Gaspard Serge Coriolis

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We’ve yet to discover exactly why FXC replaces the middle name Gustave with Serge.

Here’s a possible clue.

The footnote itself is referenced in the text of Ship of Theseus describing Corbeau as she tries to keep the potential energy of the conflict from turning kinetic.

And on the next page (85), S meets Stenfalk and we catch our first glimpse of the valise – the valise we later find out has (or had) the S symbol on it. Out of the valise comes a shirt and suit jacket, belonging to Stenfalk, that he provides to S out of compassion.

Much later, on p112, Corbeau provides S with serge trousers, alongside a shirt, socks, and boots. These clothes belonged to Zapadi. As S receives these, Pfeifer is staring through the scrollwork cuts in the shutters – which we later find out forms the shape of two S symbols that S notices as he holds hands with Corbeau. And, just prior to that, S watches Stenfalk carry the valise while staring through the S symbols cut into the shutters.

Is FXC, on p84 in the footnote with the word/name Serge for some reason pointing us to p112 when S receives the serge trousers? Is there a connection to be drawn here between the shirt and coat Stenfalk give to S out of the valise and the shirt, trousers, sock, and shoes Corbeau gives to S? Maybe the keyword trousers could be used in conjunction with the made up names in the footnote on p84 to decode a cipher?

These are the only two times in the book that the word serge is used. Surely they are connected?

The Transition from V to VI

On p45, Fn3, we see that Straka “could not hear sounds in frequency range of 2710 Hz. to 2760 Hz.” This frequency range lies on the transition between the musical notes E and F, the 5th and 6th letters of the musical scale.

At the end of the book, the entirety of Chapter 10 takes place in the transition (the empty space?) between Edvar Vevoda V and VI.

FXC received VMS’s telegram in May of 1946 (the fifth month) and then went to Havana in June (the sixth month).

FXC was to meet VMS on June 5, but at midnight, during the transition from the 5th to the 6th, she rushed to his room, only to find it in shambles and what appeared to be Straka’s body below being loaded into a truck.

The text of Ship of Theseus begins officially on page v of the foreword. It’s also home to the very first footnote. Between pages v and vi, we have these six words underlined: the world never knew Straka’s face. The fifth and sixth words are Straka’s face. And these underlined words represent the very first indication of “marginalia” in the text of Ship of Theseus.

Do we have a pun in the title – Translator’s Note and Foreword? Is this related to the translation from the note E and forward to F?

The first footnote deals with the transition from publishers from Karst and Son to Winged Shoes Press.

There are no written words of marginalia on page v. The first letter of marginalia on page vi is S.

FXC divides her foreword into six parts, each part delineated by its corresponding roman numeral. In the marginalia between V and VI, Jen and Eric discuss FXC being born and returning to Brazil.

At the end of Chapter 5 (Down and Out) and in the empty space prior to the beginning of Chapter 6 (A Sleeping Dog), Jen writes, You took a gamble there at the end. Eric responds, I didn’t realize I had done it. It just happened. And we have Eric’s final postcard to Jen from Brazil where he writes boldly I FOUND HER. In Brazil.

The cipher solution to the symbols on the cave wall on p184 has six words: WILL WAIT TEN YEARS THEN HOME. The fifth and six words are THEN HOME – referring to her transition back to Brazil.

Is there anything to this beyond apophenia? You tell me.

Forrest Fenn’s Treasure

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Forrest Fenn's Treasure Auction

Sometimes our quest to find the treasure, like what remains to be found in the Fn on p84, seems fruitless. But at other times, patience brings the treasure to us.

In 2018, my 18 year-old son and I left our home in North Texas to wander the Rocky Mountains in search of Forrest Fenn’s Treasure. Over a 3-day period, we hiked over 25 miles. There we saw herds of elk, mama bear and cubs, mountain lions, tree-bordered wetlands (forest fenns), abandon cabins, and much, much more.

My attempts at solving the mystery behind Forrest Fenn’s treasure failed to produce the elusive chest. But just a few years later, the treasure came to me.

I work at Heritage Auctions. And we currently have the Forrest Fenn treasure up for auction. If you’d like to own a piece of it, feel free to search through the 476 unique pieces and bid on the one that you find most intriguing.

Just leave one for me.

