New Somerton Man page…

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I’ve started the year on a positive foot, by knuckling down to a gritty task I’ve been putting off for ages – writing a dedicated Somerton Man page for the blog. OK, it’s not going to oust Gerry Feltus’ splendidly detailed “The Unknown Man”, but it covers quite a lot of ground in a thousand words. And the pictures are all basically on the money. Which is nice.

However, the reason I had been putting this off was that I wanted it to somehow reflect the edges of our knowledge about the Somerton Man, rather than get knotted up in a whole load of Wikipedia-esque meanderings. (I’m not a committee, and I didn’t want to write like one.) And yet the big question is surely… where are the edges? And what exactly is the difference between an ‘edge’ and a ‘brick wall’, hmmm?

As of early 2014, I don’t think the text is going to help us, not unless Naval Intelligence in Melbourne had (and still has!) an unannotated photograph of the cipher page – basically, I have more than a sneaking suspicion that we’ve been starting from a codicologically broken version of the page that will never sufficiently support us in our attempts to read it. And so all we have is The Man himself, in all his unidentifiable obscurity.

But we do also have the nurse, the mysterious Jestyn / Jessie / Jessica / Jo / Tina / Tyna. These days, one question I keep coming back to is whether “Jestyn” makes sense in the way she (apparently) claimed it did. I struggle to believe that particular story wholeheartedly; and when I asked Gerry Feltus about this recently, he seemed to share more than a few of my doubts. In fact, it was a bit spooky that we had travelled substantially different paths but reached almost identical positions.

At the same time, while I (almost) always enjoy Pete Bowes’ Somerton Man musings and thoughts, there’s something about his speculative take on the Unknown Man’s underdaks that rings true for me. Really, only someone answering to the name “Keane” would have “Keane” on their underpants, so I don’t honestly see any alternative to the idea that, at least some of the time, the Unknown Man did go by the name “Keane”… and if no such person existed or was missing, then it must have been a fake identity. After all, the problem with the laundry theory is that the grundies he was actually wearing had no name on. So how do you get them clean, then? That’s a mystery all of its own, I’d have thought.

I don’t know: maybe the missing link will turn out to be a Mr Keane / Styn, who changed his name as often as his underwear, and who was sweet on tiny little Jessie Harkness. Maybe Jestyn was comfortable with being Jess Styn, but didn’t want to be Jess Keane? If this is in some way right, why was the Somerton Man’s underwear Styn-free? Maybe we’ll find out in 2014, who knows!

Quick admin post – 600K, Curse, chess, pub, etc

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Just a quicky adminy post, lots of loose nails all needing tapping in, you know how it is.

(1) Happy New Year to you all! (…unless associating happiness with a particular Western calendar is far too politically incorrect for you, in which case I don’t really know what to say).

(2) A big Thanks! going out from me to all you Cipher Mysteries visitors and subscribers, as the blog has now had 600K visitors and more than a million page hits! I know it’s just a number, but it’s a nice number and it’s mine.

(3) Right now, I’m optimistic that 2014 will be a genuinely productive year for cracking cipher mysteries – specifically, I’m more positive about the Somerton Man and d’Agapeyeff Cipher than I have been for a long time. I’ve also got lots of interesting posts planned, though Real Life will inevitably intrude on the fantasy image of Cipher Mysteries Mansions that people seem to have, hence these will doubtless take me much longer than I expect.

(4) I’ve just yesterday sold my last copy of the most recent batch of The Curse Of The Voynich, but another box of books has already been ordered and so the price of copies on Amazon Marketplace etc should be back to a practical level (i.e. not £123, ha!) within a fortnight or so.

(5) I’ve recently published a fun interactive chess ebook some of you may like, called “Chess Superminiatures” (on Amazon UK, Amazon US, etc. It contains a hundred really super miniature chess games (all under ten moves!) and a whole load of what-happened-next mini-quizzes, which are particularly good for trains or planes. If you have a Kindle and like a little bit of chess, I’m pretty sure you’ll enjoy this! 🙂

(6) At the moment, I’m vaguely thinking about arranging a Cipher Mysteries pub meet some time in February, so if any of you are aiming to be visiting London around then, drop me a line and I’ll see if I can arrange it to coincide: it’s always nice when we manage to make that happen.

