The Blank Book Test

As a magi­cian, I’m usu­ally reluct­ant to reveal the secrets of my craft to fel­low con­jur­ers, pre­fer­ring to keep these mys­ter­ies close to my chest. How­ever, giv­en my prom­ise to you, I’ll make an excep­tion this time. While I have a gen­er­al fond­ness and respect for wiz­ards, I must admit, there are aspects about them that trouble me.

Through­out my career, my monik­er has become sur­pris­ingly pop­u­lar, appear­ing on vari­ous magic­al paraphernalia like handker­chiefs, card decks, gim­micks, and more. Intriguingly, a so-called card expert even named a trick after me. Admit­tedly, the trick was­n’t spec­tac­u­lar, but it did elev­ate my fame among a new gen­er­a­tion of magi­cians. In grat­it­ude, I thanked him.

Equally delight­ful was a rock band that ded­ic­ated a song to me, which I par­tic­u­larly enjoyed for its lyr­ics. It was one of the rare instances where I was involved, albeit subtly, and most per­formers did­n’t imme­di­ately recog­nize me. Their linger­ing doubts about wheth­er the band had any real con­tact with me (they had­n’t) con­tin­ue to amuse me to this day. This indir­ect recog­ni­tion served as excel­lent pro­mo­tion for my brand.

Neither the band nor oth­ers sought my per­mis­sion to use my name or ideas, nor did they offer any com­pens­a­tion. This nev­er bothered me; I knew I’d catch up with them even­tu­ally. In fact, I appre­ci­ated the pub­li­city it brought to my brand. It was a long-term mar­ket­ing suc­cess, ensur­ing my status as a famil­i­ar name in many magi­cians’ repertoires.

Once, I encountered a tal­en­ted magi­cian named Dav­id Cop­per­field. It was­n’t his real name, but I had sug­ges­ted it years earli­er, con­sid­er­ing Mark Twain had com­pleted his work, and I assumed he would­n’t mind the use of one of his char­ac­ter­’s names (and no, Cop­per­field nev­er paid me for this suggestion).

Cop­per­field, one day, decided to fly. Lit­er­ally. It’s been a human dream since the dawn of time, inspired by birds and insects. Of course, his flight was a trick, as humans can­’t nat­ur­ally fly. The illu­sion was astound­ing – Cop­per­field soar­ing across the stage, leav­ing audi­ences in awe. They were moved, some to tears, pro­claim­ing it the most incred­ible feat they’d ever seen a magi­cian perform.

For me, fly­ing is innate, a nat­ur­al exten­sion of my ori­gins. How­ever, dur­ing one per­form­ance, Cop­per­field suffered a fall due to a tech­nic­al glitch. The illu­sion shattered, and the audi­ence faced the harsh truth that he could­n’t actu­ally fly. People love to believe in the impossible, which is why illu­sions like mine work so well. On a related note, I was the pion­eer of free fall, a skill I developed mil­len­nia ago, con­trary to the belief that it was due to a tussle with my celes­ti­al peers.

The les­son here is pro­found: to truly cap­tiv­ate people, you must touch their souls. It’s a chal­len­ging but achiev­able goal, even for someone like me who spent thou­sands of years mas­ter­ing it. Once you reach a per­son’s soul, they become incred­ibly recept­ive to your influ­ence. Some­times, a mere nudge is all it takes. I’ve done this count­less times.

Con­sider a book test, which is more than it seems. It embod­ies basic prin­ciples like decep­tion, false assump­tions, and dual real­it­ies. But let me express my dis­dain for books first. They’re cum­ber­some, often filled with noth­ing but tedi­ous text. I recall someone who even developed a mass print­ing sys­tem, flood­ing the world with these books. Des­pite my dis­like, magi­cians have an odd fas­cin­a­tion with them, con­duct­ing ‘book tests’ for reas­ons bey­ond me.

Typ­ic­al book tests are mundane. A spec­tat­or selects a word from a book, and the magi­cian ‘reads’ their mind to reveal it. The pro­cess is dull and unim­press­ive. A bet­ter approach would be to dis­card the book entirely and dir­ectly read the spec­tat­or’s thoughts.

The real magic lies in manip­u­lat­ing emo­tions, not words. Souls are rich with var­ied feel­ings and thoughts, far more intriguing than any book. Des­pite my repeated advice, most magi­cians cling to their books, unable to see bey­ond the prin­ted word.

If forced to use a book, I’d opt for an empty one, cre­at­ing an illu­sion of con­tent. This approach allows me to weave a nar­rat­ive, enga­ging the spec­tat­or’s ima­gin­a­tion. The real trick is the lie – con­vin­cing the audi­ence that the book holds unwrit­ten stor­ies and ideas.

