Category: Curios & Humor

Can You Read This?

Voynich

If you can, you’re set to solve a fascinating historical mystery, which some have termed "the Holy Grail of cryptology"!

The mystery is known as the Voynich Manuscript.

It was revealed by the Russian-American bookdealer Wilfrid Voynich in 1912 and currently resides in a library at Yale University.

It appears to be 500 years old and is written in a form of writing (presumed to be a code) that nobody can read.

Many pages of the Voynich manuscript appear to involve botany, like this one:

Voynich2

Others have illustrations dealing with astronomy, anatomy, and some passages appear to offer recipes.

The text appears to be about 35,000 words long, make up of an alphabet of 20-30 characters (plus a few dozen irregular characters occurring only once or twice apiece).

Textual analysis reveals pattern regularities that suggest it’s in a real language.

Some people think it’s a hoax.

If you crack it, be sure and give me credit in your Author’s Introduction for having put you on to it.

LEARN MORE, SEEKER OF MYSTERY!

Amazing New Sub!

From yesterday’s Drudge Report:

Undergroundmountain

This attack sub was apparently so equipped that it could travel not just underwater, but underground.

Apparently in this case, "sub" means "subterranean" rather than "submarine."

What I want to know is: What was the underground mountain made of that distinguishes it from the rock and dirt around it? Or is it a big mountain inside an even bigger underground cave?

Steve Greydanus Can’t Say His Own Name (Either Of Them)

Not in his introduction to the great novel Gadsby, anyway.

He writes:

What’s missing from this story?, a curiosity

Look at this quotation, from a starting paragraph of a 50,000-word story, Gadsby, found at this link (but don’t click now).

This
is a story with a highly unusual formal oddity — an oddity that I am
aping thoughout this post. Try to work out what this oddity is if you
can.

Branton Hills was a small town in a rich agricultural
district; and having many a possibility for growth. But, through a sort
of smug satisfaction with conditions of long ago, had no thought of
improving such important adjuncts as roads; putting up public
buildings, nor laying out parks; in fact a dormant, slowly dying
community. So satisfactory was its status that it had no form of
transportation to surrounding towns but by railroad, or “old Dobbin.”
Now, any town thus isolating its inhabitants, will invariably find this
big, busy world passing it by; glancing at it, curiously, as at an odd
animal at a circus; and, you will find, caring not a whit about its
condition. Naturally, a town should grow. You can look upon it as a
child; which, through natural conditions, should attain manhood; and
add to its surrounding thriving districts its products of farm, shop,
or factory. It should show a spirit of association with surrounding
towns; crawl out of its lair, and find how backward it is.

Any notion what I’m talking about? If you want to look at a long portion of this story without spoiling its oddity, try this link, which will bring you to its first part.

Writing
this way, as I am doing now, is actually uncommonly difficult. To turn
out such a long story as this following this approach is a
mind-boggling stunt — and a crazy thing to try. What is it that I’m
doing in this short post, and which is drawn out across fifty thousand
words in Gadsby?

That’s it. I quit. I’m done.

[ORIGIN.]

Steve Greydanus Can't Say His Own Name (Either Of Them)

Not in his introduction to the great novel Gadsby, anyway.

He writes:

What’s missing from this story?, a curiosity

Look at this quotation, from a starting paragraph of a 50,000-word story, Gadsby, found at this link (but don’t click now).

This

is a story with a highly unusual formal oddity — an oddity that I am

aping thoughout this post. Try to work out what this oddity is if you

can.

Branton Hills was a small town in a rich agricultural

district; and having many a possibility for growth. But, through a sort

of smug satisfaction with conditions of long ago, had no thought of

improving such important adjuncts as roads; putting up public

buildings, nor laying out parks; in fact a dormant, slowly dying

community. So satisfactory was its status that it had no form of

transportation to surrounding towns but by railroad, or “old Dobbin.”

Now, any town thus isolating its inhabitants, will invariably find this

big, busy world passing it by; glancing at it, curiously, as at an odd

animal at a circus; and, you will find, caring not a whit about its

condition. Naturally, a town should grow. You can look upon it as a

child; which, through natural conditions, should attain manhood; and

add to its surrounding thriving districts its products of farm, shop,

or factory. It should show a spirit of association with surrounding

towns; crawl out of its lair, and find how backward it is.

Any notion what I’m talking about? If you want to look at a long portion of this story without spoiling its oddity, try this link, which will bring you to its first part.

Writing

this way, as I am doing now, is actually uncommonly difficult. To turn

out such a long story as this following this approach is a

mind-boggling stunt — and a crazy thing to try. What is it that I’m

doing in this short post, and which is drawn out across fifty thousand

words in Gadsby?

That’s it. I quit. I’m done.

[ORIGIN.]