About my Olivetti Lettera 32

My new typewriter is an Olivetti Lettera 32. It arrived by mail last week.

The brilliant Gerald dela Cruz restored the machine. He even added an extra—an old typewriter case that he painted over.

This Olivetti model sparked my interest years ago. I had read that the writer Cormac McCarthy had used one for most of his novels and screenplays. I looked up the model online. I liked how it looked—a certain quiet elegance and a pragmatic design seemed to emanate from it. Maybe I was being melodramatic.

Holding the machine and typing away random thoughts on old paper lying around the house, I realized I had not been exaggerating at all. This Olivetti is a truly gorgeous machine.

Why do I choose to collect typewriters anyway? I have several computers at home. I have several printers as well. But unlike these machines, they all run on electricity. Word processors are fine things, but they don't quite capture the beauty of typed letters, the carriage moving forward, the intelligent yet rhythmic sound of the keys soothing the mind as it figures out what thoughts to verbalize. The process is hypnotic.

I saw a YouTube clip of Woody Allen showing off his old typewriter (an Olympia Portable).The cover had been lost, but the machine seemed built to last forever. He also demonstrated the analog way of copying and pasting. He would literally cut portions of the manuscript and paste them wherever he wanted, say, for a paragraph to appear. He used a stapler, a pair of scissors, and glue. It is still fascinating to watch.

I don't really know where I'm going with this. But that's the thing with typewriters. Deleting a word or a line is inconvenient. I saw a YouTube tutorial that discouraged the use of correction fluid—or "Touch and Go," in my generation—because it could destroy the machine's type slugs. I suppose the alternative is to avoid errors altogether or simply accept that they can appear anywhere in the document.

The Olivetti Lettera 32 is a precious addition to my typewriter collection, which already consists of a Smith-Corona, an Underwood, an Erika Weinrich, and a Hermes Baby. I put them on rotation. I use them as often as I can.

I write stories and essays and lists with them. They bring me so much joy. To see them and to work with them—I'm amazed at human ingenuity.

But on a more specific note about the Olivetti:

First, I like its size. It is portable. The old journalists and writers used to carry this around. One of these days, I might just bring it to a café.

Second, I like its functionality. The keys are beautiful. The carriage moves smoothly. The bell is soft but still satisfying to hear.

Third, I like how it looks. The color is a shade of green—closer to olive, I suppose. I should look that up. It's true: it is indeed elegant to look at. But it also gives off a very serious vibe.