![]() Yet here’s the weird thing: If you pump Shortz’s name into Amazon these days, you won’t find his many crossword books at the top of the list. They regard his puzzle as the last true showcase for elegant language, sparkling wit, and groan-inducing puns. This week, his reputation as a word-nerd hero will be cemented with the premiere of Wordplay (see David Edelstein’s review), a documentary that profiles Shortz fans as diverse as Bill Clinton, Jon Stewart, and Yankees pitcher Mike Mussina. ![]() ![]() Twenty-five percent of the people who pick up The New York Times Magazine on Sundays flip to Shortz’s puzzle first. In his thirteen years at the Times, Shortz has revolutionized the paper’s immensely popular crossword. But Shortz’s fan base generally does-the millions of word freaks who revere him as the nation’s master of linguistic play. AAMES, of “Willie Aames,” turns into AIMAT AMMO becomes OLIO and NLE becomes ULA-a “diminutive suffix,” such as at the end of “spatula.” It only took him a few minutes to deftly scribble in a new tangle of words. GIJOE, great! Only five letters, yet it has a J in the middle-very pretty.” Shortz has only one complaint about the puzzle: It uses the abbreviation nle for “NL East,” which he thinks is too obscure. “See, now this grid is jam-packed with fresh uses of language,” Shortz says, sitting in his home office amid stacks of reference books like Brands and Companies 1995 and The Encyclopedia of American Cars. ![]() The crossword editor for the New York Times is giving me an advance peek at the Sunday puzzle he will publish a week later. This is a great puzzle,” says Will Shortz. ![]()
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