The Problem of Originality

The new economy of narrative, while solving the problem of isolation, soon gave rise to a new and unforeseen challenge: the problem of originality. In a world where stories were the primary currency, the value of a story was determined by its uniqueness. A baker who could provide a truly original flavour, a weaver who could create a truly original colour, a musician who could compose a truly original melody – these were the new merchant princes of the archipelago of dreams.

This created a new kind of competition, a frantic and often ruthless search for the new, the different, the unprecedented. Authors, who had once been content to create their own, perfect, self-contained worlds, were now constantly looking over their shoulders, terrified that another author might discover their new idea first.

The interstitial spaces, which had once been bustling with the friendly and collaborative spirit of the first trades, now became more tense, more guarded. Authors would meet not with open hands, but with carefully worded contracts and non-disclosure agreements. The language of co-writing, which had once been a language of shared creation, now became a language of intellectual property and narrative copyright.

The beautiful, interconnected web of stories was still there, but it was now tangled with the thorny vines of ownership and originality. The citizens of Chorus, having escaped the perfect loneliness of their own creativity, were now facing the anxious and competitive loneliness of the marketplace.