Nicholas Reid reflects in essay form on general matters and ideas related to literature, history, popular culture and the arts. You are free to agree or disagree with him.
THE FABLE OF THE OAF AND THE ECHO
The oaf had been wandering
unconcerned through a verdant and peaceful countryside.
He was an oaf, so he was happy.
He had fed well, so his soul was
at peace.
He had slept well, so he was as
alert as an oaf can be.
The sky was blue, the wind was
fresh, the sun was not too aggressive.
The oaf wished to express his
happiness, his peacefulness, his sense of awe and joy at this good world.
He let out a chuckle and a
gurgle. Then, encouraged by himself, he let out a bellow of uproarious
laughter.
He had discovered
self-expression.
He had discovered comedy.
Birds sang. Sheep bleated. Cows
lowed.
The oaf listened carefully. Then
he clucked, he whistled, he baaed, he mooed.
He had discovered mimetic art.
He liked the noises he was
making.
He alternated clucks and whistles
and moos and bleats. He set them in simple series and patterns. He slowed them
down. He sped them up. Simply for the joy of hearing them.
He had discovered music and
poetry.
The oaf was happy.
The oaf did not look where he was
going.
The oaf tripped over a large
stone on the unsurfaced track, stumbled and scraped his nose against a tree
trunk.
It hurt.
The oaf let out a bellow of pain,
then settled for a gasping sob.
He thought how unfair it was that
there was a stone in the middle of the road. He thought how happy he would still
be if he hadn’t stumbled.
He had discovered tragedy, the
ode and the modern novel.
The tree was on the edge of a
deep, dark forest.
The oaf decided to enter the
forest, to see what it was like.
He had discovered the travel
book.
The trees were set closer
together the further the oaf moved into the forest.
It was dark.
The oaf decided to cheer himself
up by baaing, mooing and clucking in sequence.
He baaed.
The trees answered with an echo.
He mooed.
The trees answered with an echo.
Before he whistled and clucked he
thought, “That is me, answering me back.”
He had discovered
self-consciousness.
He had discovered
self-referencing.
He had discovered postmodern
literature and he had no further noises to make.
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