Imagine that the memoirs of a cockroach were discovered. They would be quickly translated into all major languages. Everyone alive would read this or that juicy bit from the celebrated oeuvre, which would be turned into a movie within less than a year, with a television series shortly to follow. Learned tomes would pile up in no time. A whole scientific discipline concerning insect memoirs would spring into existence. The lucky cockroach, soon to be given a penname such as Evelyn, would promptly become the most popular author ever. And rightly so.