I’m not sure if I think this short story by author Shelley Jackson is fun and thought-provoking or gimmicky and just plain stupid, but I know it’s too bizarre not to share. And it’s a genius marketing idea. The title is “Skin,” and its 2,095 words are being written very, very slowly.

Here’s the gimmick (or ingeniously daring concept, if you go with that opinion): the story exists only in the form of words tattooed on skin. More specifically, each of those 2,095 words will be tattooed on the skin of a different volunteer. You can sign up on Jackson’s website, Ineradicable Stain, where her “Skin Status Report” documents the “publication” of the title and first word of the story. As of mid-December 2006, Jackson had received about 1,400 release forms from eager participants and had mailed them their words. Actual words tattooed: 470. Be advised that you must use a book font.

One odd element is that only the tattooees(?) will ever get to read the story—at least that’s Jackson’s concept. Her view of post-tattoo people: “From this time on, participants will be known as ‘words.’ They are not understood as carriers or agents of the words they bear, but as their embodiments… As words die the story will change; when the last word dies the story will also have died.” So no one will ever get to read “Skin” once all its “words” have croaked. Ah, the uplifting, humanizing power of art.

Except it’s not exactly practical. Yes, the story will change as its words/people pass on, but not in any substantive way… It will just gradually become unintelligible. If not enough participants sign up, the story will then be considered complete. But won’t it just be, you know, incomplete? What about bad? Does the project’s meaning change in any way if the story just ain’t that great? We’ll probably find out, since, let’s face it, at least half the participants will share the full story with friends, release form or no release form. If this thing doesn’t make it onto the Internet before long, I’ll eat my red pencil.

But perhaps I’m being too cynical. What’s wrong with an out-there, original concept? Or permanent whimsy on your body? So you’ll have to explain it to people for the rest of your life—at least you’ll always have a good story to tell. Of course, that story won’t be “Skin.” It will, instead, explain why you have (it on your thigh. And yes, you must include any punctuation you are assigned.

Incidentally (or not), Jackson’s most recent novel, Half Life, describes an alternate world in which conjoined twins are a significant element within society. Publishers Weekly, not unsurprisingly, called it “virtuosic but gimmicky,” though her prose is “dazzling.” Is it still dazzling if you can see only one word at a time?

If you chose to become not a person but a word in a short story, what word would you wish for? (How many disappointed people are opening that envelope to find “the”? They can reject it, but they won’t get another one.) And, more important, would you use Garamond or Times New Roman?

One Response to “The Weirdest Short Story You’ll (Probably) Never Read”
  1. w says:

    Garamond, for sure!!

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