JOHN MELLA came up through the ranks of the littles in the sixties and seventies (CAROLINA QUARTERLY, PRAIRIE SCHOONER, CHICAGO REVIEW), culminating in a flurry of awards from the Illinois Arts Council and the publication, in 1976, of a novel, TRANSFORMATIONS. Having made his tiny splash, he vanished within it, emerging only to field such arcane as an an article on printed spoonerisms and another on Canto Three of Nabokov’s PALE FIRE. He constructed crosswords impossible of solution. Ennui gripped him. To appease his indolence, he commenced publication of a lexicographical newsletter. It, too, found its way into the Lethean Library. Sanity beckoned. In 1992, over egg-rolls and some very palatable pot-stickers, at a luncheon with his long-enduring mother, the sunlight glancing among the jumbled cutlery, LIGHT was born.