ABSTRACT
Stories, stories everywhere. From cradle to grave we tell stories with hardly a pause from work, play, and sleep. We read bedtime stories to children, concoct stories about our fishing exploits, and confide “you’ll never believe this” stories to friends, and hairdressers. We shed tears over Love Story, titillate with the Story of O., devour inside stories, and flock to see the sequels to The Neverending Story. We rehash triumphs at work as quest sagas, failures in romance as Aeschylean tragedies, and holiday hunts for that no-frills Athens hotel near Omonia Square as mini-odysseys. Late for work, we feed stories to the boss from the hallowed repertoire of traffic snarls, ailing relatives, and automobile malfunctions. Late at night we even dream stories, sometimes in beta-wave equivalent of Panasonic and Technicolor.