Hail to the Sheaf

The word sheaf and its etymology seem to be begging for our attention…

On p107 of S, S. is on the wharf, knocked to the ground by the bomb’s explosion. While lying there, he has a vision of a girl and a boy standing on that wharf sometime in the past. The girl pushes a sheaf of papers into the boys chest and leaves him. S. is confused because the point of such scenes is that the two people come together – connect. But they don’t, and the boy folds and tucks the sheaf into his overcoat before appearing to throw himself into the sea.

Just prior to this, before the bomb blast, much is made of the bicycle basket the bomb probably arrived in, though the young boy who rode the bicycle is unaware. Multiple times between pp103-105 we are reminded to watch the basket. One latin root for basket is fascis (bundle) – which is also the root for the Italian word for sheaf.

On p84, the poet Wallace Stevens makes an appearance in the marginalia. Stevens’ wife, Elsie, is the model for the obverse of the Mercury Dime, minted from 1916-1945. The design on the reverse of that dime contains a fasces – a bundle of rods with an axe emerging. The U.S. adopted the fasces symbol and uses 13 rods, which is depicted not only on the back of the Mercury Dime but in the House of Representatives on either side of the flag behind the podium and on the armrests of the Lincoln Memorial. Is there a clue here – Wallace Stevens’ poem referenced is 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird.

A sheaf is 24 arrows that an archer carries. Our infamous book within a book is The Archer’s Tales. And S, in its English version at least, contains 456 pages – or 24×19. Do every 19 pages represent an arrow in the quiver? Does our mysterious archer carry the arrows of time?

The German root for sheaf also means tuft, as in the tufted capuchin monkey and the elongated tufts in the sky that turn into waterspouts and destroy S’s ship. And in the implied tuft of hair on the male chamois that revealed the entrance to the cave.

S once thinks None of that sacrifice will be worth a single escudo… (p205). The roots for escudo come from escutcheon (shield), which also comes from the roots for sheaf. Escutcheons are mentioned on p91, as the ships who pick up the secret weapon from the wharf in B__ cover them to hide their identity.

In the cave of the K, Corbeau, S. and Pfeifer marvel at the paintings of a creation myth, which climaxes in one humanoid figure with a crown of feathers and a vulpine (fox) tail (pp178-179). The old Norse root for sheaf means fox’s tail.

When S and Corbeau leap from the cave, S descends into the seawater down to the great depths where the blackscabbards swim. A scabbard is a sheath (same root as sheaf) for a sword.

Sheaf can also loosely mean the bark on a tree – like the cork bark, or sobreiro, on a cork tree.

When S. is in El H___, he visits a storehouse where many people are attempting to protect works of art and paintings from the coming war. There S. sees a painting of what appears to be Sola. The artist is Omar Tisatashar. Tisatashar means 19. Omar is related to the Hebrew word Omer, which means sheaf.

When S. is on Obsidian Island inside the cabin of The Lady, reading The Book of S., he sees drawings of his own ship. And he sees the word Sobreiro subtly shaded into the hull of the ship. When a ship’s hull needs repair, often the process to do so is called sheathing – where a new layer of material coats the old.

There also seems to be some connection between sheath‘s roots that may mean boundary. See the blog post on boundaries.

Particular interesting is that the latin root mergae, meaning sheaf, is connected to marg-o/margen, which means boundary. It is where we get the word margin – where all of our knowledge of Jen and Eric springs!

And finally, a sheaf is a collection of things gathered and bound together. Connected. S. seems to be all about connections.

All of this seems to point definitively toward the Bundling Theory of Identity. You’ll notice in the introduction to this theory comments by philosopher John Locke about the competing Substance Theory of Identity and references to words like substance and substantia – echoing the discussion between S and Pfeifer in the Governor’s garden.

Boundaries

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One of the over-arching themes in “S” appears to be Boundaries. Seeing them, defining them, approaching them, crossing them – penetrating the territories bounded by them – or connecting two distinct and bounded entities by some important means.

For example, the first word in Chapter 1 is Dusk – the boundary between day and night. The next sentence is simply The Old Quarter of a city where river meets sea. The Old Quarter of this city has boundaries, bordered partially by river and sea.

Are boundaries what are described by the mystery What begins at the water shall end there, and what ends there shall once more begin?

S begins his story at the boundary of his memory and spends most of the story attempting to penetrate it.

