Thus the name of a file I have been maintaining since the mid-Eighties. It contains the names of people I have regaled with my writings. At the beginning, these were xeroxed and stapled copies of yearbooks from my Residua, which were followed by ever-larger compilations of my magnum opus entire. Later on, these have been replaced by proper books. In retrospect, the file is quite interesting. So far, there are four books on the record. Six copies of Residua (1996) have gone to public libraries as legal deposit, thirty-six have been sold, and one-hundred and twenty-seven have been given out as gifts. Six copies of Belgrade Postcards (2002) have been sold, and eighty-nine have been given out as gifts. One copy of Istrian Postcards (2003) has been sold, and one-hundred and twenty have been given out as gifts. And eighteen copies of Toward a Short History of Motovun (2010) have been given out as gifts. All told, three-hundred and fifty-four copies of these books have been given out as gifts. Going through all the names on the record, many of which are receding from my memory by now, I have a feeling that I have been quite foolish in my distribution of gifts. Of all the people that have received them, I am still in touch with at most a score of them. The others are as good as dead. That is, my gifts have been largely in vain. And my record, meticulous as it is, does not lie.

Addendum (June 12, 2018)

This piece was written shortly before my book about climate change came out in print. Predictably, What is to Be Done? (2014) was distributed to many people around the globe. With a few notable exceptions, though, the entire effort was in vain. Once again, my record does not lie. Looking back, I cannot but shake my head in disbelief. By now, there can be little if any doubt that I have been foolish in my distribution of gifts. Indeed, my books are duds one and all. And yet, I will keep distributing them to friends and acquaintances as though everything is hunky-dory. Why? To begin with, I still believe that there is a tiny chance that some of my books will eventually stumble upon readers worthy of all the effort that went into making them. Even more important, I am eager to clean up my bookshelves. In the fulness of time, I may well see them entirely free of my own silly books. As I write, they occupy way too many precious shelves in my study. Distribution, anyone?