Melanie Knight’s Melbourne home is filled with letters written
by people who have never existed – from scientists sharing tales
of animals on mysterious planets to lonely folks in the country
pondering life in their dying days.
The make-believe mail comes from Dead Letter Club: a monthly
gathering where attendees adopt fictional personas and write
letters to strangers around the room (there are even prompt cards
for those suffering from writer’s block). A “secret delivery service”
takes the letter to its recipient, who replies as the character
it’s addressed to. Essentially, two strangers build a tiny work of
fiction together, often unaware of each other’s true identity – the
anonymity is part of the fun.
“The whole idea is that it’s a secret club you become part of,”
Melanie says. “It’s based on my belief that when people are creative,
it positively impacts their wellbeing, and that can impact their
community’s wellbeing, too.” An art therapist by trade, Melanie
dreamed up Dead Letter Club a couple of years back, inspired by
the main letter-mad character in the Gabriel García Márquez novel,
Love in the Time of Cholera. She sees the events – which are held in
pubs and bars around Melbourne – as a way to reignite the creative
spark we often lose as adults, as well as a return to the personalised
communication that existed pre-internet.“A million people could text ‘I love you’ and it would look the
same every single time, because it’s in whatever sans-serif
text setting you’ve got on your phone,” Melanie says. “There’s
something incredibly personal and wonderful and grounding in
seeing the tone of someone’s voice; how hard they press the paper.
With handwriting, there are so many giveaways that deepen your
understanding of a person and how you’re communicating with
each other that are lost on Facebook Messenger and emoticons.”
Far from being the quiet, introverted evening you may expect, Melanie
reckons a Dead Letter Club gathering involves plenty of laughter and
drinking while people write. Often, club members – who range from
20-somethings to folks in their 60s – find a release through their
characters. “I’ve got people pushing their pens, marking the table
underneath and tearing the paper, because they’re going through
a fictional break-up and really becoming that person,” Melanie says.
One of Dead Letter Club’s great lessons is not to judge a book by its
cover – the wacky tales spun on these evenings sometimes come from
places you’d never suspect.
“A friend of mine lost her mind because she was corresponding as
a high-pitched, annoying teenager to another high-pitched, annoying
teenager, and at the end of the night she found out it was in fact a
65-year-old man!” Melanie laughs. “She came up to me and was
like, ‘If I’d seen that guy down the street, I would have easily made a
judgment about him being potentially boring, but now I know he’s got
a shit-hot sense of humour and I had a great evening corresponding
with him. I’d never have had that opportunity otherwise.’”
Melanie keeps all the letters from the events, scanning and emailing
them to the scribes who’d like to keep them as mementos. She’s
hoping to collate them into a coffee table book one day, but in the
meantime, Dead Letter Club keeps growing – it’s popped up in
Canada; will soon appear at the Melbourne Writers’ Festival; and in
Brisbane for a special convict-themed edition. “I can’t convey how
extraordinary people have been in general,” Melanie says proudly.
“Any person walking down the street has the most wonderful creative
mind, and is capable of building the most incredible short story.”dead letter club
FORGET BEING YOURSELF – MELANIE
KNIGHT WANTS YOU TO BE SOMEONE
ELSE, AT LEAST FOR AN EVENING.
Wor d s Giselle Au-Nhien NguyenPhotoMia Mala McDonaldmy project