The Fairy Tale Book Of Bifford C. Wellington

Birds become trees, and trees, birds; stars and old men change positions as easily as changing seats. Welcome to T. A. Young's collection of stories in which existence is redefined, and contradictions are the theme. The usual hierarchy of fairy tale characters is gone - all have their say, and we relish the words equally for their wisdom and silliness. Lyrical and comical, The Fairy Tale Book of Bifford C. Wellington is at once hilarious and profound. Among the tales: an aardvark has an accidental encounter with a seamstress, Horace the Frog heads west to find his story, and a critical snail offends The Number Three. Brilliantly illustrated by Theodore Gallmeyer. Young, talking about these stories on Art Speak, said, "They have lessons in them, the more hidden, the better: that mistakes can be good things, the imperfect can be better than perfect, and that sometimes stupidity is better than smartness.Theodore's cover? We have our knight, our diner, the greatest frog ever...it's the middle of nowhere and the center of everywhere. The axis mundi. Perhaps our man Wellington is like the knight, the weary, endless world traveler who finds respite in a diner in the middle of the desert. Yes, he also appears in my second book, Elephant and Rabbit As Told By Skib Bricluster...will there be a third book? Yup. It's a trilogy, so stay tuned."
About the Author: T.A.Young autobiography For the sake of brevity, we need go back no farther than the origin of the universe - let's call it 14.5 billion years ago - where all of the solid parts began and, probably simultaneously, the motions great and small, spiraling, parabolic and linear, kicked off, determining the relationship of all matter right up to an hour or so ago, when I spilled my coffee and everything went to hell. Of course, if you are a creationist, we're looking at six thousand years ago; my own origins are neither more nor less determined under this theory....er....fact. Then again, if you are a solipsist, as defined in Webster's dictionary as "a resident of the borough of Manhattan in the city of New York," I do not exist at all, except as a momentary blur in your existence. Alas, we've run out of time, but I think we've covered the important stuff; the rest is pretty run of the mill. We can conclude that I have as much to do with what I am as a diamond or a dust bunny with what it is. And that really takes the pressure off: I'm like a pantheistic Quaker. Om. T.A.