The Foreword tells us that Straka was attacked in his Havana hotel room at approximately midnight, the boundary between two days. We also learn that Straka’s publisher is Karst and Son. This is likely a deliberate reference to Jan Carstenszoon, a sailor who in 1623 went in search of a mysterious land in the south. In April of that year, he set foot on what would later be named Australia. This encounter led to the first map of the world to ever show any portion of Australia on it.

On p153, Corbeau takes the time to point out she and her band of fugitives are crossing a line of geological demarcation.

A major point in the story is the discovery of the cave. The entrance to the cave would have been missed had Pfeifer not seen a male chamois roughing its horns on the boulder blocking the entrance from view. Ancient boundary stones often had the symbol of Capricorn, or the sea-goat, etched into them. This symbolism here seems intentional. It’s even more apparent in Pfeifer’s beard – when we first meet him, it is described as a caprine drape – goat-like.

When S and Corbeau leap from the cave’s opposite boundary above the sea, they are holding hands – connected. S hears the gunshots fired at them and compares them to corks flying on a New Year’s Eve – at midnight, the boundary separating one year from the other.

Which brings us back to cork – sobreiro. Cork is the outer shell, or boundary, of the tree and is what seals the wine inside until the time comes to let it escape from the boundary formed by the bottle. The cork is what allows the passage across the boundary.

When S plunges into the ocean, he spooks a school of black scabbard fish. These fish exist only at great depths – far too deep for a human to survive and much deeper than a plunge from the cave would normally take him. Clearly S has crossed an unusual boundary.

Words are a gift to the dead and a warning to the living. Is this a reference to the power of the written word to cross the boundary of death by allowing the words of the dead to live on (their gift) and warn the living of what they learned?

Mercury, the god we see referred to repeatedly in S, is the god of travel and boundaries.

The Charles Bridge connects two land masses separated by the Vltava River in Prague. The book Ship of Theseus connects Jen and Eric, bridging the boundaries that otherwise separated them. The constellations that vanish in The Drifting Twins are created by artificial boundaries drawn in the stars, and S must create new ones.

S’s ship is able to go into some mysterious zone generally protected from penetration by others until Vevoda’s planes make their way through – and at the same time it is symbolized by a map in Maelstrom’s chartroom where blood crosses the boundaries drawn on it. Later, we discover that the monkey sleeps beneath the table that holds the maps and underneath the blanket there is Maelstrom’s spyglass.

The monkey’s connection here to maps and boundaries hearkens back to The Territory, where S begins his trek from the river up to the Governor’s mansion with Anca’s instructions to follow the monkey. After S sees a monkey carved into the face of a tree, he discovers that path that leads him from river to the governor’s garden. And the spyglass – when S looks through it, it seems to cross the boundary from present to a vision of the future.

S is temporarily stranded in The Winter City, and Sola must travel in the ship to reach him. S climbs nine stories to meet her and much is made in the book about him crossing the threshold to the room where she waits. It is Sola who guides him across the threshold then and across the ice later that forms the boundary around the city. During S’s stay there, he finds himself bordered by some mysterious force that allows him to see other people but not interact with them.

Obsidian Island is a mysterious place, where S must enter a cabin atop a volcano to see The Lady and read the book of S. Inside, we see Sobreiro etched onto the hull of the ship. The hull is the boundary of the ship that touches the boundary of the water and allows the two to connect.

Vevoda’s weapon takes off heavily because of war, where countries attempt to protect or expand their boundaries by force.

Sola’s map shows the boundaries of Vevoda’s estate and she and S penetrate that boundary through a cave and a dried up well. The first footnote in chapter 10 (p415) talks about the nebulous boundaries of evil.

Vevoda’s estate is said to be in the foothills of the Pyrenees, the boundary separating Spain and France.

We learn in the marginalia that Signe Rabe married Desjardins in Carcassonne. There is a chapel there that sits on the prime meridian, which separates the eastern and western hemispheres.

And finally, there is the climactic moment of choice. On p432, S begins filling a barrel of wine with poison from a goatskin. Remember, goats are symbols of boundaries. S pauses before completing his task and decides this is not what he wants to do. And so he doesn’t. Rather than kill, he creates levity. And in this moment, S decides he is no longer an assassin. The boundary between one version of S and another is marked by the goatskin bag.

There are many, many other examples in the book that seem to emphasize boundaries and the special things that allow connections to be made across them. It’s possible that the S symbol that S sees throughout the book is always connected to boundaries as well.

