The Dullest Reading in all the Systems
We at the Space Rock feel that contributing to the literary corner of the multiverse is a noble pursuit. However, as we only have a copy of Death of a Salesman and instruction manuals to work with on our humble rock, it might be decidedly boring.
The manual we’ve chosen to review today is our Station Embedded Espresso Machine Manual, which sounds very straight-forward but is in fact very complicated and boring. The Espresso Machine is nestled into the station wall, with the bulk of the machine inside the wall. This makes the device very difficult to repair. The instruction section of the manual is as silly as it sounds, complete with a diagram that shows how to use the espresso machine by pushing down the lever to the left. This lever is already clearly marked on the wall by a giant arrow, after the events of [REDACTED]. Before pulling the lever, the manual instructs that you fill the basket with whichever coffee you prefer, but we like to randomly pick a bag from the kitchen cupboard and hope for the best. It keeps the surprise alive. After pulling the lever, the manual advises you to stand well back and wait for the machine to start up. A steady stream of smoke will emerge, along with a smell that is vaguely musty. Singing will fill the room with disembodied, deep voices all singing in hauntingly beautiful Pig-Latin. The machine will produce a thick sludge that it then instructs you to put back through the machine four times. All of these things are very clear for anyone who has ever used an espresso machine so the beginning of the manual is patronising, dull, and poorly written. However, it is not nearly as horrible as the repairs section.
The espresso machine is difficult to repair because of the way it was designed, but on our station it is particularly challenging, as the genius who designed it also decided to install the life support system just beside it. The technical jargon is mixed into the instructions in a way that makes them nearly incomprehensible. There is also a warning that alerts readers to the machine's propensity for catching fire, which is very reassuring to any fool who decides to fix it. Despite this warning, all the manual actually does is tell you what not to do, including among its advice gems such as ‘don’t hit it with a wrench’ and ‘don’t expect too much from — all relationships are complicated, you’ll just have to work it out.’
As a literary work, the manual leaves much to be desired. The metaphors are dense and overcomplicated. The imagery frequently involves worms and mud, along with other earthy, slimy things. It even seems that it was originally written in another language and then poorly translated, because every other word is written backwards. The manual’s only saving grace is the beautifully illustrated diagrams. Out of the five books we’ve had to read ourselves for the last 10 years, Station Embedded Espresso Machine Manuel ranks second to last, only better than Managing your Plumbing and Ventilation because it is at least a bit exciting, what with all those descriptions of explosions. Oddly, this book has been our most requested review, perhaps because we’ve mentioned the machine itself so often in phone calls to our mothers. We sincerely hope that we’ve put you off and that you will spare yourself the pain of reading this book.
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