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562 pages, Paperback
First published October 14, 2016




But we have little use for truth here. Truth is only one story among many.
"First, you take a lusty infant - they must be strong to survive the moulding - and fit with an iron frame over its baby head and face. One of the iron bars with hooks on either end goes in that little toothless mouth to stretch the lips into a permanent wide grin. Dwarves are supposed to look cheerful, and it spares us the effort of having to fix our mouths into a grin in company. It wouldn't do for that smile to slip, now, would it?
"The other iron bars of the bridle flatten the baby's button nose and squeeze its skull so that the forehead bulges with wisdom and intelligence. Next you must rub the infant spine daily with the fat of tiny creatures - shrews or doormice, bats or moles are thought to be the most efficacious. Finally you strap the infant in its iron bridle into a snug, stout box, open at the front, of course, for you don't want to suffocate your little homunculus - think of all that wasted time and money ... as the baby grows in its box, it will be compressed and deformed, squished and squashed ever tighter until it emerges from its mould, formed like a gingerbread manikin into the squat little dwarf that lords and ladies so desire."