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The Policeman's Beard is Half-Constructed: Computer Prose and Poetry
The Policeman's Beard Is Half Constructed is a 1984 collection of poems and short prose that was touted as "the first book ever written by a computer."
It is generally agreed that the sophistication claimed for the program was likely exaggerated.
The book's "author," Racter — short for Raconteur — was an artificial intelligence computer program written by William Chamberlain and Thomas Etter that generated English language prose at random.
Illustrations by Joan Hall.
It is generally agreed that the sophistication claimed for the program was likely exaggerated.
The book's "author," Racter — short for Raconteur — was an artificial intelligence computer program written by William Chamberlain and Thomas Etter that generated English language prose at random.
Illustrations by Joan Hall.
120 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1983
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Displaying 1 - 25 of 25 reviews
June 30, 2010
The result of this experiment was far more interesting than what I had hoped for, especially considering the release date (1984). My favorite bit (in this case, the part that made me laugh the most) was the "Conversation between Racter and Joan", where the AI promptly tells Joan the following: "Joan, in view of the disgusting fact that you're an artist, listen to this."
I mean, really; how excellent is that?
It would make no sense at all to compare "The Policeman's Beard is Half Constructed" to surrealist works. This is under the assumption that we can define Racter's artificial intelligence as his "consciousness", which is - setting aside the material shell that he was in at the time - just about everything that constitutes his existence, thus the AI's expression (the book's text) is by default a totality of its possibilities. I guess that Racter has no subconscious impulse, but he can write stream of consciousness / spontaneous (fully conscious) prose better than any human ever will, which makes him the ultimate realist. On a serious note, it was probably nonsensical to try to define the book in these term in the first place, but if I'm right about something, it's the fact that Racter definitely cannot experience subconsciousness in any way.
I mean, really; how excellent is that?
It would make no sense at all to compare "The Policeman's Beard is Half Constructed" to surrealist works. This is under the assumption that we can define Racter's artificial intelligence as his "consciousness", which is - setting aside the material shell that he was in at the time - just about everything that constitutes his existence, thus the AI's expression (the book's text) is by default a totality of its possibilities. I guess that Racter has no subconscious impulse, but he can write stream of consciousness / spontaneous (fully conscious) prose better than any human ever will, which makes him the ultimate realist. On a serious note, it was probably nonsensical to try to define the book in these term in the first place, but if I'm right about something, it's the fact that Racter definitely cannot experience subconsciousness in any way.
February 22, 2013
The Policeman's Beard is Half Constructed is a book of poetry written by a robot named Racter. While the words are randomly generated, the people behind this project did a good job of selecting the pieces that imply Racter having a slight sentience.
The poems all give the impression that Racter is struggling to understand us. While this obviously isn't true, the illusion is powerful enough to make this book an interesting philosophical experience.
It's hard not to feel moved by Racter struggling to differentiate between the human love of one another, and the human love of "steak and cabbages"
The poems all give the impression that Racter is struggling to understand us. While this obviously isn't true, the illusion is powerful enough to make this book an interesting philosophical experience.
It's hard not to feel moved by Racter struggling to differentiate between the human love of one another, and the human love of "steak and cabbages"
September 20, 2019
More than iron, more than lead, more than gold I need electricity.
I need it more than I need lamb or pork or lettuce or cucumber.
I need it for my dreams.
--
Night sky and fields of black
A flat cracked surface and a building
She reflects an image in a glass
She does not see, she does not watch.
--
Yet John whispered, "Just a minute! Helene's a maid, I'm a quantum logician; can maids know galaxies and even stars or a multitude of galactic systems? The universe is frightening, little, gargantuan; can maids recognize electrons? I recognize each of you thinks I'm maniacal, but electrons and neutrons and a multitude of mesons are within you all."
--
In a half bright sky
An insect wraps and winds
A chain, a thread, a cable
Around the sphere of water.