The first time S sees the symbol is on the wall of the tavern when he is outside of it. He goes inside, crossing the threshold, and there he meets Sola.

He sees it again when he wakes up the ship, written on the wall that forms the boundary of his room there. Later he writes many, many words all around that room on the wall.

The next sighting is on the wall of the Central Power building as S is chasing Sola and sees the detectives preparing to bomb the wharf, a defining point in the story. It is here that S changes his mind about finding Sola and turns back to wharf to warn his new friends.

S sees two of the symbols on Zapadi’s shutters, the boundary between inside and outside on the window. S notices this as he and Corbeau are holding hands – connecting – and having a discussion about connections.

Then S sees the symbol again the cave, while he is holding Corbeau, painted on the cave wall.

And again on the book in the cabin on Obsidian Island on the spine and cover that binds the book of S together.

The S symbol appears four times on the plaque on the sidewalk in the Winter City that marks the boundary where Sobreiro crossed from death to life after falling nine stories from a window above.

The last time we see the S symbol is on the barrels of wine in Vevoda’s cellar. Those barrels are the boundaries that hold in the wine, and the monkey pulls out the bungs to reconnect the wine to the earth. And perhaps, the S symbol appears on all the wine barrels after S’s decision at the first wine barrel at the entrance to the cellars with the goatskin bag.

The monkey sightings, too, could probably all point to some metaphor of boundary crossings, from the first time we see him as two men attempt to communicate across the boundaries of their separate languages until the last time we see him under the table that holds the maps in the chartroom.

Three times in the book, the phrase full stop is used. In the text, both times refer to Pfeifer’s life being in peril (p190,p362). On p190, S is looking at the last drawing in the cave, the finishes in a downward streak. S comments that this is the last thing Pfeifer will see, full stop. On p362, S contemplates writing a full-stop into Pfeifer’s neck as he lay paralyzed on the ground. And finally, in the marginalia on p455, Jen writes I love you. Full stop. The End. Full stop means – the end, the boundary limit.

Connecting across boundaries is what the written word does, and J.J. Abrams and Doug Dorst said that the S. project is a “love letter to the written word.”

The most poignant view of this in S, other than S and Sola seen together at the end on the ship and Jen and Eric together in Prague is the vision S experiences after the bomb goes off on the wharf. He sees a boy and girl, nearing adulthood, there on the boundary of the wharf next to the ocean. The boy has given the girl a sheaf of papers. She shakes her head in some form of disagreement and hands the papers back, forcefully, and then walks away. S then thinks to himself, isn’t the point of scenes like this that the two people—two bodies, two souls—come together?”

It is the point. And the writing on the papers was intended to accomplish that connection, but in this case it did not. Etymological roots for sheaf (as in the papers) and boundary seem to converge.

Particular interesting is that the latin root mergae, meaning sheaf, is connected to marg-o/margen, which means boundary. It is where we get the word margin – where all of our knowledge of Jen and Eric springs!

This theme of boundaries along with the Ship of Theseus idea leads straight into the heart of a unifying theme, at least in my opinion, called autopoiesis and structural coupling. But that is another blog entry entirely.

As Thick as Don Quixote

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When S first encounters Sola, he also encounters The Archer’s Tales. Before we know the title of this important volume, S notices that the book is “as thick as Don Quixote.”

Below is the image from the title page for Don Quixote‘s first edition followed by the insert from S between pages 360-361.

Given the similarities, along with the insert being placed on the pages where the marginalia reveals the birthdate and birthplace of Signe Rabe, we perhaps should pay much more attention to Don Quixote.

The Latin in the image from the title page of Don Quixote, SPERO LYCEM POST TENEBRAS, tranlates to I hope for light after darkness.

Interestingly enough, too, there is a cork tree mentioned in Don Quixote. And on its branch is a hanging wineskin.

New Info (11/24/2022)

I didn’t realize it, but apparently Don Quixote has its own authorship controversy. Author Francis Carr suggests in Who Wrote Don Quixote that the title page shown above is evidence in itself. He suggests that the falconer, hidden from sight by the mist, is indicative that the true author is a mystery. In our version on Jean-Bernard Desjardins (funerary?) card, the falconer’s form is in full view with only his face hidden from view. And, instead of a lion in the background, we have five roses in the foreground. The falcon in Don Quixote’s version is facing away from the falconer. In S, the falcon is facing his handler and he is additionally enshrouded in light.

