Abstract

Abstract:

Story is the constant companion of consciousness, but it is more than the tales it tells. Story is the mother of all myths, but not itself a myth. As maker, doer, and shaper, it expresses and embodies itself in a world of things as ordinary as tables and chairs, as exotic as cyclotrons, as ubiquitous as mobile phones. In the things it makes and in which it abides it may read itself as in a book, thereby belying one of its own cherished fictions: that it is inherently private and out of public sight.

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