Monday, February 1, 2016
A Snark Called Wanda
I've been remiss in posting commentaries upon my GN version of The Hunting of the Snark and the reason is simple: with my illustrated novel and another lavishly illustrated, Cabellian-steampunkish book for Penguin/Random being prepared for publication, I'm stretched a bit thin … but you know, my heart belongs to Snark, so I promise to behave from now on …
Ladies and gentlemen, the name of the game is Hunting the Snark and today we’ll try to find a Jubjub Bird, a beast just like the Snark but even better.
Finding one is child’s play, especially for a smart operator such as you. Simply lay your money down and watch the origami cranes closely, the clue you seek is beneath one of them. Pay no attention to the young gentleman with the fieldstone head and vacant expression, he’s a Polynesian exchange student studying mid-19th-century British abattoir practices and he has nothing to do with me, I assure you. The epithet of shill worries him not, it's idle speculation and his empty head is entirely innocent of such nefarious thing-um-a-jigs.
Using the Clochetic Rule of Three (known to polite society as the Logician’s Variation Upon Three Card Monte) the Butcher has already won a Jubjub Bird, the lucky guy! Alas, his fellow gamester, the plucky Beaver, has lost count. She is a flummoxed castorian, or in popular parlance, a mark, and as such, quite appealing to homicidal beasts such as Jubjub Birds!
In fact, her dizzy-headed state of pixilation is the only correct strategy to defeat this nefarious, thimblerigged scheme! Dispossessed of all common sense, proudly ignorant of all logical acumen, she blithely chooses the closest origami crane — et voilà — all the fluttering, flying, flittering semioglyphs concealed therein are freed at last!
Yes, dear readers, it’s all rather zenlike, most confidence games are. Truth and deception, sense and nonsense, all enfolded upon themselves into origamic puzzles which, when upended, release into the wild the crypto-Jubjubian fledgings of raw meaning.
And if all the above crosstalk wracks your poor brains, then beware the Jubjub, my son, and watch the telly instead, it do the Snark in different voices!