A Closed Book Read Free Page B

to use a typewriter, believe it or not. But it’s quite true, I always had the impression that with a computer writing precedes thinking rather than the other way about.’
    ‘So why did you buy one?’
    ‘You might say I got it on prescription. I was having problems with posture. Or overusing one of my finger muscles, I don’t recall. The upshot, anyway, was that my doctor prescribed a word processor. Unfortunately, I still hadn’t got the hang of it when the calamity struck.’
    ‘I’m afraid to have to tell you, but it’s no longer state-of-the-art.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘It must be quite a crock by now.’
    ‘Why, that’s nonsense. It’s only four years old.’
    ‘
Only
four years? You don’t seem to realize, but computer technology advances so quickly a new model’s out of date the day you buy it.’
    ‘You don’t say? What an extraordinary way to run a business.’
    ‘I assure you.’
    ‘Fair enough. You must know best. It only goes to show how time has stood still for me. But not to worry, I’ll have the very latest machine bought for the job. What’s more important than the writing, though, is the preparation.’
    ‘The preparation?’
    ‘Tell me, John, have you ever watched a child, by that I mean an infant, a baby, pointing its finger at something?’
    ‘No, I can’t say I particularly have.’
    ‘Aha, you see. If you
were
to work with me, that’s just the sort of observation I’d need from you. Anyway, the principal difference between an adult and a child pointing a finger is that the adult first notices something of interest to him then points at it so that others, his friends, his companions, whoever, can share in that interest. Right?’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘Well, with a child, the process is reversed. It points its finger at the outside world more or less indiscriminately. And then,
and only then
, does it look to see whatit might happen to be pointing at. And since for a child the whole world constitutes a source of discovery, it’s invariably and inevitably something interesting that it finds in its field of vision. Interesting to the child, at least.’
    ‘I’m sure you’re right, though I can’t say I’ve ever noticed it.’
    ‘I take it, then, you have no children of your own?’
    ‘Uh, no. I’m not married.’
    ‘Good. That’s to say, it’s good in the sense that it’s good for me. If you
do
decide to take the job.’
    ‘But you still haven’t explained.’
    ‘Explained?’
    ‘Pointing the finger?’
    ‘I resemble that child, John. I cannot point my finger at anything specific. I can only point it indiscriminately and then send
you
– let’s say you, for the sake of the argument – then send
you
off to see what it is I’ve pointed at. To see and then report back to me.’
    ‘Yes, I get you. You’d be sending me off to places you’ve known at different periods of your life, is that it? Your childhood haunts, that sort of thing?’
    ‘Yes, well, maybe. In fact, certainly.’
    ‘But?’
    ‘But?’
    ‘It sounded as though you were about to add something?’
    ‘It’s true, I was. You must understand, John, I have no interest in writing a conventional autobiography. You’re familiar with the kind of thing, I’m sure. “I was born blah blah blah.” “I went to school blah blah blah.” “When I went up to Oxford, little did my tutor realize blah blah blah.” Ideally, I see this book as a summation, a
summa summarum
, of all my thoughts, my ideas, my thematic preoccupations. The autobiography, if you like, of my soul, of my inner life. Or at least as much as my outer life. I loathe those autobiographies that offer the reader nothing more than what you might call the minutes of a life. Minutes, you know? Like the minutes taken down at a board meeting?’
    ‘Yes, I got that.’
    ‘Ah, forgive me, John. I’m so used to not being got.’
    ‘That’s all right. May I ask, though, do you have a title for it?’
    ‘A tentative title.
Truth and