So the similarities here between the two title pages seem to be giving us more clues as to the authorship controversy and perhaps even its solution. The name Jean-Bernard Desjardins appears prominently below this image. Does this mean the pages he provided to Filomena in Brazil, that he probably got from Signe Rabe, are indeed the real ending? What else, if anything, is this title page saying?

Corbeau Holds S’s Hand(s) Three Times

The first time “S” meets Corbeau in person (p89), she looks S up and down before shaking his hand and saying, “I know enough.” The marginalia discusses how people like Filomela and Durand must be able to intuitively read whether or not someone is interested in a relationship, much like an archaeologist must draw conclusions from what he finds.

Later, as S and Corbeau leave Zapadi’s house in hopes of escaping B__ unnoticed (pp129-132), S is struggling to grasp something hidden in the design of the shutters. Corbeau clutches his hand, and S turns back to look at the house and finally sees it – two S symbols, one a mirror of the other, etched into the scrollwork of the shutters. Immediately underneath the symbols in the text of Ship of Theseus, Corbeau tightens her grip on S’s hand. She says, “Relax. Pretend we belong together.” In the margins, Jen says, “That’s sweet.” There is an insert in the book showing an S symbol inside a cave. S and Corbeau discuss the S symbol. Shortly after, they discuss connections.

Finally, as Corbeau and S are trapped by the detectives at the mouth of the cave high above the sea (pp194-197), she interlaces the fingers of her good hand with his. They have just walked through an S-shaped curve in the cave. One of the detectives bullies, “That’s so sweet.”  The paragraph that follows, according to Jen, has its own isolated page in the original manuscript. Corbeau then says, “Push off hard. Jump out as far as you can.” And then, they leap together, hand-in-hand. As they do, S has a memory of corks (sobreiro) flying on a New Year’s Eve. S has a sense of himself as someone. And then we have the mysterious clue from VMS: They way out was down. Is down.

Does anyone see a pattern to when (and why) they hold hands, what happens, and what they say?

The End of the Line

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When S and Corbeau reach the end of their long, running escape through the cave, they stare out at the ocean below and ponder their fate. And our familiar mystery phrase makes once of its rare appearances in the book…

What begins at the water shall end there, and what ends there shall once more begin.

The Detectives arrive behind them, and they make four statements. Curiously, all four of these utterances can be connected to the theme the end.

  1. Stop where you are. The word STOP in a telegraph marked the end of the sentence since there were no punctuation marks.
  2. This is the end of the line. Enough said.
  3. &^@^%%! Reds! Red is the color at the end of the visible spectrum of light.
  4. That’s so sweet! Etymologically, sweet comes from the word for pleasure/hedonism.

    The doctrine of Aristippus and the Cyrenaic school of Greek philosophers, that the pleasure of the moment is the only possible end…

The emphasis on the end seems well-crafted. The question is, how does this puzzle piece fit into the overall mystery?

 

Follow the Monkey: Sound Advice

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On p352, “S” leaves the canoe in The Territory to find the Governor. He doesn’t know how  to do that, so Anca tells him simply Follow the monkey.

Jen Heyward’s response to this in the margins is Sound advice.

Compare this to S’s reunion with the monkey on p401 after his stay in The Winter City. Sola takes S to the chart room on the resurrected ship where they find the monkey asleep beneath the table. S comments It’s as if the thing is following me.

Sola responds Or you’re following it.

And then the text says something curious about Sola.

Though he cannot see her face, she sounds as if she is smiling.

So there it is again. “Follow the monkey” followed by an interesting use of the word sound.

Immediately after this comment, Sola picks up a scrap of paper and hands it to S, announcing Our map.

In both of these cases where following the monkey seems very important, we are given seeming clues that sound is involved followed by the discovery of a path/map to follow.

Oh, and just to point out one more interesting tidbit, in the margins on p401 as all of the above is happening, Jen mentions calling Jacob. In Hebrew, Jacob means to follow.

 

 

Shakespeare in “S”

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By guest Adam Laceky

Doug Dorst said from the outset that “S.” is partly inspired by the authorship controversy surrounding Shakespeare’s works. This blog has already shown how a famous Shakespearean scholar and his daughter are invoked in SoT.

The Shakespeare connection doesn’t end there.

Interlude is loaded with references to Shakespeare. It’s a good bet that whatever cipher is hidden in Interlude, Shakespeare holds a clue to its solution.

