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Lyric is busy scribbling away on a floating piece of parchment when the Dateviators allow you to acknowledge him. The gentle sound of his quill scratching out words is accompanied by the rustle of papers making up his lower half, swishing side to side as he writes to his heart’s content. He’s got his brows knit tightly together, lips tightened in a straight line, and back hunched slightly forward as he focuses entirely on the work in front of him.
It’s when he pauses and glances upward in thought — no doubt ruminating over his next choice of words — that Lyric finally takes notice of you. You watch as the tension practically slides off him, quickly replaced with joy. “Ah! Well, hello there! I’m just doing some legwork on my next book.” He laughs. “My goodness, what a fun thing to finally be able to say!”
Oh! He’s already busy. He probably didn’t want to talk right now. However, you push forwards anyway, wanting to at least get a few words in before you leave. “Glad to see you hard at work! I was gonna ask if I could steal you for a couple minutes, but if you can’t talk right now…”
Lyric doesn’t hesitate, quickly shooing his parchment and quill away until it’s behind him on the floor. “Oh, nonsense. I can always make time for my writing buddy! So, what’s on your mind?” He lights up as he quickly realizes your intentions, most likely noticing the corner of a book leaking from behind your back. “Wait, let me guess! You finished reading Heat Wave and now you’re here for another recommendation?”
“Yup!” Reaching behind you, you grab the aforementioned book, which you regret isn’t exactly in its like-new condition anymore. “I kind of bent the spine, sorry.”
“That’s nothing to apologize for, dear. A bent book is a sign of love, a sign that the reader has been taken on a journey. It means it’s a very good book. If I recall correctly, you attempted to finish reading all of it last night, but wound up falling asleep with it on your face.” Lyrics waves his hand dismissively. “But never mind that. How did you like it?”
“I wasn’t too certain about it when Bathsheba recommended it to me, but your seal of approval managed to convince me.” You confess to him.
Lyric blushes at your remark. “I’m glad to hear that my judgment in literature holds such high value by you.”
“I’d be remiss if I didn’t take my book’s advice on what I should be reading.” That being said, you set the book down beside you and lean forward, placing your hands on your knees as you do so. “So! What else have you got?”
Lyric puts a hand to his chin in thought. “Well, if you’re looking for a book just like Heat Wave… the first one to come to mind would be Breaths in the Longe Lonly Winde, a human story written in 1691 by Charity Merther.” He chuckles, clearly lost in thought. “She was quite a brother of the quill. Or, should I say: sister of the quill. It may have been her only book, but the love she poured into its pages is plain to see.” Abruptly, his expression shifts, eyes downcasting as he sighs wistfully. “Or it would be. Sadly, she never got around to having it officially published. Being accused of witchcraft and getting burnt at the stake can definitely halt the publication process. So it was given to her next of kin, who promptly dumped it in the ocean, letting its pages slowly dissolved to the elements, doomed to forever remain nothing but a manuscript and a memory.”
You can see Lyric’s mood turning dour, and you feel your own mood beginning to diminish— until you realize exactly what Lyric said. “Wait, it never got published? How do you know about it, then?”
“I am literature itself, as I’m sure you know. So long as it is written, I will always know and remember it. Except for your diary, of course. Then again, Diana’s a more… special case. I’m not exactly sure how she exists. But I’m sure that’s a rabbit hole we can dive down some other day, preferably with Diana herself.”
You can feel the cogs in your brain turning. “So, you’re saying that even if the last copy of a certain book is destroyed, you’ll still remember it?”
“Of course! No matter the damage, the story it contains will always be known.”
You hum in thought, mulling over Lyric’s words. A book that had been written yet destroyed before someone other than the writer had read it… Now that opened up a whole can of possibilities. There were already countless stories, millions of books, but to take into account the ones that no one alive even knew about? Why, the endless list would grow five times in length!
Forget about timeless classics, right now the only thing that intrigues you is the prospect of hearing a story that no one else alive has ever heard. There’s just something so tempting about it, and you can’t deny your craving.
“So…” you start. “What about the books from the library of Alexandria?” It’s the first thing that comes to mind. After all, it’s only the most discussed tragedy you’d learned about growing up.
Lyric, again, loses the cheery expression. “Ah, yes. The great burning of the Library. One of History’s greatest tragedies. So many works of literature were lost that day; poems going up in smoke, textbooks reduced to ash, and so much more consumed by the flames.”
You’re hit with an impulsive thought, and blurt out, “Not to sound close minded, but if some of these stories were so great, how come there weren’t any copies?”
“No worries, you’re not the first to ask this. In fact, it’s been the subject of debate for quite a while.”
“Between experts in the field?”
“Well now, I didn’t say that.”
Both of you devolve into a short fit of giggles at Lyric’s statement. You smile at the sight of him laughing, feeling sort of accomplished. At least he doesn’t look as sad as he did before.
Clearing his throat, he continues. “I’m fairly certain I can answer your question with another question: if you were a scribe, and the printing press still had yet to be invented, would you take the time to carefully and painstakingly copy a play that you know is amazing, yet not likely to be read because it’s not as popular as the others?”
You hum. “I guess not…”
“Of course, that would bring in the argument of popularity versus quality, which is a subject of debate between experts.”
“Heh, yeah.” Finally, you ask Lyric your last question. “Which ones would you say were the funniest?”
Surprisingly, this gets Lyric to hesitate, but only slightly. “Ah, well, hm… I can think of many off the top of my head, although I’m not sure the Greek’s unique brand of comedy would make much sense in today’s terms, especially out of context.” He pauses, clearly thinking it over. “Although… I suppose it couldn’t hurt to attempt. Maybe I could attempt to make modern-day comparisons?”
“Lyric, not to throw your own words back at you, but I’m gonna anyway: you are literature itself. You of all… uh, objects would know how to do it better than anyone else.”
Lyric smirks at the praise. “Well now, when you put it like that.” His eyes begin to light up, gleaming with excitement. “Hmm, let’s see, comedy, comedy, comedy… where do I even begin? There’s Therestai by the attic playwright Euripides. Now that was quite the satyr play. Granted, the jokes being told were more than a little filthy; but my, did they land well every time!” You can tell he’s getting more and more excited. “Or maybe one of Sophocles' greats! Of course, nowadays he’s best known for his play ‘Oedipus Rex’. But that would be like saying A Winter’s Tale is one of Shakespeare’s most renowned works. The modest yet no less woeful tragedy of Oedipus is terrific, but it’s utterly vapid compared to some of his other works!”
You can sense he’s about to go on a tangent, and decide to stop him. “How about the first one, uhh… the-rest-eye?”
“Therestai! An excellent choice! Of course, I should retell it the proper way: three tragedies followed by Therestai; then a vote, to determine which play is the best!”
You’re going to be here for a while.