The development of Two Coins

Erzebet YellowBoy, the bookbinding bone-collecting marvellous artist behind Papaveria Press, has been posting each day on her blog about the miniature books forthcoming from the press. So far, we’ve had faux snakeskin, feathers and shells, cards and black leather.

And now: foreign coins and Turkish fabric.

That’s a glimpse of what Two Coins, my short story (originally published in Electric Velocipede, issue 15/16), will look like when Erzebet takes her printer and cutting board and glue and turns it into a miniature book. I can’t wait to see how she does it.

Erzebet says: “I owe Alex a heartfelt thanks for her help in gathering materials and inspiring the final outcome of her book.” I thought I’d add a few words about my end of this.

I visited Erzebet for a week in August, which allowed me to delve into her tupperwares of previous books and admire their beauty. She told me that a particularly enjoyable part of the book-making process is working with the author’s ideas and feedback, creating a miniature piece of art they both love. So, when Erzebet took my story, I immediately pondered any input I’d like to have in its book-form.

It would involve coins, of course.

I quickly decided that I wanted coins with holes in – partly as I thought they’d be easier for Erzebet to work with, largely because I love them especially of all coins. Lacking any in my very small coin collection, I turned to ebay. I had a lot of fun browsing auctions, finding currencies with holes in their coins, bidding. Some turned out too much in demand by coin collectors for me to out-bid and win, including a set of Vietnamese coins. Others were easy to acquire. On a couple, I suspect I over-spent; I excitedly bought a tiny, cheap Filipino one before remembering about my friend in the country, who (if the coin is current) could have probably sent me many for even less. (Well, maybe not with shipping.) Tiny packages accumulated at my house. This method of coin-acquisition was quite satisfyingly fast, a convenient thing as I wanted to give the full set of coins to Erzebet before disappearing to Australia for many months.

Fast, but not the same as accumulating coins from travels around the world. I’ll keep collecting my own coins that way.

In the centre of the Grand Bazaar, away from the wide shop-lined thoroughfares with their ochre ceilings, is the Antiques Bazaar: one big room, brick and high-ceilinged, with little shops among narrow lanes. Many do not sell antiques. But in the window of one I saw boxes of coins. The shop-owner gave me a stool to sit on, a tray to empty the boxes onto so I could sort through for coins that caught my eye. I found two Turkish ones from earlier in the 20th Century with holes in their centres. Those will go on my personal copy of Two Coins.

I found the fabric in a different setting. I’d been looking around for fabrics that Erzebet might like; but, mostly, I saw pashminas. It didn’t feel right to offer those up for cutting. (Instead I bought one for myself: a stereotypical tourist pashmina, squares of bright colour. It’s immensely warm and accompanies me now.) In the Grand Bazaar, I found pashminas in many styles, but no simpler, cheaper fabrics. Then, walking to the Galata Bridge, I took an underpass to cross a main road. An underpass full of shops. Not the typical tourist kind, selling pashminas and fake Iznik ware and lanterns and brightly coloured nargileh sets, but ones for regular people: cheap clothes, shoes, toys. Among boring t-shirts, I found the top that Erzebet will cannibalise into book-covers.

Two Coins – the text of it – has no connection to Turkey. The fabric’s patterns are blue and Two Coins, as well as coins, is about a river. But for me, the book – the physical object – will be more than a gorgeous edition of a story I love. It will be a memory of this time in my life, when I set off too see interesting corners of the world.