One of my favorite short stories is also, in a way, the longest story ever told. Written by the metafiction author John Barth, the story, titled “Frame-Tale,” is written along the front and back edge of a single page. The text is bordered by a dotted line, and each corner is marked with either upper- or lowercase letters. In the center of the page is a brief set of instructions: “Cut on dotted line./ Twist end once and fasten / AB to ab, CD to cd.” The story, once fashioned, becomes a Möbius strip, and the following words flow in an endless loop: ONCE UPON A TIME THERE WAS A STORY THAT BEGAN. “Frame-Tale,” like the paintings of M.C. Escher, the movie “Groundhog Day” or the song that never ends, puts you face to face with infinity. You can make your way in, but good luck finding a way out! Traditional frame tales are similar in that they are stories that contain other stories — think “The Canterbury Tales,” “The Arabian Nights” or “If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler.” They suggest worlds within worlds within worlds, shrinking endlessly toward a vanishing point that, as readers, we know we’ll never reach. Unlike the linear perpetuity of puzzle streaks and holiday eves (each the subject of a previous newsletter), “Frame-Tale” and its ilk are representations of a circular infinity. They give us only the illusion of progress, just like the hamster wheel does for the hamster — and possibly also for us, if we were put on hamster wheels. (If you ever find yourself on a hamster wheel, run for your life!) I think the reason that I love “Frame-Tale” so much is that it achieves, in 10 words, what all wordplay strives (and often struggles) to do: It stops time. It makes us forget, if only for a moment, that we are, all of us, inching toward the end of our own stories. In a New York Times Magazine article published last month, Taffy Brodesser-Akner wrote about her strange urge to see “Operation Mincemeat” over and over again. As the yellow curtain rose on yet another production of the musical, Taffy seemed to feel this very timelessness: “And I thought, Hello again, old friend. And some kind of grace descended upon me, and for just this once I stopped thinking so hard about everything and let myself be happy that it existed — happy that it somehow got to the stage, happy that I found it, happy that I was there. Oh, my God, I was so happy to be there.” To be fair, it really is a fantastic musical. But I share Taffy’s urge to seek out the same story over and over in order to be “struck in the heart by something that consumes you.” When language is twisted in just the right way — like, say, into a Möbius strip — we briefly live forever.
Solve the Midi
Cryptogram |
