Knife Fight and Other Struggles (32 page)

Dearest Neal,

You will receive many gifts through your long life, and all of them, you will find, are precisely what you make of them—nothing more and nothing less.

I remain curious as to what you will make of this one.

Love Forever,

Grandmother

(from the frontispiece of Neal R. Smith’s
The Nothing Book
, originally published 1974 by Harmony Books)

Dear
Granny

Grandmother

Thank you for the nice present. I thought it might be a Hardy Boys book or an Alfred Hitchcock and the Three I
nvestigaters
Investigators
book because it was about the right size. Imagine my
suprize
surprise
when I opened the present and found that it was a book
abowt
about
NOTHING. All blank pages! It is the most stupid present I ever got and mom made me
right
write
you a thank you letter so I am writing it in this book and
sent it
sending it back to you as a lesson to send me something good next time.

Your Stupid Grandson

Love

Neal

(from the dedication to Neal R. Smith’s
The Nothing Book
, ibid)

Dearest Neal,

You are very welcome for your gift this Christmas and thank you for your wittily composed inscription. I promise in future years that I shall calibrate my choice in gifts so as to better accommodate your delicate sensibilities. In the meantime, I have taken the liberty of returning this one, and your inscription, with corrections in spelling appended. I have not for the most part commented upon your grammar and syntax, because I am one of those who believes such things accumulate into that rare and precious quality we name a writer’s voice.

And so I return your Nothing Book, with notes appended and this brief inscription, and the remainder of the pages blank, that you might fill it with more fine prose such as this. Should you care to send me that prose, in whatever form you might choose, I would be very happy to read it and return comments.

Love Forever,

Grandmother

p.s. For your birthday, perhaps I shall send along a G.I. Joe playset, the one with the miniature Egyptian mummy. Doubtless you will think of me as you fiddle about with its vulgar contents.

(from the Introduction to Neal R. Smith’s
The Nothing Book
, Ibid)

The many-jewelled city of Thun-Krakar boiled with the anger of its inhabitants. The swordsman went in through the front gate and immediately realized his mistake. Although he was the finest swordsman in all of Italy, he feared he was no match for the wrath of the evil Vicars of Thun-Krakar.

They stood in a line inside the gate. “Would you like to come round for tea?” said their leader, the imposing and deadly Father Postlewait.

A trap, thought the swordsman, whose name happened to be Eric. He pulled out his deadly blade Lasagne and rushed them. A lot of blood soon followed and Eric the swordsman stepped over the bleeding Vicars’ bodies and made for the tavern.

(from Neal R. Smith’s novel fragment entitled “An Italian in Thun-Krakar,”
The Nothing Book
, Ibid)

Dearest Grandson,

What a wonderful attempt at the narrative form! Truly, you are a gem of a child; a genuine prodigy! Why, I see in this the influence of Edgar Rice Burroughs, Alfred Lord Tennyson, and Monty Python, all rolled up into one—with a marvellously discreet approach to violence so often absent in the films and novels of the past decade. I do wonder where Thun-Krakar might be located, in relation to Rome. Is it a Spanish town? Perhaps it is farther off in the other direction, in the Balkans perhaps, and the Vicars are English missionaries at work saving the souls of the perennially cross folk who make their homes there?

No, grandson, do not answer. Let my own imagination do the work. It helps to pass the hours in this accursed ward room.

Love,

Grandmother

(from the end-notes to Neal R. Smith’s novel fragment entitled “An Italian in Thun-Krakar,”
The Nothing Book
, Ibid)

A Potion to Cure All Illness

Mix Together In One Cauldron Made of Iron:

5 Fingernail Clippings from the Hand of a MURDERER

The Right Whisker of a BLACK CAT

1 cup, EPSOM SALTS

1 Teaspoon, GARLIC POWDER

1 shot, IRISH WHISKEY

1 can, ROOTBEER

Bring to a boil while chanting
EPLUBUM F’THAGIS SILFU G’TAUGH seven times.
This potion will CURE ALL ILLNESS.

(from Neal’s R. Smith’s “Tome of Power,”
The Nothing Book
, Ibid)

Dearest Grandson,

Thank you for the kind thoughts—but I would much prefer to read another chapter of the adventure of Eric the Italian swordsman, or perhaps a poem (it need not rhyme) as I recuperate in this dreary hospital room. Please write another of those. And please, whilst I am away, stay out of the attic, and my library there. That is for older boys and girls. And some of the books—such as the one which I intuit inspired this recipe—they are unwholesome. I should never have kept them. Especially not that one.

Please, Neal, do not inscribe anything else from that book. That, as I know your mother would say, is an order.

I think a poem is the thing now. Don’t you?

Love,

Grandmother

(from the Introduction to Neal R. Smith’s “Garden of Stupid Verse,”
The Nothing Book
, Ibid)

There once was an old lady from Fen-a-lan

Who thought she knew stuff about channelin

But what she was hearing

Was not so endearing

It was just the Pied Piper of Hamelin

(from Neal R. Smith’s “Garden of Stupid Verse,”
The Nothing Book
, Ibid)

Dearest Grandson,

What a strange verse.

You’re right, though; that’s all it was.

Love,

Gran

(from the end of
The Nothing Book
, Part I, Ibid)