The Penguin Magic Monthly Interview That Wasn't: Part 1

About a year ago, the guys who do the Penguin Magic Monthly magazine asked if I would do an interview for a future issue. My response was “probably.” So they put in the effort to come up with a bunch of questions for me and sent them to me a month or so later. In that time, something had changed and I no longer wanted to do the interview. After seeing the questions, I couldn’t think of a way of answering them in a manner that wouldn’t seem to be inviting more people to visit the site, which hasn’t been my goal for a long time now. And while it would be one thing to answer the questions for people who know the site and like the site, answering them for a general audience felt strange to me. Sort of in the way you’d be comfortable telling your friends a funny story about your day, but if someone said, “Write up that story and let’s put it in Reader’s Digest,” you’d think, That doesn’t seem like a good idea.

But, I figured, why let these questions go to waste? So, over the course of a few posts, I’m going to answer the 20 questions they sent me. I encourage you to print these answers out and staple them into the pages of a recent copy of Penguin Magic Monthly. Then you can read the answers as they were intended to be read.

Who are you?

Roland Rutherford von Pringles.

Is there anything, in particular, you credit to helping make your blog such a popular one among magicians?

There are three things that make the site popular:

1. It’s really good.

2. I staked out a few different areas that no one else was really writing about, specifically: performing as an amateur in casual/social situations; testing magic; extra-presentational techniques; and long-form, immersive magic.

3. I’m very consistent. I’ve posted on a regular schedule for almost six years now. That allows the site to be something people incorporate into their schedule; whether that means coming here daily, weekly, or monthly. And when you combine that consistency with a strong tone and somewhat idiosyncratic style of writing, it can feel to the readers that they “know” me, even if they don’t know my name and face. (My name is Roland Rutherford von Pringles. And this is my face…)

At times you post some rather controversial things, usually in some sort of joke. Are you intending to be controversial and stir things up, or is this simply an outlet for jokes that might not have a home anywhere else?

I don’t intentionally post things that are controversial. I just post the truth. Should women be doing magic? NO. They should be baking. Magic is for men. Do jews run the Hot Rod industry? Yes, of course. Is it “offensive” to say that? I don’t know. Are facts offensive?

In all seriousness, no, I’m not ever trying to “stir things up.”

Some people have an issue with the language I use, but I only use the same type of language most adults in my social circle use.

And while some of my opinions might be “controversial,” I’m never courting controversy. If someone writes to me to say, “I disagree with you about ______,” my response is just like, “Okay.” I don’t really care too much if people disagree with me.

Some magicians really love card magic, some hate it. You perform magic with everything imaginable, but I have never seen you shy away from a card trick. What do you look for in a card trick that will elevate it from just becoming “another card trick”?

If you want people to think you’re manifesting some real powers, then you should avoid card tricks. But that’s not what I want them to think. I want people to just see me as “someone with an interest in magic.” And then I want to build off the lack of expectations that phrase generates. Sometimes you’ll hear magicians say that if you pull out a deck of cards the spectator will have some preconceived notion of what you’re going to do. They’ll just assume you’re like their “Uncle Bob” who also does card tricks. I think that’s a blessing. Magic is judged based on the expectations they come in with. If their expectations are pretty low, then you only need to do a solid trick in order to really blow them away. It doesn’t need to be the greatest trick in the world (in fact, that’s probably a bad place to start).

To keep it from seeming like “just another card trick,” the important thing is to mix up the variables around the trick. Most spectators don’t recognize the minor differences between tricks. They see in broad strokes. “Cards changed,” “Cards moved around,” “I selected a card and he found it.” Similarly, if you don’t know anything about the trumpet, you likely wouldn’t really be able to differentiate between trumpet songs except in the broadest terms. “That was a happy song,” “That was a slow song,” “That sounded kind of bluesy.” For you to see it as something more than “just another trumpet song,” you either need to become really well versed in the trumpet. Or the song needs to be placed into different contexts. “That trumpet song the guy was playing in the park.” “That trumpet song our nephew asked us to listen to while he practiced.” “That trumpet song you fucked my brains out to.”

Similarly, mixing up the context you perform a card trick in will make it seem like not “just another card trick.” Examples of “mixing up the context” in which you perform are all over this site.

In recent years you have really steered hard into what you term Social Magic. Was there a defining moment that caused this, or was it a gradual realization?

It was really just a clarification of something I started talking about at the beginning of this site: the difference between amateur and professional magic. I would talk about things that—in my experience—didn’t benefit the amateur performer, like tightly scripted presentations and routining together a bunch of different effects. These sorts of things were almost universally praised in the magic literature, and my point was that these things were alienating and awkward when hanging out with friends and family.

But then I would get emails from people who would say, “I’m not a professional, but I like to put on a formal show for my family and friends, so I disagree that these things are bad for the amateur.” And at first I thought “What a nerd.” But the more I thought of it, the more I realized that this was true for a lot of people who practiced magic. They weren’t pros, but they chose to perform like they were, with scripts and canned jokes and sitting at a table with a close-up mat and all that. That’s not my scene, but if that’s what you want to do, knock yourself out.

So, to clarify the distinction I was making, I started using the terms casual/social in contrast to formal/professional. “Casual/Social” was really a more accurate description of the types of performing I was thinking of when I was thinking of “amateur” performing.

My movement towards this style was something that came slowly over many years. When I was younger I spent a lot of time learning magic but rarely performed. One day—maybe 20 years ago—I decided I wanted to perform for friends more regularly. At first I felt very awkward. So I began to strip away the show-offy elements and the things that made it feel like a “performance.” Then I was left with just the trick. And that might amaze people, but it wouldn’t really stick with them. So then I started looking for ways to incorporate tricks into an interaction in ways that felt more casual, chatty, and normal than just halting an interaction to show someone a trick. Overtime that’s grown into the style that I’m known for here.

You have referred to your retirement plan as being: Step One: Write the best magic book ever. Step Two: Sell a relatively small amount of them. Step Three: Hang onto some copies. Step Four: Wait forty years for the magic world to recognize my genius.

It seems to me like the magic world has recognized your “genius” and your books are some of the most sought after in magic literature. What’s the current status of your retirement plan?

Step One: Success

Step Two: Success

Steph Three: Here’s where I screwed up. I printed about a dozen extra copies of the first book. But I couldn’t hold onto them. I felt bad saying “no” to someone when they’d ask if they could buy a copy, knowing I had extra copies. So I sold them and they’re gone. I have one copy of my own, and that’s it. This is true of all the books. I get emails a couple times a week from people asking if I can dive into some secret stash of books to sell them a copy. There is no stash. And none of the books are ever being reprinted. (Other than an expanded hardcover reprint of the Amateur at the Kitchen Table. Which wasn’t a book I ever said would be a limited printing.)

Business-wise, I definitely could monetize this site and the work I produce in a better way. But I’m prioritizing simplicity over money here. The system I’ve set up allows me to sell-out of my books in a couple of days, a year in advance, with zero advertising. That’s so much more appealing to me than to have to hustle and be a salesman. And I know I’m the envy of anyone who has self-published a magic book and now has a garage filled with boxes of books they’re constantly trying to offload.

Step Four: There is no step four anymore. Instead, my new retirement plans is that I will reach out to my supporters 40 years from now and remind them of how nice it was for me to maintain the value of their investment by limiting the number of books and never reprinting them. And then I’ll ask them if they’ll let me sleep on their couch and feed me for a month. I will rotate from house to house, supporter to supporter, until I die.