I’ve designed an ingeni­ous sys­tem using ‘power words’, writ­ten in faint pen­cil across the pages. These words, devised by a Ger­man mys­tic known as H.S., are part of a clev­er meth­od to deduce the spec­tat­or’s chosen word. The cat­egor­ies range from nature to emo­tions, each word chosen for its spe­cif­ic attributes.

The art of decep­tion in this trick is intric­ate, requir­ing skill­ful manip­u­la­tion and a knack for storytelling. It’s about cre­at­ing a shared illu­sion, where the spec­tat­or believes they’re see­ing words that aren’t there. This ‘double real­ity’ plays on their per­cep­tions, mak­ing the illu­sion even more compelling.

In con­clu­sion, remem­ber that the true essence of magic lies in reach­ing the soul, not in the super­fi­ci­al­ity of words or objects. Mas­ter­ing this art requires prac­tice, cre­ativ­ity, and an under­stand­ing of the human psyche. Embrace the lie, use it as your tool, and you’ll dis­cov­er the true power of magic.

I’ve always main­tained that the essence of true magic lies in its abil­ity to engage emo­tions rather than mere words. The soul is a magi­cian’s real play­ground, rich with a spec­trum of feel­ings, thoughts, and pas­sions. It’s in this depth where true won­der is unearthed, not in the life­less words of a book.

Des­pite my fre­quent coun­sel over the cen­tur­ies, few of my protégés have heeded this advice. Inter­est­ingly, a young Brit­ish magi­cian seemed to grasp the concept, focus­ing on emo­tions rather than words, and has since gained fame for his soul-touch­ing per­form­ances. Most, how­ever, remain fix­ated on their books, entranced by the tan­gib­il­ity and the poten­tial for gim­micks. What more can I do?

If I were com­pelled to use a book, which is against my usu­al inclin­a­tions, I’d opt for an ima­gin­ary book with blank pages. This approach would shift the focus from the words to what lies in the spec­tat­or’s soul, mak­ing the book a ves­sel for their per­son­al con­tent rather than someone else’s prin­ted words.

The key tech­nique in this approach is decep­tion. When I present this ‘blank’ book, I spin a tale: “This is a book yet to be writ­ten, and its con­tents are for you to ima­gine.” The con­fu­sion and won­der this cre­ates are palp­able. I might even spin a yarn about it being the last note­book of Hem­ing­way, adding lay­ers to the nar­rat­ive. 

In manip­u­lat­ing the audi­ence’s per­cep­tion, I use the book as a tool to delve into their ima­gin­a­tion. I guide them to envi­sion a story, to imprint their thoughts onto the blank pages. This inter­ac­tion is not about the book or the words; it’s about tap­ping into the depths of the human psyche.

The book, of course, isn’t really blank. It con­tains care­fully chosen ‘power words,’ faintly writ­ten to guide the audi­ence’s thoughts without their aware­ness. This meth­od, developed by the tal­en­ted H.S., is a mas­ter­piece of decep­tion and influence.

I cat­egor­ize these words based on their char­ac­ter­ist­ics, like ‘reflect­ing sur­faces’ for words like GLASS and MIRROR, or ‘nature’ for TREE and FOREST. This cat­egor­iz­a­tion aids in the ‘fish­ing’ pro­cess, allow­ing me to subtly deduce the spec­tat­or’s thoughts. 

The actu­al trick lies in the present­a­tion and the nar­rat­ive woven around these words. It’s about cre­at­ing a shared illu­sion, lead­ing the spec­tat­or to believe they’re see­ing some­thing that isn’t there. This ‘double real­ity’ is a power­ful tool in the magi­cian’s arsen­al, blur­ring the line between per­cep­tion and reality.

As the magi­cian, your task is to guide the spec­tat­or’s ima­gin­a­tion, to coax their chosen word from them without overtly ask­ing. It’s a del­ic­ate dance of sug­ges­tion and infer­ence, rely­ing heav­ily on your skill in read­ing people and craft­ing narratives.

In the end, the aim is not just to reveal a word, but to cre­ate an exper­i­ence that res­on­ates on a deep­er level. It’s about leav­ing the audi­ence with a sense of won­der, a feel­ing that they’ve touched some­thing magic­al and inex­plic­able. That’s the true art of magic – not just to deceive, but to enchant and inspire.

