Monday, 24 June 2013

Shalee lhaih 2013: Shiaghtin 25

Jerrey queiggoo hiaghtin as feed ny Shallee Lhaih. Shoh ny lhiah mee yn çhiaghtin shoh chaie:

Veg. Reesht. Hie mee ersooyl er seyrey roish my dod mee cur jerrey er y lioar v'aym, as daag mee ish 'syn oik.

The end of week twenty-five of the Reading Project. Here's what I've read this week:

Nothing. I didn't manage to finish off my book before heading off on holiday and leaving it behind.

Monday, 17 June 2013

Shalee lhaih 2013: Shiaghtin 24

Jerrey kerroo hiaghtin as feed ny Shallee Lhaih. Shoh ny lhiah mee yn çhiaghtin shoh chaie:

Strawberry Marshmallow y.l. 5 (Barasui)

Mie foast. Kionnit aym er y gherrid.

A Forthcoming Wizard (Jody Lynn Nye)

Lioar vie. Ta laue aghtal ec Nye er karracteyryn: ta ny caggeyderyn failleilagh as ny h-anchaarjyn so-choennaghtagh. Hoshiaght ta Tildi fo smaght heshaght as fallsoonys lane ghraynoil oc, agh ny yei shen t'eh er bun so-chredjal as ta troyn resoonagh oc chammah. Er y laue elley, haink corree orrym oc as feer noidys, nyn gowraghyn screeu mie; ta kuse dy lioaryn elley er ngientyn leod ennymagh er noidyn, gyn feer ennaghtyn nyn oi. 'Sy lioar shoh, ta lheamyssyn ec cagh, as she mooadys dty lheamyssyn as dty 'reggyrt n'oi ta soilshaghey feeuid.

Ga dy vel ad goll er turrys, cha nee Turrys Fansee y Teihll t'ayn; t'ad bentyn rish dooieyn elley nish as reesht, agh cha nel monney "prose jiarg-ghorrym" ayn, as cha dennee mee dy row Nye soilshaghey dou dagh ooilley red v'ee er smooinaghtyn er.

Red by vie ass towse lhiam, ta'n lioar shoh cur jerrey er y skeeal. Va mee jerkal rish y treeskeealag chadjin, agh ta Nye er nyannoo yindys as er geau magh y mean marroo. Ta shalee ny kied lioar ny chied lieh ny shalee smoo vees bun y nah lioar shoh, as ta jerrey Forthcoming wheesh fondagh nagh noddym credjal dy hayrnys ee lioar elley assjee. T'ee feaysley reddyn dy jesh, as dy gennal son y chooid smoo, lesh cur asseeyn ennagh gys neunhee. Va shen ry-yerkal son y chooid smoo, agh er lhiams nagh daink eh dy ve far-hugyragh ny do-chredjal. Ta coayl as guin oc foast.

Red elley: ta Tildi ny sampleyr mie jeh caggeyder oayllaashagh firrinagh. Ta slaigh cur dwoaie urree, as cha nel ee reih caggey, chamoo taishbyney schlei caggee rere feme. Ny yei shen, cha nee cloart t'ayn, as cha nel ee tuittym neealloo car y traa. Ta erreeish eck er pian noidyn as beiyn, as ta arrys eck rish baase noidyn, ayns ynnyd taittin. T'ee so-lhottey foast: beg, faase-lauee, faitçhagh as mie-chreeagh. Gyn scansh da shen, cha nel ee lane taaue, agh ny smoo 'sy lioar shoh na'n lioar elley. Shen er coontey bondiaght as femeyn ny shalee, er lhiam: t'eh jannoo ny foddee ish. Ta'n faasid as so-lhottaght cooie da'n çhennaghys eck: ga dy vel un jargaght er lheh eck, cha nee Y Feer Feniagh Ynrican t'ayn as possan eiyrtyssee eck, agh un ven mastey possan er shalee.

Naight elley: cheau magh mee Giraffe liorish JM Ledgard fy-yerrey. Er lhiam dy beagh ee ro-ellynagh dou (cre'n reih Ghaelg son "artsy"? "lane ellynaghys", foddee?), as t'eh lane douyrid as fuilltaght, as gyn gien erbee choud's dod mee feddyn magh.

The end of week twenty-four of the Reading Project. Here's what I've read this week:

Strawberry Marshmallow v. 5 (Barasui)

Still good. Bought recently.

A Forthcoming Wizard (Jody Lynn Nye)

A very enjoyable read. Nye continues to handle characters well, with sympathetic antagonists and flawed protagonists. For the early part of the book Tildi is held captive by a group whose worldview is fundamentally abhorrent, but who still show reasonable and even admirable traits at