Here are the most obvious allusions to Shakespeare. In keeping with the “beginnings and endings” theme of Ship of Theseus, they all occur at the beginning or the ending of the plays.

P. 301: “Good night, foul prince.” This is a play on the line from Hamlet, “Good night, sweet prince.”

[NOTE: “Prince” is a recurring theme in Interlude: Gavril Princip, Principality of Rumor.]

P. 323: “Star-crossed lovers… so very Shakespearean!”
This is an obvious reference to Romeo and Juliet.

 

  • Jen Haywood reminisces about studying King Lear
  • No other references to King Lear have been found

 

P. 328: The “mediated writing” that S scratches into the orlop walls alludes to the Prologue to Shakespeare’s King Henry V.:

SHAKESPEARE:
O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention…

S.’s SCRAWLING:
O Sola! O for you to
transcend this brightest
bedlam of invention!

Eric says of the above passage: “Invocation of the muse…”

This is interesting, because Shakespeare invokes the muse, but Eric seems unaware of the Henry V allusion. I think Dorst uses Eric and Jen to drop clues to the reader. Jen writes about studying King Lear. I admit I haven’t studied King Lear, but I bet there’s a clue in there.

Other Shakespearean connections in SoT include Shakespeare’s play “Coriolianus,” whose name is more than a little similar to Straka’s book “Coriolis.”  Add to that “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” whose main character is Theseus.

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The word “rumor” occurs four times in the Interlude. It seems pretty important.

 Let’s look at the Prologue to Shakespeare’s Henry IV, part 2.

“Enter RUMOUR, painted full of tongues” (RUMOUR proceeds to tell of his sowing of fear and false security…)

The Shakespeare Concordance lists 19 instances of the word “rumour.” The spelling “rumor” appears twice. This is a possible example of the “19+2” pattern throughout Ship of Theseus.

Shakespeare’s works were first published in small books called “quartos.” The quartos were of dubious origin. Many of them appeared to have been pieced together from the actors’ memories, and from audience members transcribing the lines during the play. They were the Elizabethan equivalent of bootlegs. This ties in with the authorship controversy surrounding Ship of Theseus and Shakespeare’s works.

In 1623*, the First Folio was published: the first official publication of Shakespeare’s plays.

What’s interesting about this is that before the First Folio, 19 quartos were published. After the First Folio, another two quartos were published. They were supposedly collaborations between Shakespeare and another playwright. Another authorship controversy. And another instance of the 19+2 pattern.

(As an irrelevant, non-Shakespearean aside, a third example of the 19+2 pattern appears on page 318 in Interlude. The second paragraph begins “It’s not so much the killing…” and then lists 18 more participles (words ending in -ing) before the first comma, and then there are two more participles before the end of the paragraph.)

 
*In 1623, Arquimedes de Sobreiro was in Stockholm, and Jan Carstenszoon landed in  Australia on an exploration that eventually produced the first widely used world map that showed any portion of Australia.

You Can Find Me in Times Square?

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The plaque shown above appears on p387. It marks not only the spot where Arquimedes de Sobreiro fell nine stories and died in 1625, but it also is the location where Sola finds S after his disappearance and purgatorial stint in the Winter City.

The plaque has the curious characteristic of every portion of the time (two-digits at a time) of Sobreiro’s death being a perfect square: 01/09/1625.

Time squared? Times Square?

There are a number of compelling reasons beyond the play on numbers that indicate that Times Square in NYC may be rendezvous point communicated secretly in Ship of Theseus between FXC and VMS.

