Allen Wayne has sold more than seven hundred thousand copies.”
“Not only has it sparked a reading craze here in Great Britain, it has also attracted publishers from the United States, Canada, Australia, and several other countries, all competing to acquire the rights.”
Richard picked up a sample copy and turned to the title page.
“Some have called it the greatest fantasy work since [The Lord of the Rings].”
“Some say it has redefined the boundaries of children’s literature.”
“And some say it is creating an entirely new cultural industry.”
The picture changed to a recorded interview.
A bespectacled middle-aged scholar sat in a study, an entire wall of bookshelves behind him.
“I am James Blackwell, Professor of Literature at the University of Cambridge.”
“I have studied literature for thirty years, and very few books have ever astonished me like this one.”
He raised the copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone in his hand, his expression serious.
“The language of this book is simple, but by no means simplistic.
Its structure is rigorous, yet never rigid.”
“Most importantly, it creates a world that the reader can genuinely believe in.”
“Yes, as you read, you forget that you’re reading a book at all.
You feel as though you’ve truly stepped into that magical world.”
“That is a very special gift.
An innate gift for storytelling.”
The camera cut back to the studio.
Richard smiled at the camera.
“Professor Blackwell’s praise is remarkably high.
But we also interviewed two other very special groups of readers—”
The picture switched to a primary school in London.
Inside the classroom, a group of children sat together, each holding a copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.
A little girl with a ponytail said excitedly, “My favourite part is when Harry gets the letters!
I really want to get a letter delivered by an owl too!”
The boy beside her hurried to cut in.
“I like Quidditch!
Flying around on broomsticks is so cool!”
“Do you think magic is real?” the reporter asked.
The little girl thought about it seriously.
“I think it might be.
The book is too detailed.
It doesn’t feel made up.”
The boy nodded hard.
“I think so too!
Maybe one day I’ll find Platform Nine and Three-Quarters!”
The picture switched again, this time to the editorial office of a newspaper.
An elderly editor with greying hair sat at his desk, piles of readers’ letters stacked before him.
“I am Henry Ford, literary editor of The Guardian.”
“In forty years in this industry, I have never seen a phenomenon like this.”
He picked up a letter and read aloud,
“‘I am sixty-three years old and have never read a fantasy novel in my life.
But my granddaughter insisted I read this one, and I ended up finishing it in one sitting.
Now I’m even more anxious than she is for the second half.'”
Then he picked up another.
“‘I am a builder.
I normally only read the sports news.
But this book made me remember the imaginative childhood I once had.'”
Henry put the letter down and said with feeling,
“This book crosses the boundaries of age, gender, and profession.
It makes people who don’t read start reading.
It makes people who don’t dream begin to dream again.”
“That is the power of literature.”
Back in the studio, Richard put down his script and looked into the camera.
“Viewers, as we have seen, [Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone] is no longer merely a book.”
“It is a cultural phenomenon.
A British cultural miracle.”
“And what is even more exciting is that the publisher has already announced that the second half of the book will officially go on sale on 1 October.”
“At that time, we will finally learn the truth behind the secret of the Philosopher’s Stone.”
“I’ve already pre-ordered my copy.
Have you?”
The day after the programme aired, another wave of reading fever swept across Great Britain.
People who had not yet read the book went to bookshops out of curiosity, while Harry Potter fans had already begun cheering with excitement.
An incomparable sense of pride settled over them.
The book we’re reading was recommended by a BBC programme like that.
That proves we have excellent taste.
In schools, children imitated the spells from the book during breaktime.
“Wingardium Leviosa!” a boy shouted, waving a pencil at the rubber on his desk.
The poor rubber did not move an inch.
The girl beside him rolled her eyes.
“You’re supposed to wave a wand, not a pencil.”
“But I only have a pencil.”
The boy seriously raised the pencil again and shouted once more,
“Wingardium Leviosa!”
The rubber still did not move.
“Maybe you need a real wand,” the girl said.
“My mum said she’ll buy me a wand for Christmas.”
“Wow.
You’ve got ages to wait, then.”
“It’s all right,” the boy said with a grin.
“I can practise the spell first.”