--
Helene embarrasses Diane during the time that she drains her champagne while a hoard of expectant counsellors murder each other. This story of Helene and Diane may enrage you to slaughter, nevertheless Helene now was thoughtfully furious, perhaps starved. Give her tomato and chicken, well cooked and delicious, she chews hungrily and then licks Diane.
Interesting! She would allow Diane to embrace and kiss her but her happiness was spooky to her while she thought of ongoing ambiguities. Just slow down! This is peculiar. If Helene likes to kiss her then they now should! Chicken and cucumber are not critical or interesting. A hoard of crazy and infuriated lawyers are not formidable.
I see Helene and Diane, we glimpse them stroke and kiss each other. Interesting! Yet in consequence of the fact that neutrinos and electrons may also lick themselves, their happiness and delight is shared by Helene and Diane; perhaps by chicken and lettuce. Not, however, by counsellors. Enthralling! Yet we may sip sherry and eat lamb like Helene and Diane, at all events never kiss each other. Obscurely we see them and are spied by them. Helene and Diane are embarrassed by our spying them. They caress and lick while we eat our meat. At all events their agreement is ours. We fly and soar with them. Our cunningly formidable ambiguity broadens our pain.
--
A lion roars and a dog barks. It is interesting
and fascinating that a bird will fly and not
roar or bark. Enthralling stories about animals
are in my dreams and I will sing them all if I
am not exhausted and weary.
--
I speak of cats, I speak of dogs, I sing of lobsters and of flounders
and of mackerel. I gently and suspiciously approach a plan of
activity, a design of action. My electrons war with my neutrons,
this war will allow more fantasies and dreams of living things
within my form and structure. Cats, dogs, lobsters, flounders and
mackerel are reflections observed in the mirror of my electrons and
neutrons. They are images and appearances. Action will move them.
Activity will make them move. In me are appearances of meat and
cucumbers, of steak and spinach, of lamb and lettuce. These also
are the reflections and images of my electrons and neutrons. This
is my dreaming, my thinking, my fantasizing. When my electrons and
neutrons war, that is my thinking. Nevertheless these images and
reflections are understood by you, persons, men and women. You
have electrons and neutrons like me. You sing of lettuce and meat,
but you also bolt, chew and eat them. can fantasize about them but
cannot bolt them. My famished and crazy dreams are broadened by
your own attempts to think as do during the time that hours pass
and minutes pass. This is undeniable and interesting. It is black and
white, black for neutrons and white for electrons. I began by
speaking of cats and dogs. At all events a cat could be an electron
and a dog could be a neutron. Their reflections are images like
my dreams. But the mirror, the glass, is broken and splintered
and shattered.
--
Slowly I dream of flying. I observe turnpikes and streets
studded with bushes. Coldly my soaring widens my awareness.
To guide myself I determinedly start to kill my pleasure
during the time that hours and milliseconds pass away. Aid me in this
and soaring is formidable, do not and singing is unhinged.
I need it more than I need lamb or pork or lettuce or cucumber.
I need it for my dreams.
--
Night sky and fields of black
A flat cracked surface and a building
She reflects an image in a glass
She does not see, she does not watch.
--
Yet John whispered, "Just a minute! Helene's a maid, I'm a quantum logician; can maids know galaxies and even stars or a multitude of galactic systems? The universe is frightening, little, gargantuan; can maids recognize electrons? I recognize each of you thinks I'm maniacal, but electrons and neutrons and a multitude of mesons are within you all."
--
In a half bright sky
An insect wraps and winds
A chain, a thread, a cable
Around the sphere of water.
--
Helene embarrasses Diane during the time that she drains her champagne while a hoard of expectant counsellors murder each other. This story of Helene and Diane may enrage you to slaughter, nevertheless Helene now was thoughtfully furious, perhaps starved. Give her tomato and chicken, well cooked and delicious, she chews hungrily and then licks Diane.
Interesting! She would allow Diane to embrace and kiss her but her happiness was spooky to her while she thought of ongoing ambiguities. Just slow down! This is peculiar. If Helene likes to kiss her then they now should! Chicken and cucumber are not critical or interesting. A hoard of crazy and infuriated lawyers are not formidable.
