The glaring tones of pink and violet on the cover, accompanied by bold letters that spell out the book’s title, frame a quaint image, a reproduction of an old photograph marred by a tear that runs from top to bottom. In the photograph, two children look toward the camera. Both are garbed in ruffled pinafore dresses. But whereas the slightly taller of the two looks like a girl, the other’s hairstyle and features would probably make the beholder identify him/her (?) as a boy.
The object of my reflection is a book: There are probably a lot of books among the “transformative works” you find here, but this book, known as the “Mynas Codex,” is a very different kind of object from most of them. When I say “book,” you probably think of a text that can be read in many different places at once, each reader experiencing a more or less identical object, like this one:
… for her hair, and she got tired. She’s resting. She’ll get back up in a little bit.” An answer appropriate to a … some of them meant—daisies for innocence, the pale blue forget-me-nots, both of which were blooming in her front yard, … I have also recently begun writing fiction again, and getting published. I’m sure my aunt would be proud, in ways …
