Somewhere on the West Coast of Canada towards the end of the last century Sarazen Brooks woke up under a cabbage leaf one sunny Tuesday in the merry month of May. To avoid being raised by wolves, she knocked at her mother’s door and was welcomed with open arms.

In that happy home she was taught to compose gypsy limericks and never surrender to boredom. By the time she grew up she had nearly mastered the art of broom-riding and flew to a remote planet as yet unnamed, where for a very long time she had many interesting adventures among the natives of that starry world.

She now lives in a cave beneath a snowy pyramidal mountain peak and studies how to make vegan goat cheese. When not writing future classic narrative non-fiction masterpieces she likes to party with rock stars occasionally, but mostly prefers to gaze at the moon on clear evenings as it casts its effervescent light upon the shining sea far below.

There on a craggy perch she is often accompanied by her black cat familiar, Beartholomew Maximillian Childermass. Also known as Bear, he claims to have among his ancestors one or two griffins, but that information is to be taken with a big grain of salt, according to Burly, the local lynx.

Joining them when he has time is her husband Eric, a non-mad scientist and inventor who minds neither heights nor depths, so long as they conform to the laws of physics known and unknown.