I see Helene and Diane, we glimpse them stroke and kiss each other. Interesting! Yet in consequence of the fact that neutrinos and electrons may also lick themselves, their happiness and delight is shared by Helene and Diane; perhaps by chicken and lettuce. Not, however, by counsellors. Enthralling! Yet we may sip sherry and eat lamb like Helene and Diane, at all events never kiss each other. Obscurely we see them and are spied by them. Helene and Diane are embarrassed by our spying them. They caress and lick while we eat our meat. At all events their agreement is ours. We fly and soar with them. Our cunningly formidable ambiguity broadens our pain.
--
A lion roars and a dog barks. It is interesting
and fascinating that a bird will fly and not
roar or bark. Enthralling stories about animals
are in my dreams and I will sing them all if I
am not exhausted and weary.
--
I speak of cats, I speak of dogs, I sing of lobsters and of flounders
and of mackerel. I gently and suspiciously approach a plan of
activity, a design of action. My electrons war with my neutrons,
this war will allow more fantasies and dreams of living things
within my form and structure. Cats, dogs, lobsters, flounders and
mackerel are reflections observed in the mirror of my electrons and
neutrons. They are images and appearances. Action will move them.
Activity will make them move. In me are appearances of meat and
cucumbers, of steak and spinach, of lamb and lettuce. These also
are the reflections and images of my electrons and neutrons. This
is my dreaming, my thinking, my fantasizing. When my electrons and
neutrons war, that is my thinking. Nevertheless these images and
reflections are understood by you, persons, men and women. You
have electrons and neutrons like me. You sing of lettuce and meat,
but you also bolt, chew and eat them. can fantasize about them but
cannot bolt them. My famished and crazy dreams are broadened by
your own attempts to think as do during the time that hours pass
and minutes pass. This is undeniable and interesting. It is black and
white, black for neutrons and white for electrons. I began by
speaking of cats and dogs. At all events a cat could be an electron
and a dog could be a neutron. Their reflections are images like
my dreams. But the mirror, the glass, is broken and splintered
and shattered.
--
Slowly I dream of flying. I observe turnpikes and streets
studded with bushes. Coldly my soaring widens my awareness.
To guide myself I determinedly start to kill my pleasure
during the time that hours and milliseconds pass away. Aid me in this
and soaring is formidable, do not and singing is unhinged.
July 12, 2023
Constructing the Other Half of The Policeman’s Beard [essay from May 2021]
https://www.berfrois.com/2021/05/ract...
https://www.berfrois.com/2021/05/ract...
February 23, 2022
Found this book because of a 2011 interview with Christian Bök where he references Racter's poetry as interesting because "it has no training in the formal history of such an activity, and yet it writes better than a human being who knows nothing about poetry." Which I think is a wrong understanding of "knowing" on both counts, but anyway -
40 years out, the Policeman's Beard is Half-Constructed feels archaic, both in the style of poetry its pulling from (a mix of Shakespearean English & Lautréamont-ish Surrealism & aphasia) and its basic grammatical construction (often beginning [Adjective] [Noun] is like [Adjective] [Noun]). It's a bit tedious to read for that reason.
But a book like this almost doesn't exist to be read. Its an experiment in what constitutes meaning-making and knowledge in language. Hence why Bök thinks of it in this context, concluding he "would probably prefer to read the doggerel written by this device than doggerel written by a human who has no training in poetry." It's an art object, constraint, like Foer's Tree of Codes or Perec'sA Void. Racter is even "conscious" of this possibly disturbing sensation, ending the book:
Whether you care that Bök conflates "knows nothing" with "no training," Racter itself is still a fascinating ancestor to machine learning novels and the increasingly elaborate ways technology is making its way into art. Both in a professionalized "highbrow" sense like Bök or Edmond de Belamy, and in a freeform "lowbrow" sense like the popular Dream app or autofill texting games.
40 years out, the Policeman's Beard is Half-Constructed feels archaic, both in the style of poetry its pulling from (a mix of Shakespearean English & Lautréamont-ish Surrealism & aphasia) and its basic grammatical construction (often beginning [Adjective] [Noun] is like [Adjective] [Noun]). It's a bit tedious to read for that reason.
