“Until then I had thought each book spoke of things, human or divine, that lie outside books. Now I realized that not infrequently books speak of books: it is as if they spoke among themselves. In the light of this reflection, the library seemed all the more disturbing to me. It was then the place of a long, centuries-old murmuring, an imperceptible dialogue between one parchment and another, a living thing, a receptacle of powers not to be ruled by the human mind, a treasure of secrets emanated by many minds, surviving the death of those who had produced them or had been their conveyers.”
-from The Name of the Rose, by Umberto Eco
I’m embarking on Foucault’s Pendulum this week and looked back through my commonplace book to remind myself of how much I enjoyed The Name of the Rose. The above quote is a favorite bit.
A new space opened in my mind when I heard the word “intertextuality” for the first time my freshman year of college.
I imagine Odysseus leaning in the corner, drink in hand, chatting with Leopold Bloom. They’re laughing, they’re both big shots, but secretly they despise each other. They don’t like it when people confuse them. Odysseus makes digs about Bloom’s youth and inexperience, to which Bloom replies with passive-aggressive praise of innovation. A ghostly little figure steps up while they trade veiled insults. “I’m Tennyson’s,” he says. They pause and look him up and down. “Whose?” says Odysseus. Then they turn back to the power play.
That’s the way it goes.
And it’s not just the characters from books. The ideas, even the words, converse. No one listens to Fundamentalism anymore, whining about her fall from grace. Love-On is gesturing to Love in an animated fashion, trying to convince her that they are basically the same person. Love doesn’t agree, thinking Love-On brash and trendy, but smiles and doesn’t say so. Disrupt is having an unaccustomed moment of glory in the middle the room, hair on end, surrounded by Entrepreneur and Educator and their respective cohorts.
These conversations happen over and around our conversations; each time we write and speak we change the personalities of words, ideas, and allusions. For all that, much of the dialogue texts have with one another is, as Eco says, outside of our control and barely concerns us. Books gossip and argue and flirt with each other. They care less about us and our world than we like to believe. It’s part of their power.
For all of you eavesdropping at the library shelves, happy reading!
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CC photo courtesy of Christopher John SSF on Flickr.