In The Art of the Publisher, Roberto Calasso writes: ‘Literature loses all of its magic unless there’s an element of impossibility concealed deep within it.’ O Roberto! How cute he is with his quaint ideas—I want to pinch his cheek. Who talks of the impossible and magic anymore, let alone tucking it deep within literature? These subjects are not polite dinner party conversation—I wonder if they ever were.

Still, I would suggest there is something in Calasso’s comments, and not only because there usually is. I’m going to show that within the kernel of this thing we call literature is indeed the impossible, even the magical. Simple miracles which aren’t discussed nearly enough.