In literature, there is nothing worse than rewriting what has already been written. It's embarrassing, and it's a waste of time. Unless, of course, you do it consciously and your choice falls upon the greatest story ever conceived.
Of which there are two, Nabokov's 'Signs and Symbols' and 'The Dead' by James Joyce. However, the latter is simply too transcendental to read, never mind type, so it seemed like Nabokov's short masterpiece was the perfect choice. After all, it wouldn't require that much effort, and time, and skill, and - let's be honest - ink.
I did it over the course of one evening in early January. I did it on Princess 100, a grey 50s typewriter from Augsburg, Germany. A New Year present, the kind that dreams are made of. At the point when I spread the short story before me, the machine had barely been used and looked as intact as it did in 1958. So it was a tingling sensation in the fingers, one that intensified with each sentence of the world's most perfect English. It's that physical joy of doing something of consequence: you hit the button, and the abstract is abstract no more. I guess this point is what makes Wim Wenders so nostalgic about those 80s Polaroid shots.
Essentially, this was a ritual but it was also an insight into the mindset of a past writer. One who had no notion of technological bells and whistles that would at some point help him skip, and tinker, and erase. One who thought in sentences rather than words. One whose imagination was a great deal more brave and sincere. One who killed his darlings at a much higher cost.
And then, when it was all ever, and I typed THE END (I had to, there was no getting around it), I was no closer to the genius of Vladimir Nabokov. I did not smoke my cigarette like some Willian Lee and start working on my first Interzone report. I just sat there, awe-struck by the freshly baked pages and the wonderful sensation that some things can never be repeated.
But now the typewriter was with me, and I had a new idea, and a couple of days later I was off and running.
