A running list of crossword clues that make me grin, if not gasp. Collected from multiple sources, they are divided here into their clue-types.
In which the entire clue is the definition and the wordplay. The jewel of the English language.
In which the entire clue is the definition, and most of it is the wordplay. Usually set if a perfect &lit cannot be devised, but produces an effect no less startling.
In which the entire clue is the definition and no wordplay is involved. Often devilishly misleading.
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My recent grid and solution. My old grids that I deemed great then but find mediocre now.
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State in which lava pours out (6)
I have cherished a life-long love for cryptic crosswords. The cryptic is different from the American-style crossword, which you will find in The New York Times or an in-flight magazine. The chief difference is that, while the Am-style clue is a straight definition of the answer ("World War president" for Roosevelt, "60 sec" for min, etc.), the cryptic clue, in addition to providing a definition, contains instructions on how to arrive at the answer. These instructions are typically in the form of wordplay, often involving coded language the mastery of which takes much practice and experience. An example: "Name rewritten on our entrance (7)". The answer is 'ENAMOUR', defined by 'entrance'. The instruction here is to rewrite 'name', i.e. rearrange its letters (here, to 'enam'), and set it on top of 'our' (this happened to be a DOWN clue on the grid).
Another major difference between the cryptic and the Am-style is the grid: the cryptic has fewer "checked" letters, letters that find themselves in both an ACROSS and DOWN answer. Roughly, the cryptic is about 50% checked, and the Am-style about 100%. To learn more about the cryptic, see the nicely laid out and comprehensive wikipedia page.
The way I had come across cryptic clues in the daily newspaper — when I was about 14 — is perhaps the best possible: I had no idea of the concept. For the longest time I could not make out what these quaint, evocative sentence fragments could possibly mean, not even when I peeked at the answers the following day. Perhaps these were quotations from poetry and books I hadn't read? Eventually the penny dropped, but in slow motion: an anagram here, a hidden word there, and so on. It was perhaps years before I taught myself how to parse all clue types. But I was then, as I am now, blown away by how words could be strung together to make sense in two entirely unlike ways. My favourite clues are those with a deliciously deceptive "surface" reading.
One of my all-time favourite clues is at the top here in italics. It was set by my late friend and college-day crossword contest partner, Nikhil D Kamath. So irresistible is the clue's surface, that nobody presented with it has offered anything better than 'molten' or 'liquid'. (It helps that the number of letters is perfect for evoking two ready alternatives.) These guesses neither acknowledge the cryptic nature of the clue nor do they fit in the grid it came with. Do you want to have a crack?
[The answer, in ROT13, is incbhe.]
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