2175: A Brief Preliminary Treatise (Pending Clarity) on the Cosmic Universality of The Little Book of Fitzartur Foibles
by the Department of Transcendental Meta‑Narratology, Mallard Universarium
It was agreed—by an unusually unanimous faculty vote, which naturally caused some alarm—that the Department must at last publish an official position on the so‑called Little Book of Fitzartur Foibles. This decision was made at 3:17 a.m., or 3:19 depending on which timeline one subscribes to (and several of us do, for academic diversity). Someone had just opened the Book during the faculty soirée, and by the time the Dean sobered up enough to quote himself, the building had developed recursion.
We therefore convened in Seminar Room 7B (rotated at a pleasing forty‑five degrees to regular spacetime) to review our findings, though it should be noted that any attempt to review the Book leads inevitably to being reviewed by it instead.
Opening Remarks (Before the Room Became Circular)
The Little Book of Fitzartur Foibles needs no introduction, which is fortunate, as every introduction written for it has subsequently turned into a limerick about entropy. Its existence has been noted throughout history, pre‑history, post‑history, and what one colleague termed “that in‑between bit when causality went on sabbatical.” Copies have been found—or have found us—in Sumerian temples, Martian archives, and the glove compartment of a 1987 Ford Fiesta hovering inexplicably above Lake Winnipeg.
Every civilisation that’s encountered the Book has concluded three things:
* It contains every mythology known or as‑yet‑to‑be‑invented.
* Its pages rearrange themselves according to the reader’s mood, diet, and planetary magnetic orientation.
* It refuses quite stubbornly to end.
In its present state (which may already have changed by publication of this sentence), it takes the form of what librarians call a “Möbius Sphere”. For non‑specialists, this is an object which has one side, one edge, and the undying urge to contradict topologists. The text curls through itself so that the act of reading constitutes a small yet spiritually meaningful form of travel.
The Nature of Research Difficulties
Scholarly engagement with the Book might be described as “ongoing,” although “perpetually resetting” is more accurate. Every time a member of faculty opens the volume, the universe makes a faint noise like the turning of an enormous page, and our computers reboot with new operating systems. Since last Tuesday, the Department’s email signature has evolved into haiku.
Dr. Persimmon of Comparative Mythotronics swears he once read within its pages the Epic of Gilgamesh, only subtitled “A Romantic Comedy of Errors”. Another colleague insists she has found, between chapters twenty‑three and thirty‑one (which appears only on leap days), the tale of a post‑industrial Prometheus who stole firewalls instead of fire and was punished by having his passwords eternally reset.
At least one graduate student disappeared entirely into the Book’s binding last term, leaving only an abstract, three citations, and a faint smell of cinnamon. We now oversee his tenure from the inside, which has simplified scheduling significantly.
On the Structure of the Infinite Narrative
Attempts to measure the Book’s mass, volume, or calorie content lead inevitably back to Newtonian poetry. It appears both boundless and contained, infinitely large when viewed side‑on but small enough to rest on one’s lap if one has the correct metaphysical posture.
Each reading rearranges the myths as though they are speaking to one another across time. When Dr. Zanthor opened it to page ∞, Beowulf was having tea with Scheherazade while Loki heckled from the margins. Moments later the pages turned themselves, and the same story appeared again, but this time Luke Skywalker was arguing with an early Mesopotamian water god over royalties.
The consensus (provisional as always) is that the Book acts as a kind of narrative nervous system for the cosmos. Stories move through it the way electricity moves through nervous faculty meetings: occasionally in sparks, mostly by accident.
Applications and Unexpected Side Effects
Since the Department’s formation, grant committees have repeatedly asked what practical benefits can come from studying an artefact that refuses to behave, let alone produce citations. Our standard reply—“existential reassurance”—has yet to secure adequate funding.
However, we have documented some side effects worth remarking upon. After extensive exposure to the Book, several staff began speaking exclusively in parables. The janitorial golems developed religious tendencies and refuse to tidy the Book’s display case, claiming divine copyright. Even the campus pigeons have begun nesting in Möbius patterns, which has complicated spatial geometry and custodial schedules alike.
On the Question of Authorship
The author—or one might say the authorial principle—of Fitzartur Foibles remains unidentified. The name “Fitzartur” appears to derive from an Anglo‑Norman root meaning “son of art,” which is either profoundly symbolic or a cosmic pun. Various hypotheses exist: that the Book wrote itself; that it is the final consciousness of a collapsed star; or that it’s the universe’s way of killing time while waiting for intelligent life to improve.
We have, on occasion, used divination by footnote (a method involving bibliographies read counterclockwise) to contact whatever intelligence dwells within. It replied—through a change in font size—that it preferred not to be peer‑reviewed, citing “creative differences with linear causality.”
Preliminary Conclusion (Subject to Revision, Reincarnation, and Typographical Error)
After two centuries of research, the Department of Transcendental Meta‑Narratology can confirm with moderate uncertainty that The Little Book of Fitzartur Foibles is both fiction and function, a library about itself, a paradox with binding. It may be the echo of Creation’s first story told back into the void, a cosmic diary kept by language before words realised they needed readers.
To open it is to invite every myth that ever lived or meant to, and to close it is to suspect that you have become one.
Our current working model describes the Book as a conversation the universe is having with its own imagination. When you read it, the universe listens politely, waiting for you to say something interesting before continuing the plot elsewhere.
The committee will issue a longer report when minutes can again be kept in sequential order. Until then, all faculty are reminded that opening the Book after midnight constitutes an act of narrative summoning, and anyone who hears laughter echoing from the non‑fiction wing should, as always, leave the building quietly and backwards.
In summary—subject to next week’s findings and fiscal adjustments—the Department concludes that The Little Book of Fitzartur Foibles contains everything, including us, arguing fruitlessly over the footnotes.
And somewhere, beyond metaphor and the Vice‑Chancellor’s understanding, the Book turns another page.
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