A term you'll meet in literary metaphor and textual criticism.
A palimpsest (from the Greek palin, again, + psān, to scrape) is a manuscript on which the original writing has been scraped or washed off so the surface can be reused, but the earlier writing remains faintly visible beneath the new text. The image is literal — medieval monks recycled parchment this way, and modern scholars can sometimes recover the older text using ultraviolet or multispectral imaging. But the literary and theoretical uses of the word have made it one of the most generative metaphors in modern criticism.
Parchment was expensive. When a medieval text became obsolete — outdated theology, copies of ancient pagan literature that had lost relevance — scribes would scrape the ink off and write a new text on top. The bottom layer never disappeared completely. Cicero's De Re Publica, lost for centuries, was partly recovered in 1819 from a palimpsest in the Vatican Library, beneath a later commentary on the Psalms.
The physical fact carried symbolic weight: the older text persists, ghostly, beneath the new. The new writing does not erase the past; it overlays it.
Modern critics use "palimpsest" to describe any text, place, or consciousness in which earlier layers remain readable beneath later ones. The metaphor has several characteristic uses:
Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar's The Madwoman in the Attic (1979) used "palimpsest" to describe nineteenth-century women's writing: surface texts that conformed to patriarchal expectations, with subversive feminist texts visible underneath to those who knew how to read. Jane Austen and the Brontës, on this account, were producing palimpsests — and the work of feminist criticism was to read the suppressed lower layer.
The metaphorical use of "palimpsest" in English largely begins with Thomas De Quincey's Suspiria de Profundis (1845), which compared the human mind to a palimpsest: "everlasting layers of ideas, images, feelings, have fallen upon your brain softly as light. Each succession has seemed to bury all that went before. And yet, in reality, not one has been extinguished." The image captures the persistence of the past in present consciousness.
To call a text a palimpsest is to claim that more than one text is operative in it, and that the older layer can be recovered — that the work rewards a reading attentive to what has been overwritten. The strategy is especially useful for texts that allude heavily, for works in dialogue with a strong predecessor, or for any text whose surface seems to suppress something legible beneath. The question becomes: what is the buried text, and what does its presence change?
Lexio is a free Chrome extension and web app that reads a word's actual context and tells you what it means in this sentence, not from a generic dictionary.
Try Lexio — free →
Read deeper. Understand everything.
© 2026 Lexio · Privacy · Credits