The Somerton Man’s cipher, revisited…

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A nice email from Byron Deveson recently prompted me to take a fresh look at the Somerton Man’s cipher page.

I used the 1802×1440 (400 dpi) scan that Professor Derek Abbott made available on his Tamam Shud Facebook page, and which Gordon Cramer kindly forwarded to me. It originally came (I believe) from the photo library at the Adelaide Advertiser: note that a version of this is on the Wikipedia page, but that looks to me to have had its contrast tweaked in the process.

tamam-shud-closeup

Looking at this again, it seems painfully obvious (specifically from the way the marking ink failed to bleed into the paper) that what happened here was simply this:-

(1) The original page was photographed, enlarged, and fixed onto a photographic print
(2) A policeman used a marker pen to draw over the faint markings on the print
(3) The Adelaide Advertiser’s photographer photographed the annotated print

Hence I am quite sure that the long-standing belief that the SA police drew on the object itself is simply an urban myth. Conversely, the right question to ask is whether an unannotated photograph of the page still exists in the police files, because that is the one we actually need to be working from.

So… why has nobody asked this question since 1948?

The secret history of Jestyn, and Willen Styn…?

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Some interesting Cipher Mysteries comments arrived here today from “RT”, prodding me to take a second look at something I nosed around a while back (but then promptly forgot to blog about). Here’s what he wrote:-

RT comment #1: “I think the SM was married to Jessica.”

RT comment #2: “Has anyone thought that she could have been Mrs J E Styn. Or Van Styn? […]”

RT comment #3: “I along with others have always thought she was married to him. I think that for some reason she did a runner from him met Prosper and changed her name. He tracked her down and things went sour. That is only my opinion but you need proof. I also am very certain that Robin is the SM’s son. I think that Prosper was aware of this and accepted it. It worked well for him as his parents were very wealthy and a son would enable him to collect an increased inheritance.”

For all the ideas, notions, and speculations in there, this is a splendidly romantic secret history, albeit one woefully short of actual facts (which RT freely admits). But let’s look again at the primary evidence we do have – the “Jestyn” signature in the copy of the Rubaiyat given to Alf Boxall:-

jestyn-signature

According to Gerry Feltus: when Jessie met Boxall in 1944, she knew that he was married and had two children (his second child, a daughter called Lesley, had just been born), and she had his address in Maroubra: so I think that quite why she felt the need to sign herself with a different name “Jestyn” (or “JEstyn” as Feltus writes it) in the Rubaiyat is an open (and slightly perplexing) question. And there’s definitely a gap between the “JE” part and the “styn” part.

Another unexplained question from this time is why Jessie changed her name to Thomson several years before her husband-to-be’s divorce came through. According to RT’s (admittedly unverified) story, this was because she was ‘on the run’ from her previous partner / husband: but all we actually know for sure is that she “terminated her employment as a nurse in Sydney” in 1946, moved to Mentone near her parents, and then moved to Adelaide in early 1947, where she gave birth (to Robin) in the middle of 1947, all (again) according to the ever-reliable Gerry Feltus.

Could it be, then, that the secret history of this signature is that it is actually “J. E. Styn“, and that Jessica had taken her earlier partner’s surname? I wondered about this a while back, and so did various searches (Trove etc) for “Styn” that all turned up nothing at all promising. It all seemed to be a blank.

But today, I did another trawl over broadly the same set of archives and found a single reference I had previously missed to a Willen Styn. It’s “NAA: PP14/3 DUTCH/STYN W”, containing “STYN Willen – Nationality : Dutch – [Application Form for Registration as Alien]”, dating from 1916-1920, item barcode 5143479 in Perth. If you want to see the catalogue entry, go to the National Archives of Australia, click on RecordSearch, and then search for Willen Styn. I’ve already ordered a copy of the actual record, and will let you all know when it arrives.

Note that the PP14/3 series of archives is “the Register of aliens maintained under War Precautions (Aliens Registered) Regulations 1916”, i.e. a list of foreign nationals in Australia at the time of WW1 (presumably because Styn was Dutch). The Australian archives have plenty of related immigration files from the same period (e.g. PP14/1, which I went through the index of just in case there was some kind of misspelling of Styn in there, but to no avail).

So… I’ll say it. If “Jestyn” should properly be read as “J. E. Styn”, then might the Somerton Man be the somewhat-off-the-radar Dutchman Willen Styn? Let’s go and look for some evidence, see what we turn up.

