Desmond and Nini have gotten to the point where you can’t always be sure which cultural symbols they understand. It makes conversations with them weirdly disorienting. I might need to explain that a crate with a red cross painted on the side dangling from a parachute is full of “medicine and band-aids” for sick people, but other, seemingly more sophisticated markers they already know about. Recently, Desmond was studying the images in Olaf Hajek’s beautiful cover art for The Magician’s Book, and pointed to the figure of a faun:
Desmond (with great authority) : That’s the god of nature.
Laura: How do you know that?
Desmond: You can tell because he has animal legs.
Laura: But where did you learn about him?
Desmond: From a book.
Laura: What kind of book?
Desmond: A music book.
Laura: Do you mean a book with music in it, like with songs that you can sing?
Desmond (patiently): No. A book about music.
The same day, I asked Nini which of her books she would like to jump into if she could.
Nini: You can’t just jump into a book, Laura.
Laura: You can’t?
Nini: Some of those books are just no sense.
Laura: Like which ones?
Nini: Like moomintrolls: (Derisively) Are they real?
I was taken aback to meet such sweeping empiricism in a four-year-old who only a few months ago had to run out of the room if you told her a story with a wolf in it. The same girl who famously brought a puppet show about those very same moomintrolls to a complete halt with her shrieking hysterics when a (by all accounts very mild) puppet “monster” appeared. I made a feeble attempt to defend the magic of make-believe, but she was adamant.
Nini: You can’t jump into a book Laura. Look, I’ll show you. (Opens up a picture book on the floor and jumps on it.) Now you try it.
Laura: No.
Nini: Jump on the book, Laura! Jump on the book!
Laura: I’m not going to jump on that book in these boots. It will tear the pages.