Exile, or, A Tale of Enchantment in Eight Parts

The people of the Republic of Z—rthe have become used to earthquakes. Less so to sudden and acute morphological transformation. But the newly re-opened Consulate of X—ppe is about to change all of that.

The Consulate of X—ppe in the Republic of Z—rthe has always been a morose and gloomy place. Now, however, it is also an unstable place, as its functionaries and its attachés, its translators and its hangers-on won’t stop mutating. Not enough that the daughter of the Consul General has dwindled to a shriveled, anthropomorphic rock, the size, roughly, of a pint glass. Not enough that a truckload of joyriding Marines, having provoked the ire of a glue-addled little girl, has been transformed into a pod of beached and frantic dolphins. Additionally, a beloved disciple of the Economic Affairs Liaison has developed a skin disease that has left him looking distinctly botanical. Not to mention the tragic and fiery end to the boy who attempted to drive his chauffeur-father’s Cadillac.

Like Douglas Adams with a mean streak or Robert Graves in a whimsical mood, T. Edward Abbott has reconfigured eight classic myths of exile and transfiguration into a collection of playful stories shot through with disquieting humor and dark anxiety. A feast of magical disorientation, Exile cuts to the heart of what, precisely, is horrible about wishing to become a tree.