The Senior Common Room was quiet.
Professor Quillibrace was reading.
Miss Stray was drinking tea.
Mr Blottisham was standing beside the fireplace with an expression of considerable suspicion.
“I have been mentioned.”
Quillibrace turned a page.
“Yes.”
Miss Stray looked up.
“Where?”
“In the story.”
“Which story?”
“The latest one.”
Miss Stray smiled.
“Ah.”
Blottisham folded his arms.
“My name was on an envelope.”
Quillibrace nodded.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I assume the author knows.”
Blottisham looked at him.
“Do you?”
“No.”
“That is unsatisfactory.”
“I have learned to live with it.”
Blottisham sat down.
“I don't like it.”
Miss Stray smiled.
“Why not?”
“Because I wasn't doing anything.”
“That may be why you were selected.”
Blottisham frowned.
“I see.”
He thought about this.
“I still don't like it.”
Quillibrace closed his book.
“So.”
“So?”
“The story.”
“Yes.”
“What do you think it is about?”
“Misuse.”
“Of objects?”
“Obviously.”
Miss Stray shook her head.
“Not quite.”
Blottisham looked pleased.
“Then I shall explain it.”
Quillibrace sighed.
“Of course.”
Blottisham stood.
“The town has forgotten the proper uses of things.”
“Yes.”
“So the baker sweeps bread, the postman waters letters, people read shoes, and the porter polishes loaves.”
“Yes.”
“Therefore civilisation is collapsing.”
“No.”
Blottisham paused.
“Why not?”
“Because they are still able to use the objects.”
“They're using them incorrectly.”
“Incorrectly according to what?”
“Their proper uses.”
“What makes those proper?”
Blottisham looked irritated.
“They're what the objects are for.”
Miss Stray leaned forward.
“Are they?”
Blottisham stared at her.
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that's what they're used for.”
“That is circular.”
“No, it isn't.”
“It rather is.”
Blottisham thought.
“A hammer is for hammering.”
“Usually.”
“A cup is for drinking.”
“Usually.”
“A shoe is for wearing.”
“Usually.”
“A book is for reading.”
“Usually.”
Blottisham looked triumphant.
“There.”
Quillibrace said, “And yet books can be used to prop open doors.”
“That's misuse.”
“They can also be used to press flowers.”
“Misuse.”
“To hit someone.”
“Definitely misuse.”
“To level a table.”
Blottisham hesitated.
“Still misuse.”
Quillibrace smiled.
“Then perhaps you are distinguishing between an object's conventional use and its possible use.”
Blottisham sat down.
“That sounds unnecessarily complicated.”
“It is also rather important.”
Miss Stray picked up a spoon.
“What makes this a spoon?”
Blottisham looked at it.
“It's a spoon.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It's an excellent answer.”
“What makes it a spoon rather than something else?”
Blottisham inspected it.
“It has the shape.”
“Would a spoon-shaped piece of wood be a spoon?”
“Yes.”
“A spoon-shaped drawing?”
“No.”
“A very realistic photograph of a spoon?”
“No.”
“A spoon used as a paperweight?”
“Yes.”
“A spoon used to dig a hole?”
“Yes.”
“A spoon used as a musical instrument?”
Blottisham hesitated.
“If it makes music.”
“So its use doesn't determine what it is.”
“No.”
“But use helps determine what it can be for.”
“Yes.”
“And the story keeps moving that distinction around.”
Quillibrace nodded.
“The object remains what it is while its possible uses proliferate.”
Miss Stray added:
“And some uses become conventional.”
Blottisham looked at the spoon.
“That's what the town has forgotten.”
“What?”
“That objects have histories of use.”
Quillibrace smiled.
“Now you're getting somewhere.”
Blottisham stood again.
“But the story goes further.”
“It does.”
“The strange thing isn't merely that objects can have different uses.”
“No.”
“It is that the people can recognise a use as appropriate without being able to explain why.”
Miss Stray nodded.
“Exactly.”
“The cup goes here.”
“Yes.”
“The spoon goes there.”
“Yes.”
“The shoe belongs beside the cup.”
“Perhaps.”
Blottisham frowned.
“That's the bit I don't like.”
“Why?”
“Because I did that in the last story.”
Quillibrace looked at him.
“You recognised the runcible without knowing what it was.”
“Yes.”
“You seem to have noticed the connection.”
“I don't like that either.”
Miss Stray smiled.
“You've acquired another distinction.”
“Don't say that.”
There was a knock at the door.
A young man entered carrying a shoe.
Blottisham stared at him.
“No.”
The man looked confused.
“I haven't said anything.”
“You're not bringing that in here.”
“Why?”
“Because we've had enough shoes.”
The man looked at the shoe.
Then at Blottisham.
“What should I do with it?”
“Wear it.”
“It's too small.”
“Then throw it away.”
The man considered this.
“Could I use it as a cup?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Blottisham opened his mouth.
Stopped.
Miss Stray watched him.
Quillibrace waited.
Blottisham looked at the shoe.
Finally he said:
“You could.”
The young man smiled.
“Thank you.”
He left.
Blottisham sat down.
“I've made a terrible mistake.”