Right now, I have a sneaking suspicion that he may turn out to be even harder to track than dear old Horace Charles Reynolds… but we shall see! So this is your cue: Cipher Mysteries research legions, please descend upon the collected Australian archives and see if you can find anything – anything at all! – about the mysterious Willen Styn. Good hunting! 🙂

The d’Agapeyeff Cipher once again…

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As is well known, Alexander d’Agapeyeff’s 1939 challenge cipher looks like this:-

75628 28591 62916 48164 91748 58464 74748 28483 81638 18174
74826 26475 83828 49175 74658 37575 75936 36565 81638 17585
75756 46282 92857 46382 75748 38165 81848 56485 64858 56382
72628 36281 81728 16463 75828 16483 63828 58163 63630 47481
91918 46385 84656 48565 62946 26285 91859 17491 72756 46575
71658 36264 74818 28462 82649 18193 65626 48484 91838 57491
81657 27483 83858 28364 62726 26562 83759 27263 82827 27283
82858 47582 81837 28462 82837 58164 75748 58162 92000

Almost all cryptanalyses of this ciphertext start from the reasonable observation that (a) this is dominated by number-pairs of the form [6/7/8/9/0][1.2.3.4.5], and that (b) these pairs have a very strongly language-like distribution:-

** .1 .2 .3 .4 .5
6. _0 17 12 16 11
7. _1 _9 _0 14 17
8. 20 17 15 11 17
9. 12 _3 _2 _1 _0
0. _0 _0 _0 _1 _0

To simplify discussion (and ignoring the issue of fractionation for the moment), we can assign these structured number pairs to letters in an obvious sort of order, e.g.:-

** .1 .2 .3 .4 .5
6. _A _B _C _D _E
7. _F _G _H _I _J
8. _K _L _M _N _O
9. _P _Q _R _S _T
0. _U _V _W _X _Y

In which case, the rather less verbose version of the same ciphertext would look like this:-

J B L O P B P D K D P I O N D I I L N M
K C K K I I L B D J M L N P J I E M J J
J R C E E K C K J O J J D B L Q O I C L
J I M K E K N O D O D O O C L G B M B K
K G K D C J L K D M C L O K C C C X I K
P P N C O N E D O E B S B B O P O P I P
G J D E J F E M B D I K L N B L D P K R
E B D N N P M O I P K E G I M M O L M D
B G B E B M J Q G C L L G G M L O N J L
K M G N B L M J K D J I O K B Q - - - -

Cryptanalytically, the problem with this as a ciphertext is that, even discounting the ’00’ filler-style characters at the end, it simply has too many doubled (and indeed tripled) letters to be simple English: 11 doublets, plus 2 additional triplets. Hence the chance of any given letter in this text being followed by itself within this text is 15/195 ~= 7.7%, while the chance of any given letter being followed by itself twice more is 2/194 ~= 1.03%.

According to my spreadsheet, if the letters were jumbled randomly, the chances of the same letter appearing twice in a row would be 7.44% (very slightly less than what we see, but still broadly the same), while the chances of the same letter appearing three times in a row would 0.594% (quite a lot less).

It struck me that these statistics might possibly be what we might expect to see for texts formed of every second or every third letter of English. So, I decided to test this notion with some brief tests on Moby Dick:-

Distance – doubles – triples
1 – 3.693% – 0.075%
2 – 4.426% – 0.275%
3 – 5.994% – 0.476%
4 – 6.289% – 0.466%
5 – 6.682% – 0.566%
6 – 6.491% – 0.546%
7 – 6.372% – 0.508%
8 – 6.536% – 0.533%
9 – 6.544% – 0.536%
n – 6.524% – 0.525% (i.e. predicted percentages based purely on frequency counts)

Indeed, what we see is that the probability of a triple letter occurring in the actual text starts very low (0.075%), but rises to close to the raw probability (from pure frequency counts) at a distance of about 5 (i.e. A….B….C….D…. etc).

So, comparing the actual triple letter count in the ciphertext with the ciphertext’s raw frequencies would seem to suggest a transposition step of about 2 is active, whereas comparing the double count in the ciphertext with the ciphertext’s raw frequencies would seem to suggest a transposition step of about 5 is active.

