Somewhere between a past half forgotten and a future as yet only glimpsed. It must be arbitrary, then, the place at which we choose to embark. In and out the shuttle goes, fact and fiction, mind and matter woven into patterns that may have only this in common: that hidden among them is a filigree that will with time become a world. Thus the pagan will be sanctified, the tragic become laughable great lovers will stoop to sentiment, and demons dwindle to clockwork toys. The threads can always be traced back to some earlier tale, and to the tales that preceded that though as the narrator's voice recedes the connections will seem to grow more tenuous, for each age will want the tale told as if it were of its own making. There is no first moment no single word or place from which this or any other story springs.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |