Elif Batuman - The Idiot

I didnt know what email was until I got to college. I had heard of email, and knew that in some sense I would have it. Youll be so fancy, said my mothers sister, who had married a computer scientist, sending your e, mails. She emphasized the e and paused before mail.

That summer, I heard email mentioned with increasing frequency. Things are changing so fast, my father said. Today at work I surfed the World Wide Web. One second, I was in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. One second later, I was in Antkabir. Antkabir, Atatrks mausoleum, was located in Ankara. I had no idea what my father was talking about, but I knew there was no meaningful sense in which he had been in Ankara that day, so I didnt really pay attention.

On the first day of college, I stood in line behind a folding table and eventually received an email address and temporary password. The address had my last name in itKarada, but all lowercase, and without the Turkish , which was silent. From an early age I had understood that a silent g was funny. The g is silent, I would say in a weary voice, and it was always hilarious. I didnt understand how the email address was an address, or what it was short for. What do we do with this, hang ourselves? I asked, holding up the Ethernet cable.

You plug it into the wall, said the girl behind the table.

Insofar as Id had any idea about it at all, I had imagined that email would resemble faxing, and would involve a printer. But there was no printer. There was another world. You could access it from certain computers, which were scattered throughout the ordinary landscape, and looked no different from regular computers. Always there, unchanged, in a configuration nobody else could see, was a glowing list of messages from all the people you knew, and from people you didnt know, all in the same letters, like the universal handwriting of thought or of the world. Some messages were formally epistolary, with Dear and Sincerely; others telegraphic, all in lowercase with missing punctuation, like they were being beamed straight from peoples brains. And each message contained the one that had come before, so your own words came back to youall the words you threw out, they came back. It was like the story of your relations with others, the story of the intersection of your life with other lives, was constantly being recorded and updated, and you could check it at any time.

You had to wait in a lot of lines and collect a lot of printed materials, mostly instructions: how to respond to sexual harassment, report an eating disorder, register for student loans. They showed you a video about a recent college graduate who broke his leg and defaulted on his student loans, proving that the budget he drew up was no good: a good budget makes provisions for debilitating injury. The bank was a real bonanza, as far as lines and printed materials were concerned. They gave you a free dictionary. The dictionary didnt include ratatouille or Tasmanian devil.

On the staircase approaching my room, I could hear tuneless singing and the slap of plastic slippers. My new roommate, Hannah, was standing on a chair, taping a sign that read HANNAH PARKS DESK over her desk, chanting monotonously along with Blues Traveler on her Discman. When I came in, she turned in a pantomime of surprise, pitching to and fro, then jumped noisily to the floor and took off her headphones.

Have you considered mime as a career? I asked.

Mime? No, my dear, Im afraid my parents sent me to Harvard to become a surgeon, not a mime. She blew her nose loudly. Hey my bank didnt give me a dictionary!

It doesnt have Tasmanian devil, I said.

She took the dictionary from my hands, rifling the pages. It has plenty of words.

I told her she could have it. She put it on the shelf next to the dictionary she had gotten in high school, for being the valedictorian. They look good together, she said. I asked if her other dictionary had Tasmanian devil. It didnt. Isnt the Tasmanian devil a cartoon character? she asked, looking suspicious. I showed her the page in my other dictionary that had not just Tasmanian devil, but also Tasmanian wolf, with a picture of the wolf glancing, a bit sadly, over its left shoulder.

Hannah stood very close to me and stared at the page. Then she looked right and left and whispered hotly in my ear, That music has been playing all day long.

What music?

Shhhstand absolutely still.

We stood absolutely still. Faint romantic strings drifted from under the door of our other roommate, Angela.

Its the sound track for Legends of the Fall, whispered Hannah. Shes been playing it all morning, since I got up. Shes just been sitting in there with the door shut, playing the tape over and over again. I knocked and asked her to turn it down but you can still hear it. I had to listen to my Discman to drown her out.

Its not that loud, I said.

But its just weird that she sits there like that.

Angela had gotten to our three-person, two-bedroom suite at seven the previous morning and taken the single bedroom, leaving Hannah and me to share the one with bunk beds. When I got there in the evening, I found Hannah storming around in a fury, moving furniture, sneezing, and shouting about Angela. I never even saw her! Hannah yelled from under her desk. She suddenly succeeded in detaching two things she had been pulling at, and banged her head. OWW! she yelled. She crawled out and pointed wrathfully at Angelas desk. These books? Theyre fake! She seized what looked like a stack of four leather-bound volumes, one with THE HOLY BIBLE printed on the spine, shook it under my nose, and slammed it down again. It was a wooden box. Whats even in there? She knocked on the Bible. Her last testament?

Hannah, please be gentle with other peoples property, said a soft voice, and I noticed two small Koreans, evidently Hannahs parents, sitting in the window seat.

Angela came in. She had a sweet expression and was black, and was wearing a Harvard windbreaker and a Harvard backpack. Hannah immediately confronted her about the single room.

Hmm, yeah, Angela said. Its just I got here really early and I had so many suitcases.

I kind of noticed the suitcases, said Hannah. She flung open the door to Angelas room. A yellowed cloth and a garland of cloth roses had been draped over the one tiny window, and in the murk stood four or five human-sized suitcases.

I said maybe we could each have the single room for a third of the year, with Angela going first. Angelas mother came in, dragging another suitcase. She stood in the doorway to Angelas room. It is what it is, she said.

Hannahs father stood up and took out a camera. First college roommates! Thats an important relationship! he said. He took several pictures of Hannah and me but none of Angela.