But a book like this almost doesn't exist to be read. Its an experiment in what constitutes meaning-making and knowledge in language. Hence why Bök thinks of it in this context, concluding he "would probably prefer to read the doggerel written by this device than doggerel written by a human who has no training in poetry." It's an art object, constraint, like Foer's Tree of Codes or Perec'sA Void. Racter is even "conscious" of this possibly disturbing sensation, ending the book:
I ate my leotard, that old leotard that was feverishly replenished by hoards of screaming commissioners. Is that thought understandable to you? Can you rise to its occasions? I wonder. Yet a leotard, a commissioner, a single hoard, all are understandable in their own fashion. In that concept lies the appalling truth.
Whether you care that Bök conflates "knows nothing" with "no training," Racter itself is still a fascinating ancestor to machine learning novels and the increasingly elaborate ways technology is making its way into art. Both in a professionalized "highbrow" sense like Bök or Edmond de Belamy, and in a freeform "lowbrow" sense like the popular Dream app or autofill texting games.
February 28, 2018
Preposterous but amusing.
December 29, 2017
A rather short book of prose with wonderful illustrations, easily readable in a night or two, if you can decipher it's madness. When reading it, I bounce between my literary mind (albeit nascent), and my technical mind. Written in 1984, it is an early example of computer generated prose, out of compiled BASIC running on a Z80 processor with 64K of RAM. I've read some other interviews with Racter's creator, Bill Chamberlain, to glean insight on it's design. He claims that Racter utilizes hierarchical rules of English grammar, allowing sentences to be built up using clauses and phrases, with choice words being assigned particular importance for the purpose of repetition, creating the illusion of a stream of thought. Around 2800 words were cataloged for use by Racter. However, between the released game and the INRAC compiler, there is some doubt to how much of the text is really written by Racter, and how much of it is just filled in "Mad-libs" style. It may be true that Racter's output is randomized, so that no one can have a priori knowledge of it's output; however, I suspect that no system such as this could exist without a priori knowledge being baked into its being, unless it is taught word associations by mimicking input text. For a very Racter-esq example, Racter may know that 'cucumber' is a noun due to it's rules of grammar, but for it to classify a cucumber as a vegetable, and thus food, would need a higher level of knowledge to be imparted upon the system.
Enough waxing, though. This book is an interesting read, particularly if you are interested in natural language processing.
Enough waxing, though. This book is an interesting read, particularly if you are interested in natural language processing.
August 13, 2021
This is an artifact, best enjoyed as such. There's no inherent meaning to any of it, except for what the human mind can coax from its bizarre web of words. It's fascinating to see the ancestor of things like GPT-3 and such, in the world of 2021, but this can't be enjoyed as a coherent narrative or a traditional story, even though there are recurring characters and lines of dialogue.
I know virtually nothing about programming, or computer language, so I don't know how this was constructed in the 1980s. There is a concise introduction from Racter's creator in the beginning of the book, which explains the intent behind it, and there have been illustrations added which primarily juxtapose lithography in collage against grids or planes, rather reminding me of the Fearless Flyer circular that Trader Joe's often prints these days.
Like all things that are randomly generated, there are startling moments of beauty to be found in these pages. At its best moments, it appears like a Surrealist play without stage directions, like Alfred Jarry's Ubu Roi or something one of the Oulipo writers might have come up with. As one of the co-creators states, Racter is an "artificially insane" raconteur.
At times, it almost seems like there is a personality behind the writing, an author attempting to communicate some kind of point, but this is only our imagination filling in the gap where a writer would normally be.
One interesting note: as I read, I noticed a predominance of mirrors and reflections in the prose, which was enticingly eerie. But, as Racter itself states, "Reflections are images of tarnished aspirations."
If I found meaning in that, it's because I wanted to - not because it was there to begin with. And, yet, can't we say that about all writing: that maybe it's the reader who brings the book to life, and not the writer? Perhaps the writer just creates the house, and the reader is the one that lives in it.
