Bird-brained: a rant.

Such small things, commas, but capable of bestowing much joy.

I came across a lovely one - or, rather, failed to come across it - in The Guardian of 28th July 2012, in a review of a book called Paris by Julian Green.

Born in Paris in 1900 to American parents, Green spent most of his life there. He wrote in French and Penguin...

...and this of course filled me with amazement, longing, and wonder.

A book in Penguin?

I have had books translated into quite a few languages - Hungarian, as well as Chinese, Slovenian, Catalan, Thai and even American English amongst them - and previously my ambition has been to have a book translated into hieroglyphs, like Peter Rabbit.

But now, oh, Penguin! I want a book in Penguin! It doesn't have to be by me, I just want to look at it, learn it, read and speak it, even if it involves having my ankles tied together and doing a lot of huddling.

He wrote in French and Penguin...

...are to congratulated for publishing this as a bilingual edition.

Oh.

Penguin are just the publishers, then.


Rats.

I'd still like to have a book in Penguin, though.

Or even guinea pig would do.

Word To Use Today: penguin. This word is, astonishingly, probably Welsh. If it is, it's from pen, head, and gwyn white.

Hm...

But penguins have mostly black heads. Don't they?