Bartleby, the Scribbler

"So," he smiled, "correct me if I'm wrong..."

"Oh, brother!" I interjected, "That's bound to be a never-ending job!"

"But," he continued unperturbed, "didn't Poe want to have his own magazine?"


"'The Stylus.' Everybody knows that."

"And didn't he even ask somebody to contribute... I can't recall... Melville, maybe?"

"Hawthorne."

"Well, Melville, Hawthorne... what's the difference?"

I tried not to grit my teeth.

"So," he went on, "like, what story did Hawthorne write for Poe?"

"He didn't."

"Huh?"

"I think Hawthorne had writer's block at the time. As he phrased it, he had 'no more brains than cabbage.' It didn't matter anyway. The whole 'Stylus' enterprise fell apart."

"Writer's block, eh? Interesting! That must be pretty aggravating. Imagine having a blank mind as you blankly stare at a blank sheet of paper blankly staring back at you. But I reckon you wouldn't have to imagine it, now would you?"

"Hmm," I yawned.

"Do you think artists might get artist's block, you know, where they just can't get an idea?"

"Pray tell, how in the world would I know what an artist thinks or does?"

"Indeed! Still, you sometimes doodle, don't you?"

"I suppose I've been known to scribble."

"So what happens when you stare at a blank paper with a blank mind? I'm sure it happens to you a lot."

I pretended to smile. "Oh, it's not hard. You just pick up a pencil and let it go where it wants to. At times you're little more than a curious bystander."

"Well, that's pretty spineless of you. I bet Hawthorne wasn't a mere bystander when he penned stuff like 'The Bell-Tower' or 'Bartleby.'"

"Melville, it was Melville."

"Whoever. So tell me, does this scribble I'm looking at now have a meaning or was it done just for the fun of it?"

"You really want me to tell you?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

"I would prefer not to," I shrugged and walked away.