Blottentots, and How to Make Them — Text and Context

Instructional Rhyme and Practical Play

The opening instructions are delivered in a tight, sing-song meter: “To make a funny Blottentot, / First take a piece of paper, / Splash on some ink, a single spot, / Crease, press, but cut no caper.” Carmel warns against creasing “exactly at the blot” and pressing too hard, lest you create “a fearful muddle” or “a puddle.” These lines are not merely functional; they embed the craft lesson within a playful, rhythmic structure that mirrors the unpredictability of the process. The author acknowledges that practice makes “apter,” but the emphasis remains on the joy of accident. The instructional voice is direct yet light, treating the reader as a co-conspirator in ink-blot mischief rather than a passive learner.

A Gallery of Ink-Blot Characters

Carmel populates his pages with a menagerie of creatures, each introduced through a short, character-driven poem. The “Flitter-Flitter-Flitters” are described as “the lightest, brightest critters” that “flitter, flutter round about” in “realms of wonderland.” In contrast, the “Gobble-Me-Up” is “weedy, greedy,” with a mouth of “fearful size,” and the poem playfully asks whether it eats “little girls and boys, / Or merely cakes and pies.” The “Two Bucking Nightmares” are given a brief narrative: they “ran out to neigh, / Thinking it night, but found it day.” These vignettes are economical, often no more than four lines, yet they establish distinct personalities through exaggerated physical traits and absurd situations. The author’s diction favors alliteration and internal rhyme, as in “Teeny and Tiny Pugnoses” who “have discovered two beautiful roses.”

Historical and Nonsense References

Among the fantastical figures, Carmel inserts a surprising historical cameo: “Mistress Nell” is addressed as “Gadzooks, Nell Gwynne! How did you get in?” The poem notes her “stomacher, quilting and hair,” grounding the ink-blot in Restoration-era fashion. This juxtaposition of historical specificity with the random nature of ink-blot creation underscores Carmel’s playful approach to genre. Elsewhere, “Law-Makers” Tom and Johnny “Make-the-law” are described as “talkative and lazy, / Standing on a Thingumajig / Comical and crazy.” The nonsense word “Thingumajig” and the limping single-leg detail reinforce the absurdity. A “Professional Tiff” between Dr. Spindleshanks and Dr. Funnywig ends with each making a face and departing, a miniature drama that relies on caricature rather than plot.

The Role of Chance and the Author’s Voice

Carmel directly addresses the role of chance in the poem “Strange But True,” where he marvels that “such a strange grotesquerie / Was pressed from a drop of ink.” He insists that “in its making there was naught / But the blindest chancerie.” This acknowledgment of randomness is central to the book’s aesthetic: the author does not claim mastery over the process but rather celebrates the unpredictable outcomes. The closing lines of the instructional section reinforce this: “With everything we humans do, / Practice makes us apter: / So start at once, you’ll find it true / At the end of your first chapter.” The voice remains encouraging yet honest, never promising perfect results but rather the pleasure of discovery.

Carmel’s Blottentots rewards readers who approach it as both a craft guide and a collection of miniature nonsense poems. The brevity of each entry invites repeated reading, and the interplay between instruction and imagination suggests that the true subject is not the technique but the creatures that chance and crease produce. Readers may find it useful to try the method themselves, letting the ink guide the invention, just as Carmel’s verses do.

Sometimes, between the shelves, I recall the gentle twilight of Blottentots—those puddled beasts made from ink and patience. There is a similar fondness for quiet craft in Outlook Odes — Inside the Classic; both whisper of the joy in making something whole from scattered parts. A secret companionship, that.