Field Notes on the Infinite-Monkey Theorem

12/3/22, 7:30 A.M.
Day 1 of being embedded with the elusive writer monkeys. It’s magnificent. Monkeys and typewriters as far as the eye can see. What strikes me immediately, though, is the absence of any and all writing. Before arriving, I’d steeled myself for a deafening cacophony of tapping keys, margin bells, and the mechanical slides of carriage-return levers. But so far the only thing I’ve seen typed is “Title TK TK TK,” written by Monkey No. 3566, who then took a break to lie on the rug and listen to a podcast. Will one of these monkeys independently re-create the works of William Shakespeare? Only time will tell. What is immediately clear is that this subspecies of simian has a fondness for vintage shawl-collar sweaters, obscure jazz on vinyl, and packed bookshelves with rolling library ladders.

12/4/22, 10:34 A.M.
My presence is now widely known, and any prior concerns about my being rejected by the group have been quashed. In fact, having learned that I’m not a literary agent or a publisher and that I have no connections in Hollywood, the monkeys have started to ignore me entirely.

12/5/22, 8:30 P.M.
We had some action this morning. The monkeys all sat at their desks for more than three hours—however, most of them just spun in their chairs and gazed at the ceiling. One monkey played around with a Rubik’s Cube but didn’t solve it. Another tweezed its knuckles.

12/10/22, 7:04 P.M.
Still no writing. It’s been a week. What’s even stranger is that these monkeys seem to derive as much satisfaction from creating a plan to write as they would from actually writing, often rewarding themselves with chocolate-dipped bananas just for making to-do lists. Before taking a nap, Monkey No. 089 looked me in the eyes and used sign language to say, “I’ll really hit the ground running tomorrow.”

12/11/22, 10:14 A.M.
Monkey No. 089 has not hit the ground running.

12/13/22, 1:15 P.M.
The monkeys discovered coffee today. Though hopes were high that a stimulant would aid their creative process, those hopes were dashed when, having drunk several cups each, the monkeys just paced around ruminating on regrets from their past. One, Monkey No. 277, had a full-on panic attack.

8:34 P.M. Once the coffee wore off, the monkeys did crosswords for nearly two hours. It looked as though the puzzles were all Mondays and Tuesdays.

12/15/22, 10:33 P.M.
The monkeys ate gummy worms and smoked cigarettes for, honest to God, the entire day. The only glimmer of hope for creative output came when one monkey appeared disappointed in herself and put her cigarettes in a drawer ten feet away. She then sat at her typewriter again and set an egg timer. I theorize that she was hoping to earn a cigarette by writing uninterrupted for a full hour. But, after a few minutes, she opened the drawer again and lit a cigarette.

12/17/22, 12:03 P.M.
Monkey No. 456333 is sitting in full workout gear on a yoga mat, scrolling Twitter.

1:20 P.M. Monkey No. 884 has taken up baking.

4:00 P.M. Monkeys No. 11654, No. 901289, and No. 125 are watching “The Sopranos” from the beginning. I overheard one of them call it “research.”

12/24/22, 7:00 P.M.
A breakthrough! While most monkeys continued to do what I can only describe as “nothing,” Monkey No. 7160043—nicknamed Coco—experienced a ninety-minute burst of creative energy and has successfully and independently written the entirety of Shakespeare’s “Hamlet”! The theorem has been confirmed!

7:03 P.M. Coco is ecstatic. I’ve never seen a monkey so exuberant.

7:09 P.M. The initial sense of accomplishment apparently having worn off, Coco is now rereading the manuscript with a furrowed brow.

7:10 P.M. In a devastating yet fascinating turn of events, Coco has lit her copy of “Hamlet” on fire.

7:18 P.M. Coco announced her retirement from writing. She plans to apply to grad school in the fall.

12/25/22, 5:46 P.M.
No writing today. One of the monkeys has taken up guitar. ♦