Book Essay
January, 1982
In the beginning was The Story. There were many stories. Nobody knew where they came from or who made them up, but the Old Ones would sit around their fires, repeating the stories, adding a bit here or forgetting a bit there, and leaping up every now and again to repel an attack by the saber-toothed flying rhinos that made life so difficult in the foggy swamps where the Old Ones made their home.It was an age of stupefying innocence. There was no written word, there were no writers, there were ju...
