This must be weird story month in The New Yorker. The Millhauser allegory was odd enough, but now we’ve got Calvino and the wooly mammoths. (A rock band?) Anyway, it seems that the moon is old and dying, but it isn’t the first time. The current rise of life on the planet is just the latest; there was another time when cities much like the current cities were built and people disposed of goods without thought. Their moon was dying, too, and eventually, because it grew ugly and ragged, the people threw it on the trash heap. Except the Daughters of the Moon rescued it and sent it into the sea. Whereupon it reemerged and climbed back into the sky.
I’ve got no idea what’s going on. You?
February 23, 2009: “The Daughters of the Moon” by Italo Calvino