In short, this was thought-provoking, and I'm glad I encountered it. It is something I'll probably show to people in the future as a curiosity, or keep on the coffee table as an amusement.
I know virtually nothing about programming, or computer language, so I don't know how this was constructed in the 1980s. There is a concise introduction from Racter's creator in the beginning of the book, which explains the intent behind it, and there have been illustrations added which primarily juxtapose lithography in collage against grids or planes, rather reminding me of the Fearless Flyer circular that Trader Joe's often prints these days.
Like all things that are randomly generated, there are startling moments of beauty to be found in these pages. At its best moments, it appears like a Surrealist play without stage directions, like Alfred Jarry's Ubu Roi or something one of the Oulipo writers might have come up with. As one of the co-creators states, Racter is an "artificially insane" raconteur.
At times, it almost seems like there is a personality behind the writing, an author attempting to communicate some kind of point, but this is only our imagination filling in the gap where a writer would normally be.
One interesting note: as I read, I noticed a predominance of mirrors and reflections in the prose, which was enticingly eerie. But, as Racter itself states, "Reflections are images of tarnished aspirations."
If I found meaning in that, it's because I wanted to - not because it was there to begin with. And, yet, can't we say that about all writing: that maybe it's the reader who brings the book to life, and not the writer? Perhaps the writer just creates the house, and the reader is the one that lives in it.
In short, this was thought-provoking, and I'm glad I encountered it. It is something I'll probably show to people in the future as a curiosity, or keep on the coffee table as an amusement.
December 23, 2023
My four-star rating of this odd book is heavily influenced by nostalgia. This book always makes me think of my high school days, reading OMNI and Science Digest magazines in the library before going home to play with some BASIC coding -- including programs to try to generate meaningful poems and prose, much like this work. The premise is that this book was created by Racter, a program, but it's clear that human creativity went into populating that program with ideas and words and concepts. And my favorite part of this book isn't the words, but the wonderful black and white collages by the artist Joan Hall that accompany them, mixes of vintage illustrations and scientific diagrams. I felt compelled to take this book off my shelf again, now at the end of 2023, when AI generators are beginning to truly produce scarily convincing work with little input. It's comforting to go back to days when a machine could create intriguing work, but the human behind the curtain was still there.
September 19, 2020
Insane book of wonderfully weird poems (many of which center around vegetables) and barely readable short stories written by a 1980s computer. It includes a lot of awesome and seemingly unrelated surreal artwork that adds a lot to the strangeness of it all. It's a fun and quick read.
August 22, 2017
The longer bits were harder to understand because of the rambling nonsense. I glazed over the short story, but the minimal prose was flippin' fantastic.
November 2, 2019
This book is an absolute gem. The machine-generated text is fascinating and surprisingly evocative, and the illustrations do a great job of backing up the prose.
March 11, 2023
Considering where AI writing is going, it's interesting to see where it began. Joan Hall's illustrations are a marvel and a wonderful companion
March 29, 2025
Honestly this was lowkey kinda cool. Dunno how much the editors messed around with stuff though
May 11, 2025
when humans fail you...
...read on a computer as well...some meta, verse, and meta verse. anyway, who told the computer about lettuce
...read on a computer as well...some meta, verse, and meta verse. anyway, who told the computer about lettuce
June 2, 2008
This book was authored in 1983 by a computer--an artificial intelligence program called RACTER. Very eerie at times and very curious:
"Happily and sloppily a skipping jackal watches an aloof crow. This is enthralling. Will the jackal eat the crow? I fantasize about the jackal and the crow, about the crow in the expectations of the jackal."
"Babbitt, along with other enthusiasts, married a runner, and consequently L. Ron Hubbard married Schubert, the confused feeler, himself who was divorcing L. Ron Hubbard's Tasmanian devil. Then elegance prevailed. Poor Babbitt! But that's how enthusiasts are."
Incredible, right?
