Excerpt from The Capital of Dreams by Heather O'Neill, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Sofia knew to be quiet; already, talking to the girl had been a risk. She knew if she opened her mouth, they would know that she was posh. Her mother had a funny way of speaking. All the girls who went to a certain elite women's college picked it up when they were there. It was an accent that gave a deliberate sneer to all their words. Sofia had heard that accent since she was a very little baby. Despite having scores of nannies who spoke in a less obviously posh accent, she had picked up that of her mother.

One of her teachers had once told her that it didn't matter whether she was intelligent or not. What mattered was that she sounded intelligent. By the time Sofia realized it was an insult, it was too late for her to say anything.

She noticed more people coming towards the station. Everybody seemed to have brought an object with them. There was a woman holding a red tea kettle covered in poppies. She had forgotten that about poor people. They were always attached to worthless objects. Whereas a rich person wouldn't even attempt to equate themselves with a priceless object.

She looked around for something she could hold in her arms. Something she could cling to as though her family's entire legacy depended on it. She was meant to hold on to her mother's suitcase with her manuscript in it.

At that moment, a white goose waddled by, craning its neck around as though it had lost track of its gaggle. Sofia leaned over and picked up the large white bird. To her surprise, it did not struggle to free itself but relaxed in her arms.

She was astonished she was not frightened of it. If she were in her apartment in the Capital and a goose walked in, everyone in the house would have run around screaming and doing everything possible to kick it out. And she would have joined them. But the minute she held the goose in her arms, she felt immeasurably calmer.

Now she was ready to pass herself off as a member of the people. They would take pity on her because she was a poor child. She went up to the farmers and asked quietly whether she could climb onto their truck and have a ride as far as Oloman. One man shrugged and hoisted both the girl and the goose onto the back of the truck.

Sofia watched as the truck pulled away from the train station and the crowds of people receded. There were people walking on the road, carrying luggage, and they moved aside for the truck, parting like water. She saw the small buildings and houses begin to fade from the side of the road, until there were no more people, or any evidence of people. And the wind grew wilder and lonelier around her.

The truck began to drive down a road that led through the forest. The forest was filled with elf trees. They grew in the country. They strangled any other trees that tried to grow there. Their branches grew outwards as much as upwards. Their branches swirled and curled. Their branches wrapped around each other as though they were in love. As though they insisted on being united. The Elysian people did not use the expression "There are no two snowflakes alike." Instead they said, "There are no two trees alike."

The tree was on the currency. On every coin was a tree whose branches reached out to the round periphery. It was rather pretty.

Sofia had not been around trees in the same way in the city. There was the occasional tree in the middle of the sidewalk. But it knew very little about anything. It was silent. It was covered in animals. There seemed to be too many birds and squirrels inside it. The trees in the park were different too. They had been planted and raised. They had had their needs catered to. They had been protected from the elements when they were little. They were timid and vain and could be knocked right out of the ground in a storm. Sometimes they had hearts and initials carved into them. Which was painful when it happened, but in later years, people would run their fingertips along the initials, and that would give the trees a strange feeling. It made them feel as though they were owned.

Excerpted from The Capital of Dreams by Ryan O'Neill. Copyright © 2025 by Ryan O'Neill. Excerpted by permission of Harper. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.