"...Dad, I Don't Get It."

Barley, a dog, looks up at the photographer without understanding, after having been presented with a page from the Codex Seraphinianus.

I first learned of the Codex Seraphinianus in the early 2000s. It’s a remarkable object, a sort of asemic curio that mixes writing in a nonsense non-language with uncanny illustrations that feel like they lie just across a boundary that renders them unhelpful. Reading it gives an adult a flavor of the feeling a small, pre-literate child might feel when picking up a reference book without yet being able to understand its contents. However, when I first learned of this object, it was effectively out of print, and used copies of its luxurious single-volume edition from the 1980s were routinely selling for over $600, far too rich for my blood. However, when country went into lockdown in the spring of 2020, I discovered to my delight that when I hadn’t been paying attention, a new edition of the book had been issued that brought its price point down from prohibitive to merely irresponsible, so I decided to purchase it and a number of other self-indulgent titles from local booksellers who I earnestly wished to support while their retail locations remained closed. It is now one of my treasured possessions.

Perhaps fittingly, Barley has never needed any help with the experience of being a pre-literate creature, and I can’t say she found its approximate illustrations of dogs to be even a little illuminating.