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With tattoos poking out of the cuffs and neck of his suit, David Rose does not look like the world's foremost matchmaker for eccentric intellectuals. As advertising director of the highbrow London Review of Books, however, Rose is the man behind the strangest, funniest and most neurotic lonely hearts section around.
While most personal ads tend to emphasize the positive, LRB's advertisers have no qualms about mentioning their recent divorces, obsessive-compulsive disorders and bizarre fashion fetishes. A sample reads, "To some, I am a world of temptation. To others, I'm just another cross-dressing pharmacist. M, 41. Box no. 3661."
After eight years in charge of the LRB lonely hearts, Rose has collected hundreds of the best (or worst) in a new book, They Call Me Naughty Lola. The title refers to the opening line of a notable ad that concluded, "Run-of-the-mill beardy physicist (M, 46)."
"We have had success stories, but I imagine the ones that we've heard about are only a fraction of what has actually happened," says Rose, sipping champagne during a combination book launch/singles night at the London Review Bookshop near the British Museum. "Although I would never dream of saying it's been a runaway success! I think, if anything, the book is testimony to the hopelessness of the whole thing."
When he added personal ads to the LRB's classified section in 1998, Rose imagined the literary journal's readers falling in love like the characters in 84 Charing Cross Road, a movie in which Anne Bancroft engages in a long, romantic correspondence with Anthony Hopkins.
After the first personal he received from a man looking for "a contortionist who plays the trumpet," however, Rose began to realize that things weren't going to turn out that way.
"We got the first batch of ads in, and I wondered, 'Are these just taking the piss a little bit? Are they playing with me?' " recalls Rose, 33, who has been with his wife Nicola -- the woman tattooed on his right wrist -- since they were 17. "In those early days, it was a question of who blinks first, because I was determined to keep it going. But the ads kept coming in as these silly little haikus."
Eventually, Rose realized that although the ads were bizarre, the senders were usually serious about finding a partner. But why would someone mention his low sperm count (Box no. 8385) or her inclusion in a witness protection program (Box no. 9727), rather than the usual information like height, good looks and love of long walks on the beach? "In the U.K., we're quite embarrassed about saying what we want and we're embarrassed to talk about ourselves in an intimate, emotional way," says Rose. Instead of being straightforward, the LRB's cerebral singles try to communicate their personality through surreal humour or Monty Pythonesque silliness.
But do the ads work? Susan Wolfe, 60, a transplanted American writer who has placed several, hasn't had much luck. "I just wanted a nice relationship with somebody who appreciated countryside and sheep and theatre in London," recalls Wolfe, whose first ad alluded to Thomas Hardy's Far From the Madding Crowd.
The people Wolfe has met so far tend to be drunks, or worse. One respondent took Wolfe out shopping on her birthday ... to buy gold lame fabric to make himself a miniskirt. That first date from hell didn't seem so terrible, however, until Wolfe traced one letter back to its source, only to end up speaking to the Federal Bureau of Prisons in Washington, D.C. "It turned out my correspondent was the most violent serial killer in American history," she says.
Not everyone is so unlucky. Robert Empson, 35, responded to a personal written by the self- described "happy, pretty" Liza Hill, 37, six years ago. "We've been together for that time, live together, have a house and we have a baby," says Empson, who brought along photographic evidence of the first confirmed LRB baby, one-year-old Marjorie.
There is a spot on this seemingly ideal LRB romance, however: Empson was with someone else when he answered Hill's ad. (It is for this reason the happy couple gave pseudonyms for this article.) What the LRB lonely hearts section gives with one hand, it takes away with the other.
While Hill says she would recommend using the LRB personals to her friends, the lawyer believes she beat the odds in meeting her soulmate. "Look around, what do you think?" she says, surveying the crowd of singles mingling in the bookshop. "There's quite a high proportion of weirdos here, I'd say, wouldn't you? Especially the blokes."
Empson has a more positive view of the assembled: "They're charming eccentrics."
Wolfe met and chatted up one of the more handsome charming eccentrics by the history shelves -- but her bad luck continues unabated. "He writes about aliens and military intelligence," she says with a sigh. Back to the personals page.
- They Call Me Naughty Lola, The London Review of Books Personal Ads: A Reader will be released in Canada by Simon & Schuster on Nov. 28.
AN ASSORTMENT OF LRB SINGLES ADS
- They call me Naughty Lola. Run-of-the-mill beardy physicist (M, 46). Box no. 4023.
- This is a terrifying world. I am the only worthy edifice in it. You are probably a tree. You know what I'm saying. Man. 35. Box no. 7213.
- Like Dave Eggers, only better. Man, 41. Better than Dave Eggers. Box no. 9442.
- List your five favourite books. First, let me list mine: The Boy Who Couldn't Stop Washing: The Experience and Treatment of OCD, Judith L. Rapoport; Brain Lock: Free Yourself from Obsessive Compulsive Behaviour, Dr. Jeffrey Schwartz; The Doubting Disease: Help for Scrupulosity and Religious Compulsions, Joseph W. Ciarrochi; Imp of the Mind: Exploring the Silent Epidemic of Obsessive Bad Thoughts, Lee Baer; The River Cafe Cookbook, Rose Gray and Ruth Rogers. F, 32. Enjoys cookery, hairclips, light-switches. Box no. 8313.
- I ate a pencil and three Post-Its whilst writing this ad. Oh, and drank a bottle of correcting fluid. Whhheeeeeeee!!! Man, 33-and-a-quarter. Box no. 2378.
- Sure, I could spend all day trying to shoehorn Slavoj Zizek into a personal ad, but when we finally get to meet I'm going to spend the whole time just staring at your breasts. No illusions at box no. 9623.
- I've done my sums and the mean average age of male advertisers in this column since 1998 is 15. Failed mathematician (F, 28) hoping to find love with mature gent to 30 (sorry boys) for slightly longer than my current two-week relationship record. Box no. 0992.
- Romance is dead. So is my mother. Man, 42, inherited wealth. Box no. 7652.
- I'm the one that you want. Unfortunately, though, I fancy your mate. Could you give her my number? Box no. 9573. Cheers.
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