D. Otter

D. Otter could have been born anytime, just about anywhere, and may or may not have studied something or other. He or she may be living with or without a spouse and any number of children, or not, someplace else. D. Otter is no more qualified to write this or some other book than anyone familiar with the alphabet is to read it. Recently, the usually media-shy and reticent author agreed for the first time to grant an interview and to disclose some personal information and biographical data.

“Already as a youth I developed an intense interest in the Nobel Peace Prize and in sainthood, the supreme recognitions attainable, one in life, the other in afterlife. I wondered how I would have to live to achieve one, the other, or both. They are both bestowed by inscrutable institutions and have many elements in common, including one shared laureate. They both require some miracle, although it doesn’t have to be a real one; it is enough if it looks like a miracle, for example, the unexpected cure of an ostensibly incurable ailment or the temporary defusing of what looked like an undefusable conflict. This requirement is easy and many can meet it. But how to rise above the level of noise in the age of total self-disclosure and instant celebrity? At a time when everyone is obsessively exhibiting oneself, the touchstone of distinction is anonymity, which I started to cultivate. I tracked down and obliterated every last mention of my name and every copy of my picture. I removed all nametags from mailboxes and doors. I cancelled all subscriptions and deleted my logins. I resigned my commissions. I changed my signature to a squiggle. I started wearing only bark and sable. I blended, melded, and integrated. I left no footprints and I cast no shadow. It worked. Gradually, familiar faces stopped recognizing me. Neighbors, the local florist, the barber, the realtor, who in the past greeted me with a broad smile, now nodded absently when we met in the street or the staircase, or looked past me as if they had never seen be before. Neighborhood dogs that used to meet me with tail-wagging eagerness, now pass by me without so much as a sniff. Finally, the ultimate test of perfect anonymity came when several tries to have my picture taken produced only a generic silhouette on the photographic paper and in digital memory. An attempt to have my portrait drawn by an artist at a country fair resulted in an entirely featureless stain.”