Language Is Like My Lungs: A Q&A with Olivetti the Typewriter

Our latest Monthly Pick, Olivetti by Allie Millington, is a heartwarming adventure chock-full of mystery, history and an unlikely main character. Read on for an exclusive Q&A with Olivetti the typewriter himself!

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How did it feel when Felix bought Beatrice a laptop?

My space on Beatrice’s desk had slowly been invaded by stacks of books, whom I tried to ignore for many years. Yet ignoring became impossible the day Felix set a shiny laptop front and center, pushing me off to the side. This device was supposed to be an upgrade—even though it lacked personality and charm (which we typewriters have in abundance). It was also incredibly needy, always insisting on being charged or connected. With me, there are no strings attached. 

Needless to say, it was quite puzzling when the laptop was given my spot, and even more so when Beatrice began using it. In time, however, her fingers found their way back to my keys like long, lost friends, remembering what we’d been through together. After all, there are certain things only a typewriter can do.

What is your favorite part about protecting the memories of people you love?

Though it can be weighty to take in all that is typed on us, it is an important job. Humans entrust us with their words and memories, and we hold onto those pieces of them, even after they may forget. My favorite part about this line of work is the privilege of getting to know humans in a way that many others never will. They show up to my keys as fully themselves, no performing or pretending, and they tell me their secrets, their worries, words they might not share with anyone else. My role is to sit and listen, welcoming whatever it is they have to say. 

What was it like to make a friend in Remi, another typewriter?

Finding Remi was like hearing the crisp ding! of my margin bell, the sound that means it’s time to start a new line on a page. My friendship with Remi truly was like a fresh start, the beginning of something special that I hadn’t felt in a very long time. Even though we have our many differences, she understands me in a way that the Brindle family never will. Not only because we speak the same language, the song and smack of our keys, but because what we are made of is so similar. While we look nothing alike in typewriter terms, much of what we hold inside—what we feel and hope for and fear—is the same.

What do language and storytelling mean to you?

To use a human comparison, language is like my lungs. And storytelling is my very breath. Without either, I wouldn’t exist. Typewriters were first created as a way to help humans share words with one another, to be vessels of communication. We’ve found our purpose in being a means of passing down stories and memories, the things that truly matter. Language is perhaps the most powerful thing we have, connecting us to humankind. And in turn, connecting humans to one another. Storytelling is what gives life, not just to those of us who have ink—to everyone who has gone before, and to everyone who is still to come.

If you could mine the memories of anyone in history, who would it be?

Being nostalgic by nature, I’d want to go back to the beginning of typewriters—to the memories of Lillian Sholes. I’ve heard tales of her from machines much older than me. Lillian was the daughter of Charles Sholes, one of the men credited with creating typewriters in the 1860s. She tested out her father’s inventions and is said to be the first official typist—a most impressive title at her young age. It would be fascinating to see Lillian’s early memories of using us, and to see just what she saw in us, before any other humans did. Back before she had any clue that she and typewriters were both about to make history.