About ten degrees upslope of Fiction, I could see our nearest neighbor: Artistic Criticism. It was an exceptionally beautiful island, yet deeply trou… - Jasper Fforde

I’d come to realize over the years that anything created by mankind had error, mischief and bureaucratic officialdom hardwired at inception, and the fictional world was no different.

The atmosphere in the room was so thick with dramatic clichés you could have cut it with a knife.

"Passing through?"
"Yes; here to meet with Moody."
"You'll get more sense from lichen. What's with your head?"
Unlike talking to The Notable Goodnight, where I needed to be polite, this was an answer I could have fun with.
"It's the final stages of an excruciatingly painful and incurable genital wasting disease. Luckily, it's only spread by skin contact. Sorry, I should've said that before I shook your hand. Remiss of me – apologies."
Shamanic Bob smiled.
"Fair enough," he said. "I think I deserved that."
"Yes, I think you did."