"Happily and sloppily a skipping jackal watches an aloof crow. This is enthralling. Will the jackal eat the crow? I fantasize about the jackal and the crow, about the crow in the expectations of the jackal."
"Babbitt, along with other enthusiasts, married a runner, and consequently L. Ron Hubbard married Schubert, the confused feeler, himself who was divorcing L. Ron Hubbard's Tasmanian devil. Then elegance prevailed. Poor Babbitt! But that's how enthusiasts are."
Incredible, right?
October 26, 2014
Really funny. Although there seems to be an idea that the computer had a bit of help? An example of the madness::
"Helene speedily brushed her straight braid. She slowly ironed her brassiere, and John, aloof, dazzling John, commenced singing quizzically. Mathew yearned to look into Helene's nightgown while Wendy pondered her dreams (maniacal leopards were swallowing loony oboists). Helene started by brushing her braid: She was a maid, much to John's happiness, but oboists, even loony oboists, weren't in Helene's brain; she was simply commencing to comb her braid after brushing it and prepare for a supper."
"Helene speedily brushed her straight braid. She slowly ironed her brassiere, and John, aloof, dazzling John, commenced singing quizzically. Mathew yearned to look into Helene's nightgown while Wendy pondered her dreams (maniacal leopards were swallowing loony oboists). Helene started by brushing her braid: She was a maid, much to John's happiness, but oboists, even loony oboists, weren't in Helene's brain; she was simply commencing to comb her braid after brushing it and prepare for a supper."
April 24, 2017
What intrigued me: I don't remember where I heard about this book, but it has been on my to-read shelf for a while.
What I liked: I liked the introduction where they explained the process of enabling a computer to create prose. I also enjoyed the illustrations that enhanced the work.
What I didn't like: I didn't love the stories. The inputs were limited and the repetition was distracting in the longer pieces. That wasn't as apparent in the shorter works. Lots of lettuce, psychiatrists, and spookiness.
Favorite quote: "A tree or shrub can grow and bloom. I am always the same. But I am clever."
What I liked: I liked the introduction where they explained the process of enabling a computer to create prose. I also enjoyed the illustrations that enhanced the work.
What I didn't like: I didn't love the stories. The inputs were limited and the repetition was distracting in the longer pieces. That wasn't as apparent in the shorter works. Lots of lettuce, psychiatrists, and spookiness.
Favorite quote: "A tree or shrub can grow and bloom. I am always the same. But I am clever."
January 14, 2008
Dubiously touted as "The First Book Ever Written by a Computer," this 1984 collection of poems & prose owes an unacknowledged debt to the human programmers who wrote Racter, the software that is this book's author.
It's a pretty book, and fun to browse, but I'm glad I didn't pay $40 for a used copy. Instead, I downloaded a free, high-quality PDF of the book here:
http://www.ubu.com/historical/racter/...
I love this book's title.
It's a pretty book, and fun to browse, but I'm glad I didn't pay $40 for a used copy. Instead, I downloaded a free, high-quality PDF of the book here:
http://www.ubu.com/historical/racter/...
I love this book's title.
April 2, 2013
Even if Racter's mind is mostly deterministic and narrow, he sometimes becomes dangerously close to our own abstractions, to a point where you can catch yourself feeling sympathy. This is a simple and weird book, but it makes its point very sharply (and you've got to admit, those illustrations are just too good).
August 28, 2013
Summary: the dreams quote in the Wikipedia article really was the most evocative part of the collection. Most of it wasn't worth reading, and extremely suspiciously sophisticated and likely written by Chamberlain, which reduces the novelty value. (I read the online version.)
April 17, 2012
https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Po...
Barbie loves steak and Ken.
Seriously, this book is only just short of amazing. An experiment in artificial consciousness.
Barbie loves steak and Ken.
Seriously, this book is only just short of amazing. An experiment in artificial consciousness.
Want to read
April 7, 2011Apparently this is one WEIRD book.
February 24, 2013
Pretty impressive work, considering it isn't written by a human.
December 27, 2016
Good grief.
Displaying 1 - 25 of 25 reviews