Bartleby Inglethorpe is a creation; he is entirely a figment of my imagination. Though in some ways, that is a belittling description. Bartleby is another me, a facade, a separate personality I can slip into from time to time and just write. He is the little Englishman inside of me that cares deeply for the beauty of a well-told story, the ancient magnificence of a deteriorating language, and the power and love of the Creator that swims through the pages of the greatest story ever told and the very hills of Creation.