On the Economies of Magical Lands

(This piece originally appeared in the pages of the late, lamented Whim Quarterly. It has been revised and expanded.)

Abstract: This report represents the findings of a multi-billion dollar study on the infrastructure and economies of magical lands, and their potential financial threat to the U.S.

Oz

Any discussion of Oz’s financial system must begin with its capital, the Emerald City. Rather than redistributing wealth so that residents might purchase a large house (or multiple Munchkin-sized homes), the government prefers to keep it in the least liquid form possible—construction materials. This analyst can think of no greater way for Oz to waste its vast gemstone reserves than in the building of emerald skyscrapers… except perhaps the countless ruby slippers, sapphire manholes, and opal fire hydrants we observed during our stay. A thing of beauty is a joy forever, but does that thing have to be a crystal port-a-potty? Especially a semi-transparent one. Form should follow function, guys.

Oz’s leaders would do well to chip off a little wall-emerald to apply toward their petroleum shortage, which has become so severe that mechanical woodsmen no longer have the lubrication required for their job. This creates a lumber shortfall, which, in turn, forces additional precious substances to be used for public works (we witnessed one road we’re pretty sure was gold brick). It’s a vicious cycle. 

The citizens are in denial; opinion polls consistently dub Oz’s head of state “wonderful” or “a wizard.” More likely to receive blame is their top economist, a “brainy” scarecrow whose sole qualification is ownership of a diploma (not from an accredited university). Additional study may be necessary, although anecdotal reports suggest visitors who “return to Oz” find the second experience to be a lot less charming and a lot more nightmarish.

Neverland

The number one industry in Neverland is piracy, which is unusual since there’s nothing in particular to steal. I was unable to observe any official shipping or military fleets for the pirates to plunder. In point of fact, the largest segment of the population was “Lost Boys,” made up of several boy children and one adult vampire who seemed confused and out of place. Due to strict child labor laws, these boys had no wealth for pirates to plunder, and had, in fact, been reduced to eating imaginary food. Even if Neverland instituted a push to relax regulations, I’m uncertain how they might institute regular working hours, as the only extant clock resides deep inside a hand-hungry crocodile.

The other residents of Neverland seem similarly disinterested in industry. One “Tinker” Bell eked out a living fixing pots and pans, seemingly oblivious to the street value of dust that can MAKE YOU FLY, which was literally falling off of her at all times. Several indigenous peoples also reside in Neverland, but they seemed mainly interested in singing a song I will not repeat to you here, because it made me deeply uncomfortable.

Otherwise, I spent my time in Neverland hanging out with some mermaids doing stuff that… um. It’s just outside the bounds of this report. Forget I mentioned it.

Narnia

The only Theocracy in our survey, Narnia struggles with a unique set of fiscal concerns. For instance, its GDP is largely allegorical. Every product manufactured within Narnia’s borders must not only be considered for its own intrinsic value but for what it represents within the Judeo-Christian tradition. Thus, if a consumer purchases some, say, Turkish Delight, they aren’t merely stuck with gelatinous rosewater “candy,” but also the solemn responsibility to look inward and assess what the Turkish Delight might mean in the context of their faith. Customers aren’t typically used to this hermeneutic burden. Especially not at dessert time.

Additionally, Narnia’s trade industry is severely underdeveloped, as its exports are limited solely to products that can fit through a standard-sized wardrobe. Still, this issue pales in comparison to the problems suffered elsewhere in the Narnian economy: due to a combination of weather and crypto-satanic factors, it is always winter but never Christmas—wrecking untold havoc on the retail sector. For sellers, it is always Thanksgiving but never Black Friday. Many a fawn has seen his dream of running a small Etsy knitwear store crushed.

Middle-Earth

While there are great riches to be found in Middle Earth, the gap between the haves and have-nots is stark. Much of the liquid wealth is hoarded by mountain-dwelling, bearded men with pituitary issues, or guarded by dragons. Those in positions of power are less likely to grab the brass ring than to carelessly toss it into a volcano.

Speaking of rings—undue time is devoted to councils re: the proper disposal of jewelry. My assistant and I attended one such meeting and found ourselves bored within the first agenda pages, and sorely tempted to “skip ahead” a few chapters. If the dumping of precious metals is such an all-consuming concern, they should just start a recycling program.

More practically, this time should be put toward infrastructure improvements. For instance: long distances are traveled by foot, yet indigenous giant eagles could easily be trained as light commuter air. Meanwhile, ironically, Middle Earth’s Middle class is on the verge of disappearing. Those in the gated “Shire” cannot compete with the influx of cheap Orc goods, if they insist on union-mandated breaks for “second breakfast.”

If recent trends continue, the answer to the old riddle, “What have I got in my pocket?” may soon be, “Nothing.”

Wonderland

This was simply a mess. Nominally a monarchy, the so-called “Red Queen” is a mere cardboard ruler, less interested in guiding the country than taking time off to oversee beheadings and play croquet with flamingos. It’s simply absurd to imagine that a major world leader would be so short-tempered and vain, or spend so much taxpayer time around Floridian birds, knocking a ball around. Madness.

Speaking of mad, one of the few traditionally-employed people we observed was a hatter, yet he didn’t seem over-interested in haberdashery, considering how hatless the general population was otherwise. Instead, his work day was interrupted by long, mandatory tea breaks with small mammals. Similarly, a carpenter appeared to have abandoned the building life altogether in order to enjoy beachy food tourism with a walrus. A vacation is a wonderful thing, but a functioning economy cannot be built on snack breaks and unlikely animal friends.

One possibly growth industry? Drugs. Be it tinctures or baked goods that make you feel larger or smaller, or hookahs for caterpillars, substances seem to be an enduring source of the land’s “wonder.” This could be harnessed to attract younger adults with disposable income. Although they can’t expect much of a tourist industry, if the only way to arrive in Wonderland is to fall down a long hole. (Getting back, however, was a dream.)

Lilliput and Brobdingnag

Even after close study, I have no idea how these mirror image “tiny people” and “giant people” societies stay solvent. My assistant ventured that perhaps they are economies of scale, at which point I fired him.

Conclusions

Although the United States’ economy continues to struggle, it is the opinion of this researcher that we have little to fear from the lands studied. Said worlds generally eschew sound economic theory, instead relying on Kansan flim-flam artists; leonine Christ figures; and rune-covered finger ornaments. 

They’re no match for our own system – going to war all the fucking time, apparently.

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