Numero Zero by Umberto Eco

note the explanation, but we understand that Signor Perniketti’—always keep to Signor, rather than Onorevole or Dottor; Signor is the worst insult in our country—‘has sent dozens of denials to countless newspapers. This must indeed be a full-time compulsion.’ This way, readers become convinced he is paranoid. You see the advantage of insinuation: by saying that Perniketti has written to other newspapers, we are simply telling the truth, which can’t be denied. The most effective insinuation is the one that gives facts that are valueless in themselves, yet cannot be denied because they are true.”
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    With these recommendations clear in our minds, we began what Simei termed a brainstorming session. Palatino reminded us that he had previously worked on a puzzle magazine, and he suggested the newspaper include half a page of games, along with television schedules, weather, and horoscopes.
    â€œHoroscopes, of course!” Simei said. “Great that you reminded us, they’re the first things our readers will be looking for! Yes, of course, this is your first task, Signorina Fresia. Go read a few newspapers and magazines that publish horoscopes, and take some of the recurring themes. But keep to optimistic predictions—people don’t like being told that next month they’re going to die of cancer. And give predictions that will apply to everyone, by which I mean that a woman of sixty isn’t going to be interested in the prospect of meeting the young man of her life, whereas the prediction, let’s say, that some event in the coming months will bring this Capricorn lasting happiness will suit everybody—adolescents (if they ever read it), aging spinsters, and office clerks waiting for a pay raise. But let’s address the games, my dear Palatino. What do you suggest? Crosswords?”
    â€œYes, crosswords,” said Palatino. “Unfortunately, we have to do the kinds of crosswords that ask who ruled Germany during the Second World War.”
    â€œIt would be a small miracle if the reader were to write ‘Hitler,’” sneered Simei.
    â€œMeanwhile the cryptic crosswords in foreign newspapers have clues that are a puzzle in themselves. Recently, in a French newspaper, I saw ‘the friend of simples,’ and the solution was ‘herbalist,’ because simples aren’t just simpletons, but also medicinal herbs.”
    â€œThat’s no use to us,” said Simei. “Our readers won’t know what simples are, nor will they know what an herbalist is or does. Stick with Hitler, or the husband of Eve, or the mother of a calf, and stuff like that.”
    Maia spoke at this point, her face illuminated by an almost childlike smile, as if she were about to do something mischievous. Crosswords were fine, she said, but readers had to wait for the next issue to find out whether their answers were correct. We could also pretend that some kind of competition had been started in previous issues and the readers’ funniest answers could be published here. We could ask readers to provide the silliest answers to an equally silly question.
    â€œAt university we amused ourselves by thinking up some weird questions and answers. Like: Why do bananas grow on trees? Because if they grew on the ground, they’d be snapped up by the crocodiles. Why do skis slide on the snow? Because if they slid only on caviar, winter sports would be too expensive.”
    I joined in the game: “Why was whiskey invented in Scotland? Because if it had been invented in Japan, it would be sake, and you couldn’t drink it with soda. Why is the sea so vast? Because there are too many fish, and it would make no sense to put them on the Great Saint Bernard Pass. Why does the rooster crow a hundred and fifty times? Because if it crowed thirty-three times, it would be the Grand Master of the Freemasons.”
    â€œHold on,” said Palatino. “Why are