“No,” said Miss Stray.
“You've made a useful one.”
“I don't want useful mistakes.”
“Nobody does.”
Quillibrace picked up his book again.
“The story is also about something more subtle.”
“What?”
“The difference between an object's affordances and its conventional uses.”
Blottisham groaned.
“Must we?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
“An object may make certain actions possible without those actions being part of its established social use.”
“The spoon can dig.”
“Yes.”
“The cup can hold a key.”
“Yes.”
“The shoe can hold water.”
“Yes.”
“The book can prop open a door.”
“Yes.”
“But then the town begins deliberately using things in unusual ways.”
“Yes.”
“And eventually those unusual uses begin to stabilise.”
Miss Stray nodded.
“They become practices.”
“And once enough people participate in the practice—”
“It becomes intelligible.”
“Even without anyone deciding that it should.”
“Yes.”
Blottisham looked thoughtful.
“So the town is making new uses.”
“Or discovering possibilities that were already there.”
“Which?”
Miss Stray smiled.
“That may be the wrong question.”
Blottisham groaned again.
“Everyone in this conversation keeps doing that.”
There was a pause.
Then Blottisham said:
“The Dalek.”
Quillibrace looked up.
“Yes.”
“The Dalek is the important part.”
Miss Stray smiled.
“Why?”
“Because it demonstrates the principle perfectly.”
“How?”
“A Dalek is for exterminating.”
“Yes.”
“A garden has weeds.”
“Yes.”
“The Dalek sees weeds.”
“Yes.”
“So it exterminates the weeds.”
Quillibrace nodded.
“And?”
“And it turns out to be gardening.”
Miss Stray laughed.
Blottisham became animated.
“The action is perfectly intelligible from the Dalek's point of view. It doesn't need a separate concept called gardening. It needs extermination plus weeds.”
Quillibrace considered this.
“That is actually rather good.”
“I know.”
“The meaning of the action emerges from the relation among the participant, the object, and the situation.”
“Yes!”
Blottisham pointed at him.
“You see?”
“I see.”
“So the Dalek is not misusing its weapon.”
“Not necessarily.”
“It is using it appropriately for an unusual purpose.”
“Perhaps.”
“And that means the distinction between proper and improper use is not located entirely in the object.”
Miss Stray nodded.
“It's partly in the relation.”
Blottisham sat back.
“I knew there was a reason I liked that Dalek.”
Quillibrace looked at him.
“There is another problem.”
“What?”
“If a thing can be used for many purposes, does it follow that it has no proper use?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because some uses become established.”
“By whom?”
“People.”
“Through what?”
“History.”
Miss Stray smiled.
“Exactly.”
Blottisham looked at the spoon again.
“So a use can become conventional because people keep doing it.”
“Yes.”
“And then the convention becomes part of what the object means in a situation.”
“Yes.”
“And then someone can deliberately violate the convention.”
“Yes.”
“And that's funny.”
“Sometimes.”
“Because we recognise the conventional use and the alternative one simultaneously.”
Quillibrace nodded.
“Now you are very close to nonsense.”
Blottisham smiled.
“I knew there was a reason I liked nonsense.”
He suddenly stood.
“I have an experiment.”
“No,” said Quillibrace.
“I haven't told you what it is.”
“I know you.”
Blottisham picked up a book.
He placed it on the floor.
Then he placed a cup on it.
Then the spoon in the cup.
Then the shoe beside the spoon.
He stepped back.
“There.”
Miss Stray looked at the arrangement.
“What is it?”
Blottisham smiled.
“I don't know.”
Quillibrace stared at it.
“Then why have you done it?”
Blottisham considered the question.
“It seemed right.”
Nobody spoke.
Then Miss Stray began to laugh.
Quillibrace looked at the arrangement again.
“I believe,” he said, “we may have a problem.”
“What problem?”
“The experiment has become meaningful.”
Blottisham looked delighted.
“Excellent.”
A noise came from the corridor.
A metallic voice said:
“EXTERMINATE.”
Everyone looked at the door.
There was a flash of light beneath it.
Blottisham stood.
“Do you think it has come for the weeds?”
Quillibrace said, “I sincerely hope so.”
The door opened.
Nobody was there.
On the floor was a single envelope.
Blottisham picked it up.
His expression changed.
The envelope was addressed to:
MR P. BLOTTISHAM
He opened it.
Inside was a blank sheet of paper.
“What does it say?” asked Miss Stray.
“Nothing.”
“Then why was it sent to you?”
Blottisham looked at the blank paper.
“I don't know.”
He put it on the table.
Then he looked at the spoon.
Then the cup.
Then the shoe.
Then the book.
“I think,” he said slowly, “it's being used for something.”
Quillibrace nodded.
“What?”
Blottisham smiled.
“I don't know.”
Miss Stray looked at the blank page.
“Perhaps that's the point.”
There was another metallic sound from the corridor.
Blottisham turned towards the door.
“Should we investigate?”
Quillibrace said, “Why?”
Blottisham thought about it.
Then he sat down again.
“I don't know.”
A pause.
“It seemed right.”
From outside came the faint sound of something being watered.
Nobody went to look.
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