There was a writer who began writing- for what else can a writer do, and what might we call him if he didn't? But anyway, he began writing and was amazed to find that the characters incarnated within his writing apparently found it perfectly unsurprising, banal even, to find themselves alive and within the confines of a book. He even wondered whether he should be annoyed at the matter-of-factness of their attitudes.
"We are here? Well, where else would we be? And what's so special about here that you imagine we should be surprised, grateful even, by the occurrence of our presence within it? What do you expect- that we should bow down in perpetual astonishment at the fact of our existence?! No, this is all most ordinary and utterly so!"
Though who knows? Maybe he was merely putting words in their mouths. Though, then again, maybe this really is how it was.
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2 comments:
Perhaps the characters would even write their own books - and some of these characters would then be venerated as if they were gods. And perhaps in one of these books the author would suggest a meta-author who had written the book that contained the book.
And other characters would write books denying this.
If you haven't read it, you should read Flann O Brien's 'At Swim Two Birds'. You'd almost certainly be well into The 'Third Policeman' also by same.
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