Brevity is the soul of whit, in fancy calligraphic font

“At first I did my best to make sure that only the most proper and fitting words were used. Everything was said clearly and simply and no words were wasted. I had signs posted all over the palace and market place which said:”

This was my first encounter with the word “macabre” (which my child-brain heard as MACK-a-bree)

Milo and Tock in a dark prison cell, with a smiling elderly woman

“Don’t be frightened,” she laughed. “I’m not a witch—I’m a Which.”

“Oh,” said Milo, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I’m Faintly Macabre, the not-so-wicked Which,” she continued, “and I’m certainly not going to harm you.”

“You know something, Tock?” he said as he wound up the dog. “You can get in a lot of trouble mixing up words or just not knowing how to spell them. If we ever get out of here, I’m going to make sure to learn all about them.”

“See you in six million years,” said Officer Shrift, and the sound of his footsteps grew fainter and fainter until it wasn’t heard at all.

“It looks serious, doesn’t it, Tock?” said Milo very sadly.

“It certainly does,” the dog replied, sniffing around to see what their new quarters were like.

Officer Shrift leading Milo and Tock down a dark stone spiral staircase

The air was dank and musty—like the smell of wet blankets—and the massive stone walls were slimy to the touch. Down and down they went until they arrived at another door even heavier and stronger-looking than the first. A cobweb brushed across Milo’s face and he shuddered.

“I am also the judge. Now would you like a long or a short sentence?”

“A short one, if you please,” said Milo.

“Good,” said the judge, rapping his gavel three times. “I always have trouble remembering the long ones. How about ‘I am’? That’s the shortest sentence I know.”

“What is qualified immunity”

“Only a judge can sentence you,” said Milo, who remembered reading that in one of his schoolbooks.

“Good point,” replied the policeman, taking off his cap and putting on a long black robe.

ACAB includes Officer Shrift

“Where were you on the night of July 27?”

“What does that have to do with it?” asked Milo.

“It’s my birthday, that’s what,” said the policeman as he entered “Forgot my birthday” in his little book. “Boys always forget other people’s birthdays.

“AHA!” interrupted Officer Shrift, making another note in his little book. “Just as I thought: boys are the cause of everything.”

Milo and Tock, standing and looking at Officer Shrift, who is very short

“Now we’ll get to the bottom of this,” he heard someone say. “Here comes Officer Shrift.”

Striding across the square was the shortest policeman Milo had ever seen. He was scarcely two feet tall and almost twice as wide.

The Humbug shaking its cane at the Spelling Bee, flying above him

The Spelling Bee buzzed dangerously in and out of range of the Humbug’s wildly swinging cane as they menaced and threatened each other, and the crowd stepped back out of danger.

The Humbug (a dapper-dressed, human-sized insect) with his arm around Milo

“A slavish concern for the composition of words is the sign of a bankrupt intellect,” roared the Humbug, waving his cane furiously.

“BAH!” said the bug, putting an arm around Milo. “As soon as you learn to spell one word, they ask you to spell another. You can never catch up—so why bother? Take my advice, my boy, and forget about it. As my great-great-great-grandfather George Washington Humbug used to say——”

The Humbug—a large insect wearing a suit, hat, and dress shoes, with a cane and gloves.

“This,” said the bee with complete disdain, “is the Humbug. A very dislikable fellow.”

“NONSENSE! Everyone loves a Humbug,” shouted the Humbug.

This is actually the number one kids book I actually recommend to adults. Sure the story is whimsical and the points made simply. However it gives you time to think, to watch, to digest complex philosophy in simpler terms.

Really the book is a cornerstone of meta-cognition.

“You see, years ago I was just an ordinary bee minding my own business, smelling flowers all day, and occasionally picking up part-time work in people’s bonnets. Then one day I realized that I’d never amount to anything without an education and, being naturally adept at spelling, I decided that——”

Milo standing under a giant human-sized bee

“I am the Spelling Bee,” announced the Spelling Bee. “Don’t be alarmed—a-l-a-r-m-e-d.”

Milo, who was not overly fond of normal-sized bees, began to back away slowly.

“I can spell anything—a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g,” he boasted, testing his wings. “Try me, try me!”

“Can you spell ‘good-by’?”

“Most people are just too lazy to make their own words,” he continued, “but it’s much more fun.”

“Is it difficult? I’m not much good at making words,” admitted Milo, spitting the pits from a P.

“A’s are one of our most popular letters. All of them aren’t that good” he confided in a low voice. “Take the Z, for instance—very dry and sawdusty. And the X? Why, it tastes like a trunkful of stale air. That’s why people hardly ever use them. But most of the others are quite tasty. Try some more.”

A letter vendor holding up the letter B, and shouting

“You can pick any assortment you like or buy a special box complete with all letters, punctuation marks, and a book of instructions. Here, taste an A; they’re very good.” Milo nibbled carefully at the letter and discovered that it was quite sweet and delicious—just the way you’d expect an A to taste

“Maybe if I buy some I can learn how to use them,” said Milo eagerly as he began to pick through the words in the stall. Finally he chose three which looked particularly good to him—“quagmire,” “flabbergast,” and “upholstery.” He had no idea what they meant, but they looked very grand and elegant.

This is the message that should pop up when you first sign up for Bluesky

“Step right up, step right up—fancy, best-quality words right here,” announced one man in a booming voice. “Step right up—ah, what can I do for you, little boy? How about a nice bagful of pronouns—or maybe you’d like our special assortment of names?”

A large and busy market full of vendors with cards and stands, selling words to villagers coming and going

But above all the noise and tumult of the crowd could be heard the merchants’ voices loudly advertising their products.

“Get your fresh-picked ifs, ands, and buts.”

“Hey-yaa, hey-yaa, hey-yaa, nice ripe wheres and whens.”

“Juicy, tempting words for sale.”

“I never knew words could be so confusing,” Milo said to Tock as he bent down to scratch the dog’s ear.

“Only when you use a lot to say a little,” answered Tock.

Milo thought this was quite the wisest thing he’d heard all day.

“You see,” cautioned the count, “you must pick your words very carefully and be sure to say just what you intend to say.”

“But we never choose which ones to use,” explained the earl as they walked toward the market stalls, “for as long as they mean what they mean to mean we don’t care if they make sense or nonsense.”

“Innocence or magnificence,” added the count.

“Reticence or common sense,” said the undersecretary.