...and that's because I love saying "Herodotus". It's a lovely sound. It rolls and bounces in the mouth. I look at the book, and pick it up, and read a bit about Greek maidens and Io and tragedies. That's nice. But it's not as nice as saying "Herodotus".

I also like the way the book is covered in crackly cellophane, and smells like library paste and fingers of other people. I like to open the thick binding and shut the covers, over and over, just to hear that plastic sing. I drag my fingers over the plastic....SQUUUUUEEEEAK!...oh, it's delightful.

If I read long enough, I can almost imagine great ships rolling about over the Mediterranean Sea, and hear the gasps of the Argonauts, and smell the brine of seawater. I can almost imagine great armaments clashing in battle and the yells of ancient Gods, sitting in their theater arena, pitting human against human for mere entertainment. And then, I get bored, and put the book down, and watch television.

But before I turn the light off and rest my head on my pillow, I say the name again and again.

Herodotus. Herodotus. Herodotus.

And I drift away on a great ship, captive in chains, as my Alexander calls for me:

"Fritz! Fritz! I will rescue thee!"

Ah, thank you, Herodotus.