In Competition No. 2538 you were invited to submit an extract from one of the following books: What to Say When You Talk to Yourself; Nuclear War: What’s in it For You; The Joys of Cataloguing. These are all genuine titles taken from the hugely entertaining Bizarre Books by Russell Ash and Brian Lake.
I’m with W.J. Webster, who accompanied his entry about talking to yourself with a heartfelt note: ‘This is all horribly close to home!’. As many of you acknowledged, the advent of mobile phones has been a godsend to those of us who are in the habit of chatting animatedly to ourselves in public. I don’t go as far as to clutch a pretend handset to my ear (an oft-suggested tactic in the entry) hoping instead that fellow pedestrians will assume the presence of a low-visibility earpiece.
It was a very strong field this week, difficult to hone down to just five. Those who made the final cut are printed below, and get £30 each; the bonus fiver goes to Adrian Fry. Commendations to Bill Greenwell, John Samson, John O’Byrne and Frank McDonald — and to Sid Field for faxing his entry on cataloguing from Stockton library.
Am I engaged in monologue or duologue? If intending to talk to yourself seriously, this question must be addressed, though answering it has divided enthusiasts of the practice both from one another and from themselves. Asking yourself ‘Where did I leave my bicycle?’ results, not infrequently, in the response ‘Oh, how foolish of me, it’s in the hall, of course.’ So are interlocutor and respondent here distinct personae, drawing from differing stores of knowledge? Perhaps. But ask, ‘Do you believe in God?’ and you’ll likely find yourself (or selves) in complete accord. The philosopher Selbst contended that receiving an affirmative reply to the question ‘Are you me?’ settled the matter, though he fortunately neglected to specify in whose favour, leaving the field open for hours of amateur investigation. Accompanying you on the road from opening pleasantry to psychiatric sectioning, this book aspires to be a third companion to the conversational soloist.
Adrian Fry
B.3.7.1 Solitary Joys
In earlier subsections we examined the joys of mutual (or even threesome!) cross-referencing between consenting adults in the card-index or computer room of your choice, but there is plenty of scope for sexy fun for the solitary cataloguer. The essence here is slow-burn or delayed enjoyment, the planting of seeds which will one day — who knows where and when? — ripen and bring a smile or hopefully a blush to the face of some future scholar. The joy is in the anticipation and imagination, subtlety is the key. Familiar ploys include the time-honoured ‘see’ linkage, as in: ‘Hamilton, Lady, see under Nelson, Lord’. The more daring cataloguer will indulge in the ‘plausible typo’, changing only a single letter in a title (so easy a mistake!) and can imagine how in years ahead a prim researcher might react to Finance and International Bonking…
Brian Murdoch
If, despite the great tradition of self-addressers from Demosthenes to de Gaulle, you are still embarrassed to be caught in solitary communication, the following techniques may help. Think ventriloquially By choosing words without lip movements you will avoid detection by the casual observer. (Expletives need special care.) Sing out Singing aloud is still regarded as amiably eccentric. With practice you’ll be able to fit your vocal thoughts to everyday tunes. Be professorial Donnish quirkiness is happily indulged, so try wrapping your thoughts in academicals: ‘As Wittgenstein said, ‘Where did I put the keys — or even the cat?’ Alter your ego Adopt a different persona for talking to yourself (a soap opera character, say). This detaches your conventional self from the activity. Cup your hand to your cheek People will assume you’re on a mobile phone. The disadvantage is that you have to speak very loudly. Answer back Shut yourself up.
W.J. Webster
Think of the Earth as a company and yourself as a small shareholder, along with the other seven billion. Every new-born child instantly gets a free share issue (which obviously dilutes your holding) and everyone who dies has their holding retired (which enhances the value of your own). This model is relatively stable, but with a very slowly declining value of your holding. Now, what does a nuclear war represent in this analogy? Clearly, this is a major capital reconstruction. In fact, it is the equivalent of a return of capital to a reduced number of shareholders, with consequent increase in share value. All you need do is make sure you’re one of them, but if not, don’t worry, you won’t even know. So it’s a win/draw situation. Admittedly, the dividends might be a bit weak for a while, but the assets per share will be so much higher.
Noel Petty
If you automatically alphabetise your store cupboard (and have strong views about whether the order should be word-by-word or letter-by-letter), and if you aren’t happy unless your cutlery is properly classified, then cataloguing is the job for you! The following chapter headings give a foretaste of the joys awaiting you:
Arranging Authors Alphabetically; Building Biographical Bibliographies; Classifying Codices Chronologically; Describing Dewey Decimal Decisions; Evaluating Extant Epigraphs; Focusing on Festschriften; Getting to Grips with Gazetteers; Highlighting Historical Holographs; Identifying and Indexing Incunabula; Jousting with Jargon; Knowing your Kafka from your Koffka; Liberating Libraries to Lend; Managing Miscellanea Methodically; Noting Novelists’ Noms de Plume; Organising Odd Oeuvres; Protecting Palimpsests; Quantifying Quartos; Retrieving Relevant Research; Safeguarding Softbacks and Supplements; Transcribing Tachygraphical Tracts; Understanding the Union Catalogue; Verifying Various Versions; Wising-up on Welsh Words; XYZ of Xeroxed Yearly Zodiacs.
Now read on — and enjoy!
Virginia Price Evans
Competition No. 2541: Index linked
J.G. Ballard’s ‘The Index’ is a story implied through a fragment of the index to the mysteriously suppressed autobiography of a highly influential figure on the world stage. You are invited to submit a revealing fragment from an index (16 entries) which is all that remains of the autobiography of someone who has privileged access to the great and the good. Entries to ‘Competition 2541’ by 17 April or email lucy@spectator.co.uk.
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