“And I’ll get to read [Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone: Part Two] before I get my wand!”
Meanwhile, the telephones at Bloomsbury Publishing were close to being overwhelmed.
Barry sat in his office as telephone bells rang one after another in front of him.
He had only just picked up one call when another began ringing.
“Hello?
Barry speaking.”
“Mr.
Barry!
This is Alfred from the Oxford Street bookshop!
I need to add to my order!”
“How many?”
“Five thousand copies!”
The pen in Barry’s hand nearly fell to the floor.
“Five thousand?
Didn’t you just order one thousand last time?”
“Sold out!
All sold out!” Alfred’s voice carried a kind of wild excitement.
“After that BBC programme aired, there were more than two hundred people queuing before we even opened this morning!”
“One thousand copies sold out in an hour!”
“I’ve still got at least three hundred people waiting outside!”
Barry took a deep breath.
“All right.
I’ll add it for you.”
He had only just hung up when the phone rang again.
“Hello?”
“Mr.
Barry!
This is Simon from Manchester!”
“I want to order ten thousand copies!”
Barry rubbed his temples.
“Mr.
Simon, are you certain?”
“Absolutely certain!” Simon’s voice carried unquestionable determination.
“After that BBC programme aired, my telephone hasn’t stopped ringing.”
“Every call is asking about that book!”
“Right now, I wish I could fill my entire warehouse with Harry Potter!”
“All right.
I’ll add it for you.”
Barry made another note in his notebook.
The phone rang again.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
Barry, this is William from Liverpool!”
“Our chain’s seven branches each need to add two thousand copies!”
“That makes fourteen thousand copies?”
“Yes!”
In thirty years in the publishing industry, Barry had never seen anything like this.
A single book, merely because of one television programme, had triggered such a frantic buying rush.
He hung up the phone and said to the assistant beside him,
“Tell the printing house to add two more production lines.”
The assistant’s eyes widened.
“Sir, we already have six production lines…”
“Then make it eight!” Barry said.
“If that isn’t enough, make it ten!”
The assistant opened his mouth, but in the end said nothing.
He turned and ran out.
Of course, where there were additional orders for Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone: Part One, there were also pre-orders for Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone: Part Two.
The most exaggerated among them came from a national bookshop chain: Waterstone’s.
Their purchasing director personally called Barry.
“Mr.
Barry, this is Michael Jones, purchasing director at Waterstone’s.”
“We have two hundred shops nationwide.”
“We hope that, on 1 October, each shop will have at least one thousand copies of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone: Part Two in stock.”
Barry calculated quickly.
Two hundred shops, one thousand copies each.
That was two hundred thousand copies.
“Two hundred thousand copies?” he confirmed.
“Yes, two hundred thousand copies,” Michael said calmly, as though he were discussing something utterly trivial.
“And that is only the first batch.
If sales are good, we will immediately place an additional order.”
Barry shook his head helplessly.
“Are you certain?”
“I am very certain,” Michael said.
“After the BBC programme aired, we conducted market research.”
“The results show that at least thirty percent of people in Great Britain are aware of this book and are interested in buying it.”
“Thirty percent of the population means nearly twenty million potential readers.”
“Two hundred thousand copies is only the beginning.”
Barry took a deep breath.
“All right.
I’ll put you down.”
Two hundred thousand copies.
And that was only the pre-order quantity from one bookshop chain.
After taking many more calls one after another, Barry exhaled, picked up the telephone, and dialled the printing house.
“Hello?
This is Barry.”
“I need you to add four more production lines.”
A wail came from the other end of the phone.
“Sir, we already have eight production lines!”
“That’s fine.
Then make it twelve!” Barry said.
“Twenty-four-hour production, no interruptions!”
“But the workers have already been working overtime for two weeks…”
“Then hire temporary workers!” Barry said.
“Pay them more!
Triple wages!
Five times the wages!”
“As long as we can deliver on time, money is no object!”
The other end of the line fell silent for a few seconds.
Then came a helpless voice.
“All right.
I’ll arrange it.”
Barry hung up and let out a long breath.
He walked to the window and looked down at the busy street outside.
1 October was almost here.
~
[Erase the Parentheses]