Kafe Gavani

An obscenity by Edgar J Barrett

Internet Release

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 short-
lived 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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