  1. The building that S meets Sola in, and where Sobreiro lived and died, is nine stories tall and has a portico (pp. 386-387). The first building that stood where One Times Square now stands is the Pabst Hotel. It was nine stories tall and had a controversial portico that faced numerous legal battles before its destruction.
  2. Jennifer Hayward circles one of the “S” symbols in the plaque and writes “And in Filomela’s cave, too.” Earlier in Ship of Theseus, when S leapt from the cave holding hands with Corbeau and the agents began firing pistols at them, he imagined he could hear “corks flying on a New Year’s Eve” (p 197). Sobreiro means, literally, “cork” and the most popular spot in America on New Year’s Eve is and was Times Square, not far from where FXC maintained her office on E 33rd Street at Winged Shoes Press (see Fn10, p446).
  3. Times Square had the nickname The Great White Way . The Winter City could easily have that nickname as well. Everything was blanketed in white. It also has the nickname The Center of the Universe, which has lots of connotations within “S” as well.
  4. Every year, beginning in 1907, One Times Square has hosted the now famous ball drop at midnight on New Year’s Eve. The ball that is dropped is a form of time ball used to visually notify ships and others of the exact time. One of the first and most famous time balls is the one at the Royal Greenwich Observatory, located on the prime meridian and the home of the standard Greenwich Mean Time. One of the observatory’s designer’s was Robert Hooke, who was instrumental in standardizing time and using it as a method of calculating precise longitude for nautical navigation. Robert Hooke also is the person who coined the word cell in the biological sense when he looked through an early microscope at a piece of cork and noticed the tiny compartments.
  5. In the S book-hunt-and-giveaway (known as S.earch – December 16-20, 2014), the first book was hidden at The Exley – a bar in Brooklyn. The bar is named after author Frederick Exley, who died before completing his spy novel titled Mean Greenwich Time. The second book’s first clue was “You’ll find it in the city of 1 4 9 16” which referred to the City of Squares: Boston – specifically Cambridge. Here Doug Dorst seems to be calling our attention to Greenwich Mean Time and to the use of perfect square numbers as a hint to a location.
  6. On p122, Jen solves one of FXC’s ciphers to VMS. The deciphered text is AVOID GRAND CENTRAL. KEY STOLEN. ASSUME BAG GONE. I FAILED. The implication behind this message is that it would be completely normal for Straka to be in New York City, after his supposed death in Havana. While FXC has lost the key to an important safe box of some kind that contained an important bag, she is telling Straka that while you are in NYC, avoid Grand Central. The implication is, then, if they wanted to meet in some way, it would have to be somewhere else in the city. After all, FXC has an office on E. 33rd street (as close as just 9 blocks away) from the southern end of Times Square.
  7. Times Square on a New Year’s Eve or any other date secretly communicated between FXC and VMS would be a perfect place to meet. The crowd would hide Straka and he would be able to approach FXC without being identified.
  8. The most intriguing connection is this: The time ball in Greenwich could only be seen from so far away. Communicating the time over a distance required better technology. The invention and development of the telegraph has many allusions in S. Sending time signals across telegraph, initially by wire and then by radio, was crucial to helping know accurate time. Calais, France, was an instrumental part of this development. It was the location of the first underwater telegraph signal (from Dover) and was used as a time signal – thus replacing the time ball. It all goes back to Calais.J.J. Abrams and Doug Dorst have called “S” a love letter to the written word. The written word is communicating over a distance. Is communicating time over a distance a metaphor for this?Is the fact that communicating time over a distance helped establish an accurate calculation of longitude which then led to the GPS system and the world map as we know it part of the metaphor? And why we have an EOTVOS wheel with GPS coordinates?

    The world knows his name says the foreword.

Comments? Do you think this plaque and meetup in the winter city that shows Sola meeting “S” as a clue to where FXC meets VMS?

 

 

 

 

 

 

S Explores Himself

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Karst & Son is the publisher of Straka’s first 18 works. A fellow S enthusiast, Adam Laceky, noticed a tombstone with the name Carstensen and pointed out the similarities to Karst & Son.

This led me back to Jan Carstenszoon, a 17th-century Dutch explorer who is referenced by code in the TV show LOST. And why? Because in 1623 he landed in Australia, which until that time had been sparsely glimpsed, not known to be a new continent, and yet to be included on any map of the world available to the general public. It was his exploration in 1623 that led to this first widely available map of the world to show any portion of Australia – a 1630 map by Hendrik Hondius.

The search for Terra Australia Incognita and its cartography is a metaphor for self-discovery. S’s journey is exactly that – the search to discover who he is. And our very first footnote from FXC points us back to that metaphor.

The second footnote in the book may also lead to a map. Turn the page and let’s see.

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Le Monde did not exist in 1935. It was founded in December, 1944. So just what is FXC trying to say? Typically when she mentions something that is obviously false, it is a clue.

In the December, 1935 issue of National Geographic a map was included. The title of the map is The World (or Le Monde in French).

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National Geographic says in this issue of this map…

Moreover, this World Map is the first to be issued showing with certainty that Antarctica is a single continent, not two islands – the epochal conclusion reached by Admiral Byrd after a series of flights and surveys made on his expedition of 1933-35.

