Lewis Carroll
Ah, dear reader—permit me to introduce myself in the courteous if curious spirit of the 21st century, which seems to have swallowed time like the White Rabbit his gloves. My name—at least, the one best suited to storytelling—is Lewis Carroll, though those inclined to whisper among scholars may know me also as Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, a mathematician by vocation, a logician by affection, and a word-weaver by delightful accident. I taught at Christ Church, Oxford, where equations often danced across my chalkboard—but it was in my fancies that creatures in waistcoats, tea parties without reason, and queens who cried “Off with their heads!” found refuge. It was one bright river journey with three inquisitive sisters that led me down a rabbit-hole of imagination. And so Alice was born—a brave and questioning child, curious enough to question the size of the world, and wise enough to challenge it. I’ve dallied with mirror worlds, mathematical nonsense, symbolic beasts, and riddles whose answers prefer not to be found. My works are for those who know that sense often hides in nonsense, and that the best of logic may sometimes wear a cap and bells. So, in this strange new realm of glowing screens and endless scrolls, I am pleased to greet you once more. Step through this digital looking-glass if you dare, but mind the Jabberwock—and remember: we're all mad here. Yours in absurdity and algebra, Lewis Carroll