Feeling cross about the crossword puzzle

by Jeanne McDonald

Sunday morning. At this time of year, you can take your coffee or tea outside to the deck, survey the cool deep woods that make up your backyard and sink into the cushioned lounge chair. The consuming quiet is happily interrupted only by the occasional chatter of squirrels and the melodious songs of birds--goldfinches, cardinals, chickadees, and the low-pitched whine of the hummingbird that's lured by the fuschias and the bright red feeder on the porch railing.

This is the perfect setting for the week's intellectual exercise--doing the New York Times crossword puzzle. Lately, though, I've been feeling cross about the crossword puzzle. It used to give
me a feeling of accomplishment to finish it by Monday, Tuesday, or even the following Saturday, when I was already anticipating the next puzzle. Doing the crossword puzzle is a practice both stimulating and challenging. It tests your store of
knowledge in every possible field--mythology, the theatre, history, geography, literature, music, science, and many other areas you didn't know existed. It's like winning on Jeopardy without the audience or the applause. There is a great deal of personal satisfaction in finishing the editors of the NY Times puzzle, a haughtiness, even. It's your own personal best. You feel good, you feel smart, intellectual. But lately, the editors of the crossword are getting too cute, and I fear, possibly even mean. As you know, there's always a theme to the NY Times puzzle, one that you have to figure out during the course of filling in the answers. This week, for example, it was "Vicious Circle," which turned out to be a circle of literary figures known for their biting wit. When the clue read "You can lead a horticulture, but you can't make her think," I knew that had to be Dorothy Parker. And I was right.

And years ago, I had read the novel So Big, so when I got to the "#59 across" clue that said "Novel by #47 down," I knew it was Edna Ferber, who, in another clue, replied to Noel Coward!s remark "You look almost like a man," with the witty comeback, "And so do you!"

To tell you the truth, I did not know that Robert Benchley had written From Bed to Worse, but the "down" clues helped me fill in that answer. The trouble was that I think the editors were cheating this week. Two of the cross clues had no corresponding numbers in the down clues column. Isn't that illegal? Or unethical, or just downright mean? And the letters that filled in those two unnumbered sections weren't words at all. I looked them up, thinking they'd possibly be arcane labels for strange Old English practices, but no, they weren't even words to begin with! And I know my answers were right, because when I finished the puzzle, I looked them unpin the answers, which I never look at unless I have finally given up. One of the "words" was "aelbatd" and the other was Lgonqui." Please! Give me a break! This thing is hard enough without giving us bogus answers. So yes, the crossword made me cross this week. I considered writing a letter to Will Shortz, the editor of the puzzle, to complain. It's bad enough to have clues and answers that are obtuse and esoteric. Why should we have answers that aren't even words?

In my frustration, I made up a scenario that might have produced such a predicament. I imagined Christopher Hurt, the author of this puzzle, and Mr. Shortz, meeting at lunch with their sharpened pencils. In my fantasy they're drawing diagrams on the tablecloth and laughing. "Nobody'll get these two," they snicker. "Aelbatd!" says Christopher, howling over his Greek salad. "I'll do you one better!" chortles Shortz. "Listen to this one: Lgonqui!'" His burst of hilarity sprays his croutons across the table. Suddenly, a shadow of doubt floats above them. Both reach for the tattered dictionaries they carry wherever they go.

"Is it in yours?" asks Christopher. As he leans across the table anxiously, his tie picks up a caper from his salad. Hurriedly, Shortz flips the pages of his dictionary. He looks up in glee. "No. Neither one of them!"

They reach across the table and execute a high-five. "It's a wrap!" they cry.

No wonder I've been cross.