Yes, I know that this looks a bit paradoxical: but it is what is. Still workin’ on it…

Somerton Man – video update, and political football latest…

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The Somerton Man case crawls ever on, with talk of DNA swirling ever round in its own eternal double-helix – one strand being what Derek Abbott wants, the other being what he’s ever likely to get.

Most of the current DNA chitter-chatter was sparked by the recent 60 Minutes episode on the Somerton Man. This has just had a 4-minute video update put on the web, though sadly (and as if to demonstrate how little traditional broadcasters understand about newmedia) without extra footage of two huge-eyed kittens playing adorably with a ball of string with L337-speak subtitles saying “WE HAS OWNED THA UNKNONE MAN”. Don’t these fools know anything about YouTube?

Instead, we got what some might describe as the next best thing: Roma and Rachel Egan being interviewed in the South Australian Police Museum with an ancient stiff cursed with distorted and unrepresentative facial features. Oh, and the Somerton Man’s plaster cast was also there, but you saw that joke coming a mile off. 😉

Of course, the real reason the clip had ended up on the (virtual) cutting room floor was that it didn’t really tell us anything we didn’t already know from the rest of the footage. But you didn’t really need me to tell you that, I’m sure.

In other news, I was a little surprised to find out that the Somerton Man has somehow developed a new life as a political football. According to a news story in The Adelaide Advertiser a few weeks back…

Shadow attorney-general Stephen Wade has given a strong hint that the Liberals, if elected in March, would dig up the body of the mystery man found dead on Somerton Beach on December 1, 1948.

“Any incoming Liberal attorney-general would need to be briefed on the matter, but my reading of the case is it’s just the sort of case the exhuming processes are designed for,” he said.

“On the one hand it’s a cold case and on the other hand it involves issues of paternity.”

So, it would seem that the Somerton Man is now such an iconic Aussie issue that votes are riding on his back. I didn’t see that coming… but there it is, make of it all what you will.

I don’t know… perhaps I’m being a bit thick here, but it still seems to me that an awful lot of DNA analysis should be done on the living before exhumation of the Unknown Man was even remotely considered.

If I was Attorney-General John Rau (and I’m not, before I get any Tamam Trolls suggesting otherwise), I’d want (and would indeed expect) any such request to be accompanied by a big fat dossier of familial genetic analysis, rather than just a fishing rod. Hence the Tamam Shud question that’s constantly hanging in the air here at Cipher Mysteries Mansions is simply this: “Where is that dossier?“

A Sirius Voynich Theory, I’ll be Dogon!

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Hillary Raimo has something big to smile about: a few weeks ago she got to spend some time with the Voynich Manuscript (assuming those Beinecke curators didn’t cheekily swap it for Klaus Schmeh’s prop version), taking 600 photos in preparation for writing an article to be published in a French magazine in 2014:-

hillary-raimo-at-the-beinecke-cropped

She has also been adding Voynich-related articles to her blog The Yin Factor, including a new one that explains her idea of how the Voynich Manuscript is tied in with the Dogon tribe’s ‘Nommo’ gods. In case you don’t know, the Nommo are hermaphrodite amphibians from the binary star Sirius, giving them “the best of both worlds” in just about every permutation of the phrase.

She starts her piece with a long quote from Jason King’s “The Cannabible III” (summarizing the whole Dogon / Sirius mythology thing popularized in Robert Temple’s (1976) The Sirius Mystery). However, her view goes much further: that the manuscript “traces the star map of human origins. Through the plants harvested from them.” Essentially, she thinks that naturally occurring DMT (Dimethyltryptamine) in cannabis was brought here from Sirius (along with the human race), and that the Voynich Manuscript is one of the documents that can magnificently reconnect us to the raw ancestral (and interstellar) reality we moderns are so divorced from.

Raimo is also fascinated by the apparent occurrence of the Pleiades in the Voynich Manuscript (on f68r3), a featurette that has already inspired several generations of Voynich theorists (perhaps most notably Robert Teague, P. Han, etc), though this doesn’t seem to be anything to do with Sirius. (Incidentally, the Voynich-Pleiades connection also has a modern fan-base in the form of Wayne Herschel, Michelle L. Hanks, etc.)

Of course, there may be some problems here both with Raimo’s evidence and with her conclusions.

