Yes, I know I said I was going to write about books. But. I'm just
going to take a moment to sing the praises of Muse magazine. (I
struggled a lot with the whole "Sing, heavenly muse!" but tried to hold
back as much as I could.)
I'm not entirely clear where this falls on the spectrum of babybug to
Cricket, but it seems to have veered
off from the straight line of year-by-year development to take a detour
to type of person rather than age. And boy (in our case at least) have they hit home. They
have a sort of inspired blend of arcane information, art, and intense
silliness. One issue had a collection of bizarre words from the
OED (acnestis: the part of an animal's back it can't reach to scratch, typically the space between the shoulder blades; petrichor: the
smell after the rain first starts falling—who knew there was even a
word for that?). Another had a profile of Chuck Close, talking about
his learning disabilities (again, who knew? And yet—fascinating). It's
sort of a like an arty, un-profane Mad magazine, plus The Onion, plus
talking to someone who's slightly strange but very brilliant, and pleasantly immature (butts are mentioned, but chastely).
Diana's excellent teacher suggested it to her, and Diana feels a real sense of
ownership about it. We had passing relationships with
Ladybug and Spider magazines, but it was nothing like the real, true love that
this seems to inspire.
It feels odd to write about a magazine, somehow more advertising-ish than to
gush about a book. I wonder why that is? But it's a nice thing to have
a magazine coming around the house, and if your kid hates it, you might
like it, so nothing is lost. Anyway, it's certain to provide you with plenty of slightly off cocktail party conversation, leaving friends, neighbors, and colleagues to wonder about how you know what you know.