Speaking of Stolen Books And Eating Your Friends

After* the other baby M left, Margaret reclaimed her book.  It's a somewhat odd book.  It's crinkly, and has places on which one can chew, but it lacks words, and the pictures present a somewhat odd story.

First, there's the possible intellectual property issue to do with the elephant and the crocodile.

I mean, the bank is even sort of grey-green, and is probably greasy.** 

Of course, there's some disagreement as to whether the crocodile is a crocodile made cute, or a hippopotamus made crocodiley.  It's made a little clearer on other pages where you can see the different colored tummy (which isn't itself a consistent different color, but what can you do?)

The plot of the book seems to involve a lion, giraffe, zebra, crocodile and elephant all playing happily together.  My theory is that there's some sort of deal going on between the crocodile and the lion, and they're going to eat the others.  Which is how I tell the story to Margaret when I "read" the book to her.  I'm sure that's a healthy way to interact with her.

Anyway, she is very studious in her reading.

Sometimes she has to look more closely to parse a fine point in the narrative.

And, since she recognizes me as an authority***, she sometimes asks for my help.

We discussed the author's lack of anxiety of influence regarding Kipling, and she was duly disgusted.

And decided to practice an act of practical criticism.

How often I've wanted to do that.  (Hemingway, I'm looking at you!)

*A day after, but I'm trying to segue.

**If you do not know what I am talking about go immediately and read The Elephant's Child and then be ashamed of yourself and your parents. 

***I'm enjoying this while it lasts.