Men of Good Value

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The writer and angle character of this story, although sharing the same name, are not the same, and ‘Men of Good Value’ should not be regarded as a first person story told in the third person. One is tempted to envisage academics of the future studiously engaged in literary research coming to conclusions about the writer Chris Priest based on evidence contained in this story on the character Chris Priest. The charm of this conceit would be well appreciated in a society where the media laboured so impartially with partial attitudes.

I stood near the edge of the cliff, adopting what I hoped would appear to a casual onlooker to be a literary posture. I had one foot braced against a low rock protruding from the turf, and the other leg straight behind me. My arms were folded and I frowned down intensely, watching the sea breaking white against the rocks at the foot of the cliffs. There was, as far as I knew, no one around, but in solitude one often imagines an unseen watcher and hopes to project an image of oneself for that person. I was intending by my stance to surround myself with an aura of profundity and creativity, dreaming unimaginable dreams while communing with nature. In fact, my feet were damp and I was feeling cold, and I was about to return to the village for a beer or two before lunch.

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