Reprint of the original, first published in 1881.

Bell strokes toll out the death of an unknown man, and summon Lord Wimsey to East Anglia to solve the mystery.

A code-generated project for print, Ringing the Changes is an homage to the art of bell-ringing. Ordinary folk in seventeenth-century England sought to ring all 7! (7 x 6 x 5 x 4 x 3 x 2 x 1=5040 ) permutations—all the different arrangements or “changes” possible—with seven bells. Their quest to perform mathematical patterns with their bodies is re-inaugurated here, using code and cited language. A full peal signifies all permutations, but shorter “method” sequences are rung today, such as the Scientific Triples peal used in this Python code. Method performances visit a number of changes, but only once each. In the ringing world, this constraint is called truth; to repeat any row would make the performance false. A random element has also been added: each bell is given 23 sounds, analogous to overtones. Each is a voice, a short text to read, or hear, or view as a score. In any run of the code, one of these 23 is randomly assigned to its bell—subject to the constraint that all 23 choices must be allotted before any are repeated. Six of the bells have one preponderant source, cited at length; a medley of others briefly appear. Each text, over the course of 161 changes (here, pages), is repeated seven times. The words sampled in Ringing the Changes allude to changes that need to be rung—that is, considered and heard—in our lives and communities. By permuting and re-aligning these texts, a generated order makes plain how concerns can be variously mapped and, thus, variously understood; by enacting the differences ordering and context make, it helps us to refuse a “canonical” order, or hierarchy, of attention, such as is normally enforced by print presentation, thereafter to be lionized and remediated as “true” or “fake.”

The story of William of Sens, the architect commissioned to rebuild the central portion (the choir) of Canterbury Cathedral after the fire of 1174. Over-weeningly proud of this honour and his abilities, just as he places the keystone in place, William plummets to the floor from the high scaffold. Despite months of painful recuperation, William will only relinquish the finishing of his work to others after a visitation from Michael the Archangel.