The Book of True Names (taste crime alert)
Richard Harter
I never learned who gave me the book. It appeared in my study
the day after one of my parties. In those days I was in the
habit of giving large parties with a wild mix of people, only
half of whom I knew. I knew quite a few strange people and I
invited them all. I didn't find the book immediately. My first
concern was to feed breakfast and coffee to those of my guests
who had never quite made it home and had collapsed on the floor
instead. Once I had cleared out the remnants of my guest list
and fortified myself with several pots of coffee I concentrated
on clearing out the litter and debris left by the celebrants.
It wasn't until much later that day, well into the evening, that
I noticed the book. You should understand that I wouldn't have
noticed the odd extra book or two in my study. It was always
cluttered with books, many of which I had acquired for reasons I
no longer remembered. One more book amidst the mess would have
scarcely been noticed. This book, however, was extraordinary.
It was old. That was obvious. The cover was a leather binding
in a style fashionable some centuries ago. There was no message
with it, only the book itself. There was no title on the cover;
instead of a title there were only elaborate arabesques in worn
gilt. I opened it. Inside there was a preface handwritten in
Latin in beautiful calligraphy. My Latin had faded sometime ago
so I leafed through the pages. As far as I could see each page
had a picture accompanied by some text in an incomprehensible
script. I idly turned the pages and then, quite to my amazement,
I found my own likeness accompanied by a strange word in modern
orthography.
I was, to say the least, stunned. I examined the page carefully.
It was evident that the page was an integral part of the book.
Moreover there was every indication that the tome was of great
antiquity. The obvious explanation was that the book was some
kind of elaborate hoax, but the more I thought about it, the more
that seemed to me to be unlikely. It would have been
expensive and pointless. Finally it occurred to me that it was
not my face but rather that of some medieval person who had my
likeness, and that someone, having noticed the resemblance, left
it in my study as a conundrum for me to puzzle over. This
explanation did not account for the orthography gracing my
portrait, but I glossed over that.
Puzzled, I turned to the preface. Caesar's Commentaries happened
long ago, both in the years of the world and in my own. The text
was mostly incomprehensible to me. Fortunately I had a Latin
dictionary and a grammar in my study. I dusted them off and sat
down to translating the preface. As far as I could tell it read
something like this:
Herein I have transcribed those true names that my
scholarship has revealed. No man can grasp the true
name of ought other than himself until he has first
known his own true name. This volume is spelled so
that the reader's likeness and his own true name will
be revealed to him.
By the hand of Melichor
I began to understand. One of the oldest beliefs of humanity is
that every being, be it animal, vegetable, or mineral, has an
essence and a true name that contains and reflects its essence.
One of the great principles of magic is that knowing the true
name of something gives one power over that something. Modern
philosophers and linguists have convincingly established that
this ancient belief is mere superstition. I believed them to be
right, and yet this tome, this book of true names, confidently
proclaimed the truth of the ancient superstition. No doubt, I
thought, the tome was humbuggery and the author deluded. Still,
how delightful it would be if this were in fact a real book of
true names.
I turned back to my portrait and studied the text that
accompanied it. It ran to a number of lines. Evidently it was
not enough to silently read the name. It was necessary to speak
the name. This I was sure of - by all accounts one acquired the
power of the true name by speaking it.
If the volume were a hoax or a bit of medieval mumbo-jumbo (as I
suspected) there was nothing to be gained or lost by speaking
that word of many lines. Suppose, however, that it were true.
The philosophers sing of the virtue of self-knowledge, but it is
noticeable that philosophers are generally mad. There are those
who say, quite correctly I suspect, that our very sanity depends
upon a certain amount of convenient self-deception. Would it be
safe, I wondered, to access one's true essence?
At length I realized I had to take the chance. If I did not read
that cryptic word aloud I would always wonder about what would
have happened if I had. Then, too, I am of the modern age in
which science says that all questions may be asked and all
answers may be sought. Not only may they be, it is a moral duty
to ask and seek answers.
I studied the text carefully and rehearsed each of the many
syllables. I gathered my breath and in the most eloquent tones
that I could muster I began to speak. As the syllables rolled
out the words began to glow, first just noticeably and then
brighter and brighter. Suddenly, without warning, the page went
blank. My portrait and my true name were gone, and no puzzling
or effort on my part could restore them.
I have no certainty but this is what I think happened: Like many
people my reading vocabulary is greater than my oral vocabulary.
There are many words that I recognize in text that I have never
heard in speech. Being part of my vocabulary I use these words
and, having never heard them pronounced correctly, I sometimes
mispronounce them. That is what I think happened - I
mispronounced my own true name.
If ever the book had utility it had none now. None of my friends
would admit to having provided it. In the end I gave it to a
former lover. We had parted on unpleasant terms but she was
intelligent. Perhaps she could make something of it. I do not
know if she did - she never spoke to me again. That was as it
should be; every book should have a happy ending.
Richard Harter, c...@tiac.net,
http://www.tiac.net/users/cri, http://www.varinoma.com
Remember: If you're going to practice cannibalism, do so responsibly.
Friends don't let friends eat friends. - Richard Clayton
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