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With its traces of Jorge Luis Borges, Italo Calvino, and Georges Perec, Daniel Canty’s graphically arresting Wigrum explores the limits of the postmodern novel. Having absorbed the logic of lists and the principles of classification systems, the Wigrumian narrative teeters on the boundary between fact and fiction, on the uncertain edge of the real and the unreal.
Readers venturing into Sebastian Wigrum’s cabinet of curiosities must abide only the following maxim: If I can believe all the stories I am told, so can you.
up in infinite refusal, gave to all that life offered him: “I would prefer not to.” Chesterton’s Thursday Excerpts from Patience In The Man Who Was Thursday, Scotland Yard is chasing the leader of an anarchist group, a man named Thursday and a kind of Londoner reincarnation of the god Pan. With action-packed restlessness, the novel moves through preposterous pursuits, its new developments on par with even the most thrilling westerns. The writer retrieved this twig from a London street, far
Russian Space Agency, in the inventory of Sputnik 2. Keep in mind that the capsule containing the carbonized remains of the canine astronaut crashed in the plains near the Ural Mountains, littered with the space program’s ruins and wrecks, close to Vladivostok, in 1958. We believe the watch was smuggled into Russia by a KGB double agent. On a mission to London, he had acquired it at auction under the assumed name of Jack Steptree. The watch had belonged to Edward Morley, a physicist who, with
out a giant’s sigh and levels itself at God’s feet.”2 The scientist spends most of the film discussing metempsychosis with his collaborators from future republics of the Communist Bloc. One of the grips tripped over the nut while laying the rails for a long travelling shot. As the director refused to postpone the shooting under any circumstances, they had to uproot a large block of earth with a bulldozer in order to move the nut. A crew member reported the event to the Party. The shooting was
vanished. A letter on personalized stationery signed Leroy Stein, esq. imparted a coded message nervously written with a fountain pen: “And if I can believe all the stories I am told, so can you.” Remember that Stein’s name appeared in the register of the Bodleian Library, in Oxford, at the time when all the copies of On the Souvenir as Art Object disappeared from circulation in 1944. The letter was delicately leaning against another typescript, this time composed on a typewriter on
Inuktitut and some extinct languages from Micronesia and Central Africa. One variation possibly corresponds to a Neanderthal dialect. Using a microscope, one can decipher the English phrase etched in micro-letters in the circuit’s enamel: “The saddest song in the world.” The device, with its litany of lost love and a child in limbo, was a sudden fad in Berlin’s goth underground, where black-clad individuals cultivate sombre sentiments. At Zapdorf in Berlin, a young woman, Agnes K. Traumtänzer,