crypticism is so fashionable

I have this compulsive habit of picking books off the display shelves right in the entry of our local library. they are all deliciously paperback and some of them have actually proven worth reading.

the latest of these, whose title Dictation is italicized across the cover in a curvy lower-case black above the image of a silver typewriter, includes a dedication. the author, Cynthia Ozick, writes:

"My happiest thanks are owed to David Miller, who saw the fox."

I wonder, upon reading that very grateful, passive sentence, if it is supposed to make sense once I have read the book. Is the fox an actual fox, with fur and teeth? Or is it a metaphorical fox, representing some shared vision or insight? Or is it nothing more than an obscure inside-joke, smothered in the laughter and meta-laughter of a years-old friendship? Will I ever know what this fox is about? Will it all come clear in the closing pages of this collection? If I asked David Miller, would he tell me anything about it?

Even without any clues to the answers of any of these questions, I enjoy Ms. Ozick's inscription several notches more than the more regular, straightforward, sentimental kind. I'll have to let you know, when I finish it, how the rest of the book turns out.