The last we heard of Eva Holubk’s missing book, The Marmalade Jar, it had been seen in Fiji, Mexico City and Gloucestershire. Then, for a couple months, nothing. Until last week, when I received, in a light blue envelope, a missive claiming to have encountered the latest work by Estonia’s favourite female poet in a hotel room in Texas, tucked within the pages of the customary Bible. This was followed, last night, by an e-mail which weaved its way through various electronic channels with the news that three copies of Holubk’s collection have turned up at a bookshop in Durban, South Africa, priced at 12 rand each. I am awaiting photographic proof.
What does this tell us? A lot, which doesn’t amount to very much in particular. The story of this book is not an easy one to follow, though the possibility of someone having a grand old giggle at our expense is, I am afraid to say, increasingly likely.
In other news, a ghost has taken up residence in my computer and spooked out all the common sense. Until the latter can be persuaded to return, I will be writing less.
More on less later.