A Lecture on Literacy

There was a letter in the mailbox. An actual letter, not a bank statement or a bill. It was personally handwritten and placed inside a particular envelope, chosen with care, light green in color. It was addressed to Ferdinand, which was not his real name, but rather the name with which he signed his life’s work, a work he never showed to anyone, and so it was indeed very strange, not only to receive a letter in an age that no longer sends them, but that it was addressed to a name that no one sho...