In the beginning the page was blank and without form, and the scribe sat in front of it, a world forming inside his head. The world grew large, spilling out of him and on to the page. The scribe shaped the world into an island. He named it Fagero, and populated it with an assortment of likely and plausibly unlikely characters, and saw that it was good for his purposes. The people of Fagero were often divided against each other but united in their appreciation of their happy little island. Then the dead bodies began to arrive: hordes of them, washing ashore with no identification and no one to claim them. The island was changing, and the small-town quirkiness becoming less restrained. And the bodies kept arriving, forcing Fagero’s inhabitants to confront the unhappy truth that, even on their remote island, the world’s horrors and injustices could not be ignored.