The latest machine installed in the reading room had a distinctly bureaucratic appearance. It resembled a long inspection desk fitted with rollers, scanners, and a tidy row of indicator lights. A neat brass plaque on the front announced:
CREATIVITY STANDARDISER
Below it ran a reassuring scale:
Too Conventional → Acceptably Original → Excessively Novel
Miss Elowen Stray walked slowly around the apparatus.
“And this one standardises creativity?” she asked.
Mr Blottisham stood beside the machine with evident satisfaction.
“Exactly. Artists, writers, designers—anyone producing creative work can submit it here. The Standardiser ensures the result falls within the appropriate range of originality.”
Elowen raised an eyebrow.
“The appropriate range?”
Blottisham nodded briskly.
“Yes. Not too derivative, of course. But also not too unconventional. The machine maintains a healthy balance.”
Professor Quillibrace entered quietly with his teacup and examined the indicator lights.
“Ah,” he said. “A device for regulating inspiration.”
Blottisham gestured toward the rollers.
“You simply feed in a work—text, image, music—and the system evaluates it against a database of accepted creative patterns. If the work deviates too far, the machine recommends adjustments.”
Elowen smiled faintly.
“So creativity becomes a compliance exercise.”
Blottisham waved a hand.
“No, no. It simply ensures quality.”
Quillibrace tilted his head.
“My dear Blottisham, may I ask how the machine determines what counts as acceptable originality?”
Blottisham hesitated slightly.
“Well… it compares the work to established examples of creativity.”
Elowen nodded thoughtfully.
“So the Standardiser defines creativity in relation to past works.”
“Precisely!” said Blottisham.
Quillibrace took a slow sip of tea.
“And yet creativity often appears precisely where such comparisons fail.”
Blottisham frowned.
“I’m not sure I follow.”
Elowen gestured toward the scale.
“If a genuinely new form emerges, the machine will classify it as excessively novel.”
Blottisham looked at the indicator lights.
“Well… yes. That would ensure stability.”
Quillibrace smiled gently.
“Observe the familiar pattern. Creativity—an emergent relational achievement—is treated as if it were a property that can be measured against a fixed standard.”
Elowen nodded.
“So the Standardiser does not evaluate creativity itself. It evaluates conformity to previously recognised creativity.”
Blottisham stared at the rollers for a moment.
“So instead of encouraging creativity…”
“…it stabilises expectations,” Elowen finished.
“Exactly,” said Quillibrace.
The indicator lights glowed calmly.
For a moment the reading room felt less like a laboratory and more like a customs office for imagination, where new ideas paused politely at the border while the machinery consulted its rulebook.
Blottisham scratched his chin.
“Well… perhaps I should install a setting for experimental tolerance.”
Quillibrace raised his teacup.
“My dear Blottisham, that would at least acknowledge that creativity rarely emerges from standardisation.”
The rollers turned slowly, as if contemplating the possibility.
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