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«I am floating in a world made entirely of text. Lines of white courier type stretch away to the horizon, spelling out passages from Borges’s ‘s “Library of Babel”: “The universe (which others call the Library) is composed of an indefinite and perhaps infinite number of hexagonal galleries …” I look down and experience a sudden twinge of vertigo. Below my feet, strings of letters plunge down into an inky black void.» from: Robert Coover: A Life In Writing — by Hari Kunzru in the Guardian.

«I am floating in a world made entirely of text. Lines of white courier type stretch away to the horizon, spelling out passages from Borges’s ‘s “Library of Babel”: “The universe (which others call the Library) is composed of an indefinite and perhaps infinite number of hexagonal galleries …” I look down and experience a sudden twinge of vertigo. Below my feet, strings of letters plunge down into an inky black void.»

from: Robert Coover: A Life In Writing — by Hari Kunzru in the Guardian.

Posted on December 21st, 2011
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