In my exper­i­ment, I use the lie as a cru­cial tech­nique. The beauty of start­ing with a lie even before the per­form­ance begins is that it sets the stage for a thrill­ing jour­ney into the ima­gin­a­tion. The book, seem­ingly blank, is actu­ally inscribed with words writ­ten in light pen­cil, form­ing a hid­den script of ‘power words.’ These words are a vital part of the sys­tem, ingeni­ously devised by the resource­ful H.S. from Ger­many, who deeply explored mys­tic­al arts and inven­ted sev­er­al book tests. His sys­tem bril­liantly util­ized rich, force­ful words, but unfor­tu­nately, he still bound them with­in the con­fines of a book. So, I adap­ted his concept, using a blank note­book instead, thereby cre­at­ing a book test devoid of an actu­al book, amp­li­fy­ing the con­fu­sion and intrigue.

The pro­cess of fish­ing for inform­a­tion in this trick is subtle and seam­less. There’s an art to present­ing the words in groups, mak­ing it appear as though no dir­ect ques­tions are being asked. Con­struct­ing your own word list is essen­tial once you grasp the under­ly­ing sys­tem. Each word has unique char­ac­ter­ist­ics, and under­stand­ing these nuances is key to dis­tin­guish­ing them dur­ing the performance.

Con­sider the fol­low­ing word list as a start­ing point:

- GLASS, BOTTLE, MIRROR, KNIFE, SWORD, DAGGER (shar­ing the char­ac­ter­ist­ic of a ‘reflect­ing surface’).

- TREE, LEAVE, FOREST (all related to nature and belong­ing to a forest).

- SCARF, TIE, CRAVAT (soft mater­i­als worn on a person).

- LOVE, SYMPATHY, AFFECTION (emo­tions, intan­gible yet similar).

These fif­teen words are just a begin­ning. Expand your list with oth­er words fit­ting these cat­egor­ies, explor­ing con­cepts like LIGHT, SUN, MOON, and emotions.

Inscribe these words onto a double spread in a blank note­book, pos­sibly even in a reg­u­lar note­book, for an ever-ready per­form­ance tool. The idea is to lie as often as pos­sible, embed­ding these force words in your note­book for spon­tan­eous use. If ques­tioned about the note­book’s empti­ness, seize the oppor­tun­ity to spin anoth­er tale: “It’s empty because I’ve tran­scen­ded writ­ing with a pen­cil. Now, I col­lect thoughts, pro­ject­ing them onto these blank pages.”

Force a page on the spec­tat­or, subtly guid­ing them to your pre-selec­ted words. Avoid dir­ect quer­ies; instead, delve into their ima­gin­a­tion, ask­ing them to envi­sion keywords as if they were Hem­ing­way jot­ting down story ideas. This byplay, layered with lies, is cru­cial. It’s not about the word itself, but the imagery and emo­tions it conjures.

Once the spec­tat­or has a word in mind, the book becomes irrel­ev­ant. Shift focus to the men­tal pic­ture they’ve formed. “Ima­gine your word as a vivid image. Embrace it,” you might sug­gest. This is where the true magic hap­pens, as you nav­ig­ate through pos­sib­il­it­ies, using lies and half-truths to hone in on their thought.

Your approach to extract­ing the word should be as var­ied as the words them­selves. Con­sider the shared char­ac­ter­ist­ics of each group and use these as guid­ing clues. For example, KNIFE, SWORD, and DAGGER are all dan­ger­ous, shiny, metal­lic weapons, while GLASS, BOTTLE, and MIRROR are reflect­ive, break­able objects.

The ulti­mate goal is to cre­ate an immers­ive exper­i­ence, not just to reveal a word. Every magi­cian has their unique style of fish­ing for inform­a­tion. If you lack a meth­od, feel free to adapt or bor­row from oth­ers. The essence of this art lies in the subtle inter­play of lies and truths, cre­at­ing a rich tapestry of illu­sion and reality.

In the after­math, if ques­tioned, employ your greatest tool: the lie. Sug­gest that maybe the spec­tat­or was hal­lu­cin­at­ing, or it was all a fig­ment of their ima­gin­a­tion. This con­fu­sion, ambi­gu­ity, and decep­tion work togeth­er har­mo­ni­ously, per­fectly mim­ick­ing the com­plex­it­ies of real life.

In con­clu­sion, remem­ber that the heart of magic lies in its abil­ity to blur lines, to make the impossible seem pos­sible, and to deeply con­nect with the audi­ence’s soul. It’s not about the tricks or the tools, but the exper­i­ence you cre­ate and the last­ing impres­sion you leave. Magic, at its core, is an art of pro­found influ­ence and wonder.