Richard Fox's More than words represents a sea change in the way we look at philology and textuality by decisively addressing a problem that was identified by George Lakoff and Mark Johnson in Metaphors we live by. In this work, Lakoff and Johnson developed the idea of conduit metaphors, the notion that thought is communicated by first being packaged and conveyed in script language and then unpackaged at the receiving end of communication. According to the conduit metaphor and its descendants and allies, there is an ineffable mental picture of thought, or thought as an ineffable presence in communication, that can be communicated across languages and cultural systems. While this idea has been expressed by different thinkers in different ways, in all variations of it, languages are conceived as a value-free tool for conveying a message. Some, like Walter Ong, tried to question this paradigm; but Ong's work on noetics ultimately also carried forth the old metaphor of script and language as a kind of packaging and thus did not provide us with a way to get beyond the conduit.

Accounts of Buddhism in Thailand, Burma and Cambodia offer detailed descriptions of ‘the power attributed to inscribed amulets, tattoos, and related forms of writing’ (p. 8). But earlier scholarship on Southeast Asia ‘often looked down on non-literary uses of script’, treating it as either a ‘non-Buddhist “cultural” accretion or the ignoble trappings of popular superstition’ (p. 8). Such judgements were based on an idealised conception of Buddhism that focused on canonical scripture, and congealed under colonial rule. Where Richard Fox finds a fruitful ‘indeterminacy’ in the aksara of Bali, colonial scholarship tended towards overdetermination, creating a rigid hierarchy of Buddhist scriptural forms. Pali, the language in which generations of monks had chanted, thought and wrote, was deemed ‘less than’ Sanskrit, but ‘more than’ the plethora of indigenous languages of the region.

When confronted with Hindu and Islamic script-bearing objects in Southeast Asia, I often find myself asking ‘What is a text?’ Such dynamic objects are often believed to be imbued with life and to partner with humans and other sentient beings in ritual exchanges, particularly where protection is required. This question has deeply informed my own work so, when reading Richard Fox's More than words: Transforming script, agency, and collective life in Bali (Cornell University Press, 2018), I felt I was in the presence of a like-minded scholar whose interests resonate with my own. It is an honour then to contribute to this collection of essays celebrating Fox's important book for the Journal of Southeast Asian Studies.

I am not a specialist on Bali. I did live in Bali for more than a year in total over the past several decades, thus witnessing first hand its changing lifeways. I am a cultural and intellectual historian of Bali's neighbouring island of Java, and I carried out research on the central Javanese, specifically Solonese, shadow theatre in the early part of my career. I spent around five years in the city of Solo between 1972 and 1984, half of that time attending performances, and the other half hanging out with puppet masters, shadow theatre aficionados, and students of shadow theatre, and organising a project on collecting branch stories, stories that deviate from the trunk stories of the Solonese shadow theatre repertoire. The repertoire I was researching was the Javanese Mahabharata and Ramayana stories, a repertoire with which I was quite familiar. I was asked to be part of this special review to offer comparative insights between southern Balinese and central Javanese cultures from the point of view of the performing arts. From this perspective, I felt exhilarated to read Richard Fox's More than words and to read how literally alive Balinese letters, writ large and small, are in present-day Bali.

The world, Fox shows in More than words, tends to be a lot more open-ended than we imagine, with more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of, not just in our philosophy but also our philology. As a student of Javanese literature, I had encountered glimpses of this open-endedness on the pages of manuscripts where we sometimes find little dots on top of Javanese letters. These dots often appear in the literature of Islamic Java written in the carakan alphabet. Known to us as diacritics, they are used for originally Arabic words to produce sounds for which there is no letter in Javanese. Not all originally Arabic words get dots in Javanese texts: while a significant percentage of the Javanese vocabulary is adopted from Arabic, many words have become naturalised to the extent that their origin has become invisible. Sometimes, however, one does find dotted letters, marking words as somehow different from the other Javanese words around them. With Fox's analysis in More than words, I want to ask: how do we understand these dots? And what should we do with them?