In September 1992 a small publishing house in Vancouver released The Song of Henry: A Modern English Translation of the Heinrichlied, Germany's Forgotten National Epic. The book jacket described the The Song of Henry as "a vigorous, vibrant and bawdy account of the reign of the Holy Roman Emperor Henry IV, who beat back the pernicious influence of the Catholic Church and forged the kingdom that became modern Germany."

The English translation was credited to Roger McAllister, an appraiser of rare books based in Victoria, British Columbia, who had for many years built a profitable business on the image of a slightly distracted dandy. McAllister always wore a Savile Row suit, a yellow paisley bow tie, round horn-rimmed eyeglasses, and brightly coloured mismatched socks—even when exploring back rooms, basements, attics and barns. In 1992 he discovered that his look worked just as well on a book tour—down to the occasional smudge of dust on an otherwise perfectly pressed sleeve.

"No no, please no," he would insist, crossing his arms and slapping his shoulders, releasing tiny incongruous clouds of fine particulate matter, "I am not an author! I am only a translator—and a second-hand one that!"

In an introductory essay, McAllister described the discovery, transcription, and editorial restoration of a 19th century German translation, which in turn had been based on an eleventh century original—both of which were now, sadly, lost. McAllister also contributed an afterword, where he discussed the relevance of The Song of Henry to the sexual and religious politics of the late 20th century. Despite this stab at a contemporary angle, the publisher (who survived primarily on the vanity publication of memoirs and genealogies) predicted sales in the low-to-mid three figures—libraries mostly, and a handful of copies to those rare enthusiasts of the Investiture Controversy who can be found scattered among any literate population, even in western Canada. The publisher expected to take a loss, but he didn't mind: The Song of Henry was the sort of serious-looking book he needed to put out every so often to maintain the gravitas of his imprint. Besides, McAllister had agreed to subsidize any losses, under the table of course.

But McAllister proved the publisher wrong—profitably wrong. The initial run of 1,000 copies sold out after McAllister's first live interview—on the Global TV affiliate in Chilliwack—and a second run of 3,000 copies was gone by third week of October. Thanks to a rather innovative use of outsourcing—later to become a case study at the UBC Sauder School of Business—the publisher managed to have stacks of The Song of Henry on prominent display in the self-help sections of bookstores as far east as Toronto by mid-November. The Christmas season of 1992 proved to be something of windfall for everyone associated with The Song of Henry.