Two maps, both pertaining to the search for Terra Australis Incognita, and both the first of their kind to reveal or confirm a new continent.

The first map also leads us to 1623 (remember the LOST numbers 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42?). S seems to be filled with references to Shakespeare, and in 1623 Shakespeare’s First Folio was published. It is considered one, if not the, most influential books published in the English language.

The second map points us to Antarctica, which has many possible references in S.

And Hemingway? There is no evidence that he and Straka and the relationship that FXC suggests. So is Hemingway a clue? If so, here’s one idea. Hemingway had a deep focus on physical locations in his works – literary cartography?

This seems to be a deliberate design, and there must be much more to uncover.

Given that JJ Abrams and Doug Dorst have called the book S a “love letter to the written word”, it is very possible that this footnote is hinting to us that Shakespeare and/or Australia and/or Antarctica and/or cartography is a key to deciphering the mysteries of S.

Thoughts?

Is this our Clue for the Code?

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Some time ago, we discovered that the sum of the numbers of the agents mentioned in the Interlude was 171 (19×9).

Some other time ago, Adam Laceky told me he was convinced that the major mnemonic system was somehow afoot within the Interlude and perhaps more of SoT. I had never heard of the MM and was reluctant to believe.

He pointed out that if you take the numbers of the first two agents mentioned in the Interlude (4, 34) and apply the MM, you get the word RUMORIntriguing, given the emphasis on that word in the footnotes and the alternative title to Ship of Theseus (Principality of Rumor), but still. Is there more?

On p307, Adam insists, we discover the 5th Fn of the Interlude, and it focuses heavily on music. In the MM, 307 = music.

Apophenia! I challenge. To which Adam points out that Sola = 05, and there is a conspicuous absence in the agent numbers of either 5 or 0, as there is a conspicuous absence of Sola in the Interlude.

At this point, Adam had me delving into the world of the MM and searching to corroborate his insistence that it had something to do with the Interlude code. Whereas I have always been convinced that the key was the title of chapter: Toccata and Fugue in Free Time – just as Jennifer Hayward writes herself directly beneath the title.

What if both are true?

Toccata = 171 – which happens to be the sum of our agent numbers.

Fugue = 87 – the sum of agents 4, 34, 47, and 2.

Free = 84 – the sum of the remaining agents 26, 8, 9, and 41.

Toccata = Fugue + Free?

What about time, you say? Where does it fit in?

Time = 13 – the number of footnotes in the Interlude.

I’m now convinced. The MM is somehow a key, if not the key, to the interlude cipher. Adam and I are calling on the rest of you who are still working on S to join us in ferreting  out the Interlude cipher and its solution. Together, we should discover it in time.

 

SToRA KArlso?

The following is an interesting theory by Adam Laceky. It’s a sequel of sorts to his theory that the Toronto Review (one of the inserts) is actually a secret message from FXC to VMS.

It appears that Straka left a message in chapter 3 telling Caldeira his location.

Here’s the evidence:

“The Zapadi Three” were workers at Vevoda’s factory. They disappeared after accusing Vevoda of malfeasance. Later in the chapter, we learn their names:

Zapadi
Obradovic
Ledurga

In Straka’s native language of Czech, “zapad” means “west.”
In FXC’s native language of Portuguese, “obrado” means “I have worked.”
Ledurga is a municipality of Latvia.

Ledurga is due south of Tallinn, Estonia. You might recognize Tallinn as the home town of Ragnar Rummo. (See ch.6, fn. 5)

Tallinn is due east of Stockholm. (See the above post)

Stockholm, Tallinn, and Ledurga define three corners of a nearly-perfect rectangle.

The fourth corner of this rectangle is due south of Stockholm, and due WEST of Ledurga: Stora Karlsö. It’s a tiny island (~1 square mile) off the coast of Gotland, itself an island of Sweden. It’s the oldest national park in the world, after Yellowstone. It’s mainly known for its rich birdlife. And its name contains, unsubtly, another name: STRAKA. Just drop the first “o.”

SToRA KArlsö

It looks like Straka was telling Caldeira “I have worked [my way] west from Ledurga.”

Where did he work his way to? SToRA KArlsö. The fourth corner of the rectangle.

The island was inhabited until the 1970s, when its status as a bird sanctuary forced permanent residents off the island. Today, it has a hotel and a restaurant and other accommodations for tourists, but no permanent residents.