Joseph, oh Joseph. When I first met you, I wasn't too impressed, I must say. I was bored, in fact. Bored with the particulars of your life, as you settled in to live and work at a newly bourgeois household. The frequent walks, the petty insignificant details of your day. It took me quite some time to care. Many a short-timed, sporadic reading session befell my lazy holiday.

But now, now that it's over…I miss you. I miss your verbose flights of fancy, which you launch into at the most inappropriate of times, the way your earnest enthusiasm sweeps away your common sense and derails serious trains of thought. Your heart-breaking hilarity. Joseph, you are a sad, floppy eared, clumsy puppy whose charming head fuzz I'd love to give a good, loving rub. You lovable ruffian!

Before this gets any more weird, let me demonstrate a fine example of Joseph's observations from the book.

He watches Pauline routinely scold the poor Silvi:

Once more SIlvi was forced to take up fork and knife in her little hands, and properly at that, as her teacher and instructress commanded her with a severe and sharp cry, so as to finish, under duress, this melancholy and unappetizing meal. Her tear-stained eyes made her appear to Pauline even more stupid and lopsided than before, which prompted this pedagogical mastermind to nurst into laughter. The sight of Silvi eating dejectedly appeared to exert a drastic effect on Pauline;s laugh muscles. So humor has returned to the scene. A shameless set of jaws is quite an asset, and so Pauline of the broad forehead—upon which narrow-minded clodhopper astonishment was clearly depicted—inquired of Joseph, who was quietly looking on, whether he was angry or what else could be making his so tight-lipped.

Then,

In her earnest attempt to carry out the orders of this oppressive tyrant, the child had to rise to the toes of her small feet each time she removed something from the table, using both hands to grip a bowl, a plate or a few pieces of cutlery, and in this way she carried everything, piece by piece, meekly and with caution, keeping her eyes on the kitchen virago, out to the place where the washing-up would be done. She did this as though she were carrying in her little arms and hands a small, thorny, damp crown, the crown of irrevocable childhood sorrow that she had cried shimmering wet with her own tears.

An example of aforementioned verbose flight of fancy:

One day it snowed. First snow of the year, how thick with memories you are to look upon! Past experiences fling themselves to the earth along with you. The faces of one's father and mother and siblings emerge distinctly and meaningfully from your wet, white veils. One cannot help but be in grave and merry spirits when you arrive with your countless flakes. One might takes you for a child, for a brother or sweet, timid sister. One holds out one's hand to catch you, not all of you, just little bits of you. The bucket that wants to catch you would have to be as wide and immense as the earth. Dear first snow, come snowing down. It looks so splendid, this thing you're spreading quiet as can be across Tobler's house and garden.

Typing this out descended upon me rolling waves of mirth once again. Oh Joseph! I shake my head at your nonsensical, adorable mind.