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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
Robin Sloan
Read between
February 16 - February 21, 2013
“What do you seek in these shelves?”
Or maybe Tech Dad wanted to read it on his Kindle instead.
Festina lente,
But when people are past a certain age, you sort of stop asking them why they do things.
prime
Oliver is a graduate student at Berkeley, studying archaeology.
“Basse Yutz flagon, 450 B.C. Maybe 500.”
“Good.” Penumbra nods sharply. “There is nothing worse than an incurious clerk.”
Have they been seduced by some other book club on the other side of town? Have they all bought Kindles?
They’re all playing the same song, or dancing the same dance, or—yes—solving the same puzzle.
It’s not like we have the same brains as people a thousand years ago.”
“Each big idea like that is an operating system upgrade,”
“Today is the day, my boy,” he finally says, “that I took over this bookstore, thirty-one years ago.”
Mohammad Al-Asmari.
“The smell!” Penumbra repeats. “You know you are finished when people start talking about the smell.”
Gerritszoon.”
People want things to be real. If you give them an excuse, they’ll believe you.”
Disappointment twists in my heart; the ball is in her court, she’s bouncing me a nice easy pass, and my hands are tied.
That’s what spies do, right? They walk to the bakery and buy a loaf of bread every day—perfectly normal—until one day they buy a loaf of uranium instead.
And it’s usually about a megabyte’s worth of text. (For the record, you download more data than that every time you look at Facebook.) With
simulacrum
“Oliver,” I say absently, “have you done any digital archaeology?”
“No,” he says, doubled over a set of drawers. “I don’t really mess with anything newer than the twelfth century.”
Really? Who has a Kobo?
marginalia
That’s almost cute: Don’t forget your ruler on your first day of cult!
There are no free stories in the secret library of the Unbroken Spine.
“Stephenson,
Vonnegut diagrams.
When you read a book, the story definitely happens inside your head. When you listen, it seems to happen in a little cloud all around it, like a fuzzy knit cap pulled down over your eyes: “The Golden Horn of Griffo is finely wrought,”
“And the magic is in its making alone. Do you understand?
“Even Aldrag the Wyrm-Father would envy such a thing.”
Finally, I drop the letter into a bright blue mailbox and hope for the best. Three days later, an email appears. It’s from Edgar Deckle. He proposes that we video chat. Well, fine.
Finally, he puts me in a white Tyvek jumpsuit with elastic at the wrists and built-in booties for my shoes.
There is no immortality that is not built on friendship and work done with care. All the secrets in the world worth knowing are hiding in plain sight.
Your life must be an open city, with all sorts of ways to wander in.

