Our lives are collections of information—from mundane official documents, poignant family photos, and random artifacts to the cues embodied in our genes. Never is this more evident than in the wake of a parent’s death. Yet from all these elusive, even evanescent, data points, history is written and a future is made. This information is stored on clay tablets and wood pulp; in vinyl grooves, compact discs and magnetic patterns; and relayed over undersea cables and satellite cell networks. But all information decays. Everything that we put “in formation” eventually collapses into randomness. In this wide–ranging examination of the micro and macro, world–renowned scholar Thomas S. Mullaney reflects on the deaths of his parents, and on how human lives “disappear”. Lyrical and poignant, his erudite, inspiring meditation offers eye–opening insight on the miracle of existence, and on what it means to forge meaning from a chaotic universe.
A brilliant foray into the nature of information, of history, and of making meaning in the face of death and decay
