Hysterically Happy Non-Discovery

This week I had e-mails from a young woman who had found a book she
believed to be a "lost" and "unknown" work of a Victorian fantasist. She
wrote to me asking how she could reveal this work to the public and be
assured of getting full credit from now on for its discovery. This was a
book she found at a yardsale, and it was called "My Wonderful Wife." I
e-mailed her back that the little book had three editions that I was aware
of, and was included in two of the author's short story collections, and
on all bibliographies of her work, so while it was somewhat rare, it was
neither valuable nor a lost unknown work.

Then I got another email claiming she had additionally discovered only two
copies of the book remained in the whole world and she had the third one,
so while it was not lost & unknown, surely it was important.

I was really tempted to get peevish at this point and tell her to learn to
use an actual library, but I wrote a reply that the web was not the best
place to do primary research, & I told her how she might go about making
actual "lost & unknown" discoveries if that was her goal in life (it meant
first getting away from the computer & into some surprisingly little-mined
Special Collections at major university libraries).

Well, today I got a missive from her full of embarrassment, but still
containing a considerable childlike delight for the book she had
discovered, which I was suddenly glad I hadn't squelched. She admitted she
got a unrealistically enthusiastic about a book she was personally
thrilled by.

This was followed by a note from an academic she'd been pestering about
the same topic, saying this young woman's enthusiastic notes had at the
very least informed him that my website exists, and he told me the most
wonderful story of his daughter winning an essay contest that had as its
prize a trip to Japan. The essay was about my novels of a parallel-world
Japan, and how she wanted to visit Japan in order to see the places where
such brave women had lived. During the girl's journey, she kept meeting
Japanese people who were amazed that she knew so much about women samurai,
& whenever they asked how she knew all that stuff, she credited me.

I sometimes feel that having written genre novels is about the biggest
non-achievement anyone can have, next to picking one's nose & shaping the
results into little booger-ball people. But this kind of story of
influences I've had makes it all seem less ridiculous. And if hearing
about this must be credited at least indirectly to yet another young woman
who convinced herself she'd made a lost & unknown book discovery at a
yardsale, then hey, damned good thing I didn't say, "Learn to use a
library you dufus" but elected to encourage her enthusiasm where it might
better pay off.

-paghat the ratgirl

--
"Of what are you afraid, my child?" inquired the kindly teacher.
"Oh, sir! The flowers, they are wild," replied the timid creature.
-from Peter Newell's "Wild Flowers"
See the Garden of Paghat the Ratgirl: http://www.paghat.com/

On Mon, 11 Aug 2003 21:23:32 -0700,
(paghat) declared:

This week I had e-mails from a young woman who had found a book she
believed to be a "lost" and "unknown" work of a Victorian fantasist. She
wrote to me asking how she could reveal this work to the public and be
assured of getting full credit from now on for its discovery. This was a
book she found at a yardsale, and it was called "My Wonderful Wife." I
e-mailed her back that the little book had three editions that I was aware
of, and was included in two of the author's short story collections, and
on all bibliographies of her work, so while it was somewhat rare, it was
neither valuable nor a lost unknown work.

Then I got another email claiming she had additionally discovered only two
copies of the book remained in the whole world and she had the third one,
so while it was not lost & unknown, surely it was important.

I was really tempted to get peevish at this point and tell her to learn to
use an actual library, but I wrote a reply that the web was not the best
place to do primary research, & I told her how she might go about making
actual "lost & unknown" discoveries if that was her goal in life (it meant
first getting away from the computer & into some surprisingly little-mined
Special Collections at major university libraries).

Well, today I got a missive from her full of embarrassment, but still
containing a considerable childlike delight for the book she had
discovered, which I was suddenly glad I hadn't squelched. She admitted she
got a unrealistically enthusiastic about a book she was personally
thrilled by.

This was followed by a note from an academic she'd been pestering about
the same topic, saying this young woman's enthusiastic notes had at the
very least informed him that my website exists, and he told me the most
wonderful story of his daughter winning an essay contest that had as its
prize a trip to Japan. The essay was about my novels of a parallel-world
Japan, and how she wanted to visit Japan in order to see the places where
such brave women had lived. During the girl's journey, she kept meeting
Japanese people who were amazed that she knew so much about women samurai,
& whenever they asked how she knew all that stuff, she credited me.

I sometimes feel that having written genre novels is about the biggest
non-achievement anyone can have, next to picking one's nose & shaping the
results into little booger-ball people. But this kind of story of
influences I've had makes it all seem less ridiculous. And if hearing
about this must be credited at least indirectly to yet another young woman
who convinced herself she'd made a lost & unknown book discovery at a
yardsale, then hey, damned good thing I didn't say, "Learn to use a
library you dufus" but elected to encourage her enthusiasm where it might
better pay off.

-paghat the ratgirl


those little "happenstances" do make it all worthwhile.

thanks for sharing it.


robert

"I've been long, a long way from here
Put on a poncho, played for mosquitos,
And drank til I was thirsty again
We went searching through thrift store jungles
Found Geronimo's rifle, Marilyn's shampoo
And Benny Goodman's corset and pen"

"paghat" wrote...
This week I had e-mails from a young woman who had found a book she
believed to be a "lost" and "unknown" work of a Victorian fantasist...
[snippage]
This was followed by a note from an academic...
...and he told me the most
wonderful story of his daughter winning an essay contest that had as its
prize a trip to Japan. The essay was about my novels of a parallel-world
Japan, and how she wanted to visit Japan in order to see the places where
such brave women had lived. During the girl's journey, she kept meeting
Japanese people who were amazed that she knew so much about women samurai,
& whenever they asked how she knew all that stuff, she credited me.

I sometimes feel that having written genre novels is about the biggest
non-achievement anyone can have, next to picking one's nose & shaping the
results into little booger-ball people...

Ah, at last! Someone familiar with my work! Regrettably, even my best
known piece, "Booger-ball Norman Mailer Punching Booger-ball John Updike"
(in the permanent collection of MOMA--Museum of Mucus Art), has never
inspired a story as good as yours.

Ditto Robert's comment: Thanks for sharing.


--
Jon Meyers
[To reply,
lose your way.]

damned good thing I didn't say, "Learn to use a
library you dufus" but elected to encourage her enthusiasm where it might
better pay off.

-paghat the ratgirl

Thanks for this story. When someone makes an approach in this way, it
is an exercise in vulnerability of some sort. God, don't let me sound
Robert Pirzig or anything, but I think that the biggest test you
(I?:-) can have in life is the one where you are approached by
somebody vulnerable. The world turns on your reaction.
Richard.