Wonderful and weird, I learned about the Voynich Manuscript from the Los Angeles Review of Books. In the article, Raymond Clemens wrote, "One does not read the Voynich; rather, one reads its very resistance to reading." Since I've been writing about reading and writing a book about, among other things, what it means to read uncritically, the Voynich made me think about what it means to say that you can't read a book. What is the experience of a book in your hands? I don't know what the women in the viaducts are doing or why they're there.
Sometimes, writing by the seat of your pants feels as puzzling as trying to make sense of the Voynich.
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