The cockroach's creative constraints

Or, archy and Don Marquis

Writing a daily newspaper column is like being married to a nymphomaniac, according to an irregular selection of journalists who’ve tried the former if not the latter. 

The very fact that so many hacks take credit for this observation shows how famished for copy they all became. An opportunity dreamed of by ink-stained wretches is “fun for the first two weeks” — and then they have to come up with strategies to handle too much of a good thing. 

Don Marquis was one such journalist, charged with the Sun Dial column in New York’s Evening Sun in the early 1900s. Every single day of the week, he had 24 inches of newsprint to fill. The conventional way to shoulder such a load was to cultivate a network of correspondents to share the work. Too lazy to do the easy thing, Marquis’s creative solution involved 

maximizing 

his 

use 

of 

the 

return key on his typewriter and not pausing to insert punctuation or capital letters. He accomplished this via the invention of archy, an insect that commandeered his typewriter late one evening to say

i was once a vers libre bard
but i died and my soul went into the body of a cockroach
it has given me a new outlook upon life
i see things from the under side now

To write these words, archy (always in lowercase) “would climb painfully upon the framework of the machine and cast himself with all his force upon a key, head downward,” just managing to compose a few lines. All that headbanging was turning him into a lowbrow, he joked. 

The roach became a beloved fixture in Marquis’ columns, along with Mehitabel, a stray cat who believed she had once been Cleopatra, and various other pets and pests. The idea of reincarnation gave Marquis the grand sweep of history to draw from, and when that failed there was always the view from the gutter. The result was Aesop’s fables, on a deadline, with a drinking problem. Archy asks a moth why it’s so obsessed with self-immolation, and is told that 

​​it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while

Archy reasons that “myself i would rather have/half the happiness and twice/the longevity,

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself

When a toad posits that the existence of toadstools proves the universe exists specifically to please him, archy cautions his readers not to laugh too hard,

for similar
absurdities
have only too often
lodged in the crinkles
of the human cerebrum

And when archy complained to a philosopher-insect about how tough it was to be a cockroach, he was told to become a grasshopper. How, he asked? That’s “a mere detail which i leave to you,” the philosopher said. The cockroach relayed this encounter with the following advice:

boss i offer you
this little story
for what it is worth
if you are able to
find in it something
analogous to a number
of easy schemes
for the improvement of the
human race you
may do immense good by
printing it

And of course, when the fauna were silent, archy could always opine on the news of the day:

old doc einstein has
abolished time but they
havent got the news at
sing sing yet

Unlike the story by his contemporary Kafka, Don Marquis chose to become a cockroach. And in doing so, he earned a small degree of lasting literary fame, even if it wasn’t precisely the sort he might have wanted.

Like anyone with too wide a creative outlet, a daily newspaper columnist soon runs out of anything worthwhile to say. At that point, it becomes entirely about how they say it. The good news is that an abundance of style pairs well with a modicum of substance. As archy wrote, there are humans who could reveal the secret of the universe and still put you to sleep. And then there are those, like Marquis, who could

communicate to you
that they had
just purchased
ten cents worth
of paper napkins
and make you
thrill and vibrate
with the intelligence

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Quick quips; lightning

“Creative writers are two a penny. Efficient hacks are very rare.”
—  Lord Beaverbrook, newspaper proprietor, dispensing career advice

“God has an inordinate fondness for stars and beetles.”
— J.B.S. Haldane, probably.

“A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.”
— Robert A. Heinlein

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Speaking of...

Prolific newspapermen

The Frown Prince

The animal kingdom

The rigorous rules for murdering crows

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The 133rd issue of GWQ was typed with human fingers. Not bragging, just stating a fact. The above picture is by George Herriman, the original archy illustrator, creator of Krazy Kat, and doubtless a large part of the character’s success. For the record, the toad’s name was Warty Bliggens. Those ten cents worth of paper napkins were reincarnated as my book Elements of Wit: Mastering The Art of Being Interesting. Given how unlikely most recycling is, maybe we should start calling it reincarnation. To avoid coming back as a dung beetle, tap the ❤️ below.