If I were a rich junkie burning my way through an inheritance and I really, really wanted to know where to find a type of cannabis that had a natural lychee and guava aftertaste, The Cannabible series of books is probably the first place I’d go. However, as a source of historical information it seems decidedly unsatisfactory, particularly where it credulously quotes Robert Temple’s work on the Dogon tribe.

Moreover, my own opinion on Temple’s book on the Dogon is that it is an historical crock, based as it is upon Marcel Griaule’s ethnologically crocked research. And if you want a good summary of why that was crocked, I suggest you read Michael Heiser’s long-ish 2011 web-page on the subject.

Do I therefore think that there is the remotest possibility that there is a star map of the Nommo-esque origins of the human race / cannabis hidden in the Voynich Manuscript? Errrm… no, not really, sorry. But please feel free to form your own opinion.

The Voynich Manuscript – the Internet speaks its mind!

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So there’s this really old manuscript, it’s in Harvard or M.I.T., and it was discovered in 1812 (though Wikipedia says “1712”) by Wilfrid Voynitch who like doesn’t even know his own name because my spell-checker keeps suggesting “Wilfred” and that’s like totes annoying when you’re trying to tweet with predictive texting and that. So I don’t trust him, and he was a chemist and invented LSD or maybe Spanish fly while he was still young: and he really could have forged the manuscript because he had a moustache and that’s always like an awesomely bad sign in films, almost as bad as a British accent. But he couldn’t have don’t that because he didn’t even know his own name so was like completely stupid or something.

And people think the manuscript is really shocking ancient wisdom or alien DNA technology from the future but we’ll have to wait for the right person to time-travel back from meeting Roger Bacon in the past before we can read it. In fact, all the TV documentaries on the Voynitch manuscript start voice-over sentences with “Could it be that…” which is film-maker code that means that they know the real answers for sure but have been paid off with premium bond money not to tell.

Of course, it’s in code AND cipher AND shorthand AND microdots AND invisible ink AND tattooed on a slave-girl’s shaved head, and it’s secretly in a lost language that only alchemists can speak when they’re really, really close to creating the Philosopher’s Stonewashed Jeans and high on ergot and caffeinated beverages and fluoride, which are all poisons that completely surrounds us, there’s a whole alt.science newsgroup about that, everyone knows that the government scientists cover it up, worse than the cigarette makers. As if we can’t see through their lies, they’re so stupid, haha.

And anyone who says that Leonardo da Vinci wrote the manuscript is like so totally right, if you look at his notebooks there’s a helicopter and a bicycle and a T-1000 default form and he was writing in like mirror writing but he wasn’t using a mirror because they hadn’t been invented yet, duh. But it can’t actually have been Leonardo because there’s like lots of pictures of naked women in it and he was a gay vegetarian genius or something and that would have messed with his mind too much so he would have like imploded instantly.

But the real problem is that nobody wants to solve the Voynitch because it’s too much fun just pushing the numbers around and drawing graphs and infographics and stuff and they’re like getting paid by the hour by the CIA not to solve it so the economics are giving them the wrong financial incentive. Which means that they’re all getting rich on the back of us ordinary Internet surfers, especially that Cipher Mysteries guy who has like a Rolls Royce just for driving the mile down the drive to the gate of his mansion. He’s so rich, he pays the xkcd guy to draw stuff badly so nobody believes him when he tells the truth about stuff.

So I kind of met this guy on a mailing list who had solved the Voynitch and was about to publish his solution on the Internet but like the Men In Black burnt his house down and reduced him to a quivering empty shell of his former self, just like he was on crystal meth, except he swore he wasn’t (and I believe him). Worst thing is that they hypnotized him so that he couldn’t say the letter ‘c’ and it turns out that that is really important to the Voynitch’s secret secrets – people keep calling it the “Voynich Manuscript” but that’s because they can’t spell and that’s basically really annoying and stuff.

And anyway it turns out the answers are all in the Vatican Secret Archives which aren’t really “secret” they’re just called that to distract attention from the real secret archives which are in a bomb-proof basement two miles underneath Fatima in Portugal. But the really important stuff they put in the Secret Archives because nobody who knows how it all really works would think to look there, so it’s a huge double-bluff. The Catholic Church has been like that since 760 B.C., apparently they had to invent Christ because they had started 760 years Before something important beginning with “C” and the only word they could think of back then was “Christ”. And all the secrets of the early church are written in the Voynitch manuscript because that’s exactly where you’d hide something so dangerous it could bring the whole Church down. And that would cause real continuity problems for when TV repeat old episodes of the Simpsons with Ned Flanders in.

