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" I had the impression that they were ...

a kind of detritus extruded by the place

itself ... And even later on, when I came

to rummage through these recrements,

they retained for me something of

this desiccated, friable texture, and

there were times when I fancied that I

too from prolonged contact with them

was beginning to moulder and would

steadily crumble away until nothing

remained of me but a shapeless heap

of unidentifiable odds and ends. "

— THE NARRATOR, IN JOHN BANVILLE’S ATHENA (1996)

78 79