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Kafe Gavani An obscenity by Edgar J Barrett

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Published by Multisick Press

Kafe Gavani – An Obscenity By Edgar J Barrett

FOREWORD By Godfrey Redburn Edgar J Barrett remains one of the most elusive and enigmatic figures of the underground Melbourne literary scene. Scant details come to light regarding his life when even the most dedicated research is undertaken. He is considered by many as an outsider novelist, a term usually reserved for mentally challenged artists and musicians. Perhaps this is true. Perhaps a few adjectives might enlighten the reader to essential components of Edgar’s personality: Brilliant. Compulsive. Funny. Compelling. Unstable. I first came across Edgar’s work in late 90s. I was on a mailing list for a shortlived fanzine called ‘Psychopathica Literalus’, which dedicated itself to putting young authors “out there.” The third (and final) edition featured a chapter from Kafe Gavani. I believe it was the chapter featuring the showdown in a public toilet setting between J and Krustin. At first blinded by Edgar’s wilfully shocking stench of prose, I grew to be fascinated by the piece and its artistic brutality. I was eventually able to track down the publisher of the ‘zine, who claimed to have met Edgar once and only briefly. He said: “Edgar’s not too good upstairs, you know” and gave me an address that turned out to belong to Edgar’s estranged brother Carl Barrett. Carl was well into his forties, living alone and suffering a permanent brain injury – the result of a teenage motorcycle accident. In his stuffy, cluttered living room, Carl explained that he was Edgar’s only living relative. Most of his family had succumbed to various forms of aggressive cancer or old age. Edgar was born circa 1970 somewhere in western Victoria during a family road trip. Carl, who passed away in 2006, remembered a young Edgar as bright, energetic and introspective. Edgar was nondescript but academically deft. An army brat, he moved around various schools in Bendigo, Warrnambool, Upwey and Frankston and managed to adapt with a fine tuned ability to blend into every environment like chameleonic wallpaper. Carl was vague when it came to explaining the beginning of Edgar’s notorious mental deterioration in his teens. He believed it started during a student mixer at university where the straight-laced Edgar (an aspiring veterinarian) had his fruit punch spiked with a psychotropic substance (never identified and so nicknamed by him as “Mono”) by a malicious contemporary. Though deeply disturbed by the experience, Edgar began to dabble with mind-altering substances and drink heavily. It not only led to his expulsion from university, but also to stints on the street, stints in prison, and harrowing experiences in mental institutions. When he wasn’t experiencing the solitude of the dirty shacks in the gullies of the Dandenongs, his only friends were other lowly street urchins. Like Lovecraft, to whom he gives a generous referential nod in Kafe Gavani, Edgar was a prolific letter writer. He wrote rambling, hilarious letters to acquaintances, government officials, people he chose at random from the White

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Kafe Gavani – An Obscenity By Edgar J Barrett Pages, and people he was sitting right next to. His letters of complaint to newspapers are the stuff of prosaic legend. Edgar’s letters are estimated to be in the many thousands, though this writer has never set an eye on a single one! Let’s just say there are many dead jealous hands from which my researchers wish to pry these missives. As Edgar made his own horrific journey through the underbelly of existence, he left a paper trail. The trail was the breadcrumbs from the loaf that would become Kafe Gavani. He would leave his writings with friends, in nooks and crannies in mental homes and attached to (sometimes as) letters to publishing houses. It is impossible to imagine how long the entire novel is considering how much of it is lost. Carl suggested that it might comprise of more than five thousand pages. The bulk of the book used in this edition was sent to the distributor of ‘Psychopathica Literalis’ from Edgar. It was an interesting move on Edgar’s part. One as fateful for me as for him. Much of what was provided was considered to be an unpublishable mess. It features an army of characters with many interweaving stories, much like an Altman film. For Kafe Gavani, a decision was made to use material that primarily focused on J’s story, as that provided the most coherent and complete storyline. The editors have pieced together this – mainly hand written – pile of paper into an almost coherent narrative in an order believed to be written by Edgar chronologically. I submit great kudos to the volunteer editors for their numerous hours of cutting, pasting, proofing and revision. They have also made a point of making the book grammatically digestible, which has always been Edgar’s desire. The result is a stream of consciousness; an obscene torrent of misanthropy and a finger painting in words. Please note the amusing extent to which Edgar uses puns, spoonerisms and anagrams. Edgar’s influences might be obvious: Burroughs, television, pop culture, Monty Python, and John Kennedy Toole. However, it is also unique and it’s about something. It has a denouement of sorts that leads to a minimalist and mindless oblivion. My guess is that Edgar is saying becoming God is becoming nothing as, perhaps, being The Almighty is too difficult to conceive conceptually. The idea is as ridiculous as the ending of the book. Perhaps the chapter that makes the whole thing clear is stuffed behind a cistern at Lilydale Police Station. One can only hope that you can “go with the flow” and take the ride with J in his jarring, disjointed and laugh-out-loud pseudo-odyssey. And what of Edgar? He is still with us. After a long stint at Kew Cottages, he has finally settled down, albeit on a disability pension. He loves to read and talk to cats. His wife is a pleasant, bookish woman who still works in the public library of the comfortable eastern suburb the couple live in. Edgar is still as private as ever, granting none of the editors, or myself, court. He had no input into the book’s formation and didn’t care to. He simply signed over the rights for publication in good faith.

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Kafe Gavani – An Obscenity By Edgar J Barrett Some Barrett devotees have probably been itching through this whole piece for a mention of Edgar’s lost novel ‘Ease’. My researchers have been hotly following the rumour that most of the manuscript is buried somewhere on the grounds of Kew Cottages and are currently requesting permission to undertake an archaeological dig. Edgar himself does not remember where he left it. He has spent a great deal of time in a haze of pharmaceuticals and chemical castrates. Fragments of it, however, remain in possession of the Barretts. Edgar’s wife describes what she has read of this book as more cohesive and mature. I look forward to hosting its riches. If ‘Ease’ is not found, Edgar is toying with the idea of re-writing it from memory. I am not to be thanked for the hard work that went into publication of Kafe Gavani. My long career in journalism (under various pseudonyms) has been fruitful and I merely wish to give back to the art of writing by throwing a bit of time, money and passion towards this project. The people that really must be thanked for their research and editing efforts are Benjamin Andrews, Nat Raylock, Nathan Hermes, Floyd Kermode, Michael Dabbstein and Leigh Cockburn. I can’t repeat enough how sterling their work has been! I pray they can offer us more from the Barrett archive in the future.

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Serialised online at www.kafegavani.com