Story in a Bottle

The Graffiti Novelist (see here and here) has a history. His stories have never sought a large audience – if they have consciously sought an audience at all. Before he started writings on walls and doors, on ceilings and floors, he used to write on paper. How conservative of him. What he did once he’d written the stories on paper, however, hints at a rather more progressive approach. Or should I say old-fashioned? For the Graffiti Novelist used to stuff his stories into bottles, like a marooned sailor, and toss them into the ocean. As with his recent work, no story was ever reproduced. Each bottle boasted a brand new tale.

Where did they go, these stories? Who can say? They bobbed about, no doubt, on the uncertain and restless seas. Some of them were washed ashore on sandy beaches. Others hit the rocks, or the prows of ships and boats. If any of them were actually read, the Graffiti Novelist never heard of it. But this is beside the point, as far as he is concerned. He does not yearn for reader’s responses, like a child waiting for a smile from its mother. To write is all.

Speaking of putting stories in bottles, you may recall the rumours that a lost copy of Eva Holubk’s poetry collection, The Marmalade Jar, washed ashore on the Fijian coast a couple of years ago. This was followed by similar instances in other countries, confirming the possibility that someone was depositing the book inside bottles and throwing them to the mercy of the raging waters. Alas, we have as yet no solid proof that this was the case. If it was, however, some credit must go to the renegade for getting rid of the poems in such a novel way. Much better than selling them on e-bay, in my humble opinion…

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