Only problem is that the Voynich is all definitely a hoax because if you have the right set of tables it has been scientifically proved you can write sentences that look just like peer-reviewed science, and then people will fund you to write whatever nonsense you fancy about anything you like. A bit like how Leonardo got paid to sit around and design butch-looking techno weapons even though he was a pacifist and the contradiction might make his brain explode. People don’t understand that the Voynitch is all about plant RNA and stimulating harmonics in your brain waves, you try reading it out loud you might become a genius or your own head might explode too just like Leonardo’s nearly did, nobody knows, that’s why it’s so dangerous and kept under wraps by the WTO.

And anyway, all the really powerful pages have already been removed, they’re been stored for safe keeping inside the Ark of the Covenant which is for real in a warehouse on the Isle of Wight. Nobody realises that the Indiana Jones warehouse thing was filmed in the actual place itself, they’re just laughing at us and we’ll never know because they have a Black Team removing all the good stuff from the archives just as we get close to seeing it, so we only get to see details that don’t make any sense.

Review of Kerry Greenwood’s “Tamam Shud: The Somerton Man Mystery”…

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Right from the start of her book, Australian crime writer Kerry Greenwood promises a lot to the reader (but mainly to herself): to try to understand the Somerton Man, her late father Al Greenwood, and the Adelaide of 1948; and to provide some explanations. Put all that together and it is, as they say, A Pretty Big Ask.

To her credit, I have to say that she really gives it a go: and for nearly a hundred pages, she actually succeeds. She reaches out towards an authorial tone that remains human(e) and well-informed – even her reminiscences of her father are of a piece with it all, and are neither excessively nostalgic nor cloying.

In fact, up to about page 95, I really felt right there with her overall project: she knows she isn’t Gerry Feltus (and frankly the world is doing OK with exactly one Gerry Feltus) and that’s OK, but she’s trying to write something else entirely, a kind of living, wharfie-centric social history, the schoonered ley lines of the underworld writing their story in dockyard scars and watch-smugglers’ high-tide japes.

But then… the hybrid / crossover narrative range sprawled janglingly out of her non-fiction reach, into a unconvincing Eton Mess of spies, hyperdontia, Israel, Berlin, ciphers, inquests, and even (I don’t want to type it but I know I have to) H. C. Reynolds. And then finished off with a 40-page Phryne Fisher short(ish) story, that feels scratchy, misjudged and dated all at the same time.

As a writer myself, I suspect it’s reasonably clear what happened. For nearly the first half the book, Greenwood works really bloody hard to summon up a kind of writing voodoo spell that I didn’t honestly think was possible: mixing Aussie dockside wisdom with a feel for a time and a place that constantly reads as though it is about to cast a light on a devilishly shadowy corner, through sheer writing force. Greenwood successfully manages to channel her fresh-faced 1975 grape-picking self talking with her dad, often as if his curly-haired ghost was occasionally casting a wry glance over her shoulder and setting right her flights of optimistic historical theorizing. And that is where her book is absolutely at its best.

And yet the remainder of the book is just so, I don’t know, disappointing and hollow. It’s not that it can’t deliver on the elevated promises made at the start (as a reader, you don’t believe that she can, but you don’t really mind as long as you enjoy the ride); it’s just that I think she used up her personal emotional reserves and will-to-get-it-done on the parts she actually knew something about – the rest she’s basically making up, and her heart and soul weren’t in it. By page 100, she’d burnt the project’s inner candle out, and had to complete the remainder by wind-up torchlight… it just wasn’t the same. (Please correct me if you think I’m wrong.)

And so… I’m kind of stuck as to what to say. It comes across as only half the book she aimed to write, but she was trying to write a book that was at least twice as hard to write as a normal book. But can a reviewer really recommend that readers buy it to read the first half of the book? It just doesn’t sound right.

Ultimately, it’s not a ‘proper’ guide to the Somerton Man mystery (Gerry Feltus’ book is as close to that as we’ll probably see this side of an identified body), nor is it a family memoir of a lost Adelaide. And yet… all I can say is that it is what it is, and you’ll buy it if you think it will work for you.