We like origin tales. Creation myths. At the dawn of time — before there
was time — there was nothing. Then: a bang, Big, we are told, yet infinitesimally small; a pinprick from which the universe unfolds. A word (
the word!); then: light. A coupling, between the goddess Eurynome and the frigid might of the North Wind. A giant spider reaching down, spinning the world from its body’s silk. And as this spider — black, I picture her, hairless, wearing a chitin corset that cinches her waist—the author. Reaching into him, or herself, spinning a yarn.
Blackening the page.
Only it’s never been like that for me. Which is why I am having trouble with those questions that go looking for the origin. Where does the book come from?...