hic mortui vivunt et muti loquuntur
I saw this once, inscribed on the wall of a monastery library. It’s been years and years since I was there, but if I close my eyes, I’m right back in that place. Hands resting on the protective glass case of a book written by hand, six centuries ago. I can still smell the air in that magical place. Old paper–well-loved and deely cherished. And just a hint of incense drifting in from the sacristy nearby.
here, the dead live and the mute speak
As writers, this is all we want. For our words to be immortalised. Right? To see the precious story you laboured over in print, black on white, for others to read. But what happens to the stories that grow old? We wouldn’t want our stories to be forgotten, replaced by newer shinier ones.
How many stories did you read once–love once–only to forget them as you explore other stories and newer worlds? The stories of yesterday are still worthy of love. They still have the power to transport you to another place and time. They can still show you a thing or two about the life and world of their creator.
That’s why we started Forgotten Pearls. It’s a joint project I’m very excited about. In this series, we’ll be reviewing books the world may have forgotten, and paying homage to the writers who first taught us to love words.
So far, my friend Anike is the only one who has joined me, but I strongly suspect R. Jean Bell is about to jump in as well.
Let’s have a look at some of these no-longer-buried treasures!