19, Life Hacks for a Little Alien

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L ITTLE ALIEN, HOW DO I describe how it feels to learn about the Manuscript? It’s like a taste, a flavour, like the feeling has a flavour and the flavour is tasty. By this, I mean the process of imbibing new information about the Manuscript, understanding the new information about the Manuscript is enjoyable. Indeed, it is so enjoyable, it is almost as though it has its own flavour, as though everything about it is so satisfactory that the feeling pours into your other senses too – in this instance, gustatorily.

Hunched over the library desk, you glug away at whatever information is to hand. Maggie has been generous with her book ordering. The county’s interlibrary exchange programme means that there is plenty for you to read.

You deepen and widen your knowledge of the Manuscript. You learn how old it is i and what people think it is about. ii You learn the best human brains of Planet Earth have tried to unpick the text for years on end, but that the symbols and ink splotches have never yielded anything sensical to anyone. You also learn there are six sections of the Manuscript, iii that they – the people who know things about the Manuscript – know this because of the pictures, not the language, because both the language and script are unknown.

But not even all the pictures make that much sense. For instance, some of the plants depicted in the herbal section don’t match up to known plants. And some of the stars depicted in the cosmological section don’t match up with known constellations. Also, the naked ladies might look like naked ladies – they have faces and hips and boobies – but many of them appear to be carrying their ovaries in the pictures. In other pictures, monochrome rainbows are pouring out of their heads. These are not things that happen in real life. Not on this planet, at least. In your opinion, this raises questions about an alien library or community building colliding with Planet Earth via an asteroid.

You also learn about things related to the Manuscript. For instance, you learn about Wilfrid. You learn he lived a colourful life. You learn he was exiled to Siberia, albeit before finding the Manuscript. You learn that he played fast and loose with the truth – that his accounts of where and when and how he acquired the Manuscript varied over time.

Perhaps more importantly, you learn that – despite all the books about the Voynich Manuscript – there is simply too much that you don’t understand. Sometimes, after hour five or six or seven at the library, you feel overwhelmed by the weight of what you don’t know. Sometimes, your chest feels tight as you pick up a new book and for a few moments, you find that you have to do your noises.

This is happening right now. You are opening a new book – The Voynich Manuscript: The What, the Where, and the Why , loaned all the way from Portsmouth. Around you, a number of mums are chivvying their children in different directions. In the corner, there is a kids’ entertainer with a guitar and a rabbit. He is tuning the guitar. You don’t like the prospect of reading The Voynich Manuscript: The What, the Where, and the Why . It’s too advanced. It’s maddening to look up the definitions of the words such as ‘cypher’, ‘codex’, ‘phonology’, ‘morphology’, and ‘syntax’. It’s even more maddening to look up the definitions of the words found in definitions.

And so, you make your noises under the desk – a place no book can hurt you.

It is Maggie who finds you. ‘Darling,’ she says. ‘Are you making your noises again?’

You throw a noise at her in return. The noise sounds like ‘huurgh’. Much like the Voynich Manuscript, the meaning of ‘huurgh’ is as of yet unknown.

‘Come on out, please.’

You fall silent but don’t move. Suddenly, you feel too embarrassed to move.

‘Come on out, now please. Other people are trying to work.’ As if she knows you need some help, Maggie offers you her hand, which you take.

Still holding your hand, Maggie walks you to the information desk where she hands you a glass of squash and tells you to take a pew. The man with the guitar starts his first song. Absent-mindedly, you pick up a book lying on the information desk. The book bears a picture of a woman swooning in the arms of a dashing man. Like all the books you have ever come across, you think it looks interesting.

Seeing what you’re doing, Maggie bats at your hand. ‘No,’ she says, snatching the book away and shoving it in a drawer. ‘No more reading for you.’

‘What?’ you ask. ‘Why?’

‘Shh,’ Maggie says.

At the other end of the desk is Tracy. Tracy shakes her head at you. ‘You need what the Americans call a time out, darling. Do you know that phrase, Mags? Americans have a thing called a time out.’

Maggie shakes her head. ‘It’s horrible.’

Tracy frowns questioningly. ‘What is?’

‘Time out. Doesn’t bear thinking about.’

Tracy evidently finds this funny. ‘Ha!’ she barks, before resuming her typing.

You rest your head against the desk – its wood an uncomfortable pillow. Moments later, the man with the guitar starts singing a song about freedom, and your dad bursts in, apologising for being late, saying he had to take your mum to the hospital.

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