From 'The Name of the Rose' [Umberto Eco]:
"... I had thought that each book spoke of things that lie outside books. Now I realised that not infrequently books speak of books: it is as if they spoke amongst themselves. In the light of this reflection, the library seemed all the more disturbing to me ... the place of a centuries-old murmuring, an imperceptible dialogue between one parchment and another..."
There are no new stories, perhaps; if that's true, then all stories are distortions or amplifications of, or other variations on, their predecessors. Is that [partly] what Eco means, I wonder?
Anyone else struggling to come up with a 'tale that's never been told'? Is it futile?
"... I had thought that each book spoke of things that lie outside books. Now I realised that not infrequently books speak of books: it is as if they spoke amongst themselves. In the light of this reflection, the library seemed all the more disturbing to me ... the place of a centuries-old murmuring, an imperceptible dialogue between one parchment and another..."
There are no new stories, perhaps; if that's true, then all stories are distortions or amplifications of, or other variations on, their predecessors. Is that [partly] what Eco means, I wonder?
Anyone else struggling to come up with a 'tale that's never been told'? Is it futile?
