A week ago, I blogged about Polly Trope, who was organising a book fair in a bar in Berlin, which included the idea of a Literophone – a small furry booth where guests could call up writers and get words read to them down the phone.
I was supposed to be on the end of a phone in London yesterday, ready to read out a blog to unsuspecting German lovers of words. But I got tickets for a play in London’s West End instead. My Facebook Friends may have read my sort-of review of Mr Foote’s Other Leg.
So, this afternoon, I Skyped Polly Trope to find out how the Berlin event had gone yesterday.
“Really well,” Polly told me. “Everyone had a good time. About a hundred people came. It was more a social affair than a book fair – networking. We had two rooms: one for chatting and drinking and one for doing readings.”
“How did the Literophone go?” I asked.
“Really well. I think for both the people phoning and the people reading it was a very strange experience. A certain kind of person was interested in phoning.”
“What type of person?”
“People who have a love for the surreal, the strange and amazing and weird and wonderful. Not everyone is into that. Some people phoned all the poets and all the flash fiction writers.”
“What,” I asked, “was surreal, strange and amazing – the readings or the fluffy booth itself?”
“I think it was the fact the readings were on the phone and you could not know in advance what you were going to get and you weren’t sure how to react. People came out saying: Ooh! that was really weird and intense.”
“In the tiny little fluffy booth?” I asked.
“What was the highlight for you outside in the bar itself?”
“Jonathan Lyon’s reading.”
(Jonathan Lyon has been described as a fur-donning Adonis writing a novel via Instagram about his drug habits while at Oxford.)
“Why?” I asked.
“I just think he’s a wonderful writer. He read a piece about kind-of-like-a horror film taking place within his own skull and he climbs into his skull and finds another skull and then there’s a little door and slides down and it just gets really intricate.”
“It sounds,” I said, “ideal for a bar where everyone is drinking.”
“Yes. The bar is named after the dog.”
“The dog?” I asked.
“The bar is called the Posh Teckel.”
“Teckel?” I asked.
“I think it’s a word to say dachshund. They have a dog called Ella in the bar.”
“Stuffed?” I asked.
“Sausages are usually stuffed,” I said.
“As soon as I made the fluffy booth,” Polly told me, “Ella went into it, thinking Ooh! this is nice and fluffy. I’m going in.”
“Ella is the dog?” I asked,.
“Yes. She left when people started to come in, “said Polly. “She doesn’t like crowds.”
“Are you going to do it again?” I asked.
“Yeah. We’re hoping next time we can get someone to sponsor us. It would be nice to have funding.”
“It is always nice to have funding,” I said, “… or so people tell me.”
“I don’t know when the next one will be,” Polly told me, “but the Literophone is possibly going to be happening in London as a little Christmas celebration. I’m quite keen to do the experience again for more people in more places.”
“Anything else you want to say?” I asked. “Do you want to sing?”
“I can’t sing,” said Polly.
“You can,” I told her. “I’ve heard you sing. You did a black and white music video.”
“You liked that?”
“It was like Berlin between the Wars,” I said, “which is rather worrying as it means there’s another war coming along.”
“Yeah,” said Polly, “but it was filmed in Florida.”
“You can still be German there,” I said. “Just because you are in Florida doesn’t mean you have to be a cartoon mouse. You can still be German.”
“I just took some video by the pool,” Polly told me. “At a really creepy motel. I liked the fact it was creepy.”
“Why was it creepy?” I asked. “Did it feel like Psycho?”
“No. It was a bit like a set of council blocks and, in the middle, was a swimming pool which never had anyone in it. So I swam in it.”
Polly’s song is still on YouTube: