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It's a great paradox: we come from a lost world we can only glimpse when it disappears. Our image of orality comes from books. We gain our familiarity with winged words through their opposite, words fixed in writing and therefore made motionless. Once transcribed, these stories lost their fluidity, their flexibility, the freedom of improvisation, and , in many cases, their characteristic language forever. For this legacy to be saved, it had to be mortally wounded.
It is wounded yet remains fascinating. The wealth of imagination at the dawn of our culture has survived without fully fading into the mists of time. We hear its distant echoes in the transcription of mythologies, fables, sagas, folk songs, and traditional tales. Transformed, recast, and reinterpreted, we find it in The Iliad and The Odyssey, the Greek tragedies, the Torah (and the Old Testament), The Ramayana, The Edda, And The Thousand and One Nights, And it's precisely these exiled stories - literary refugees in the foreign land of written texts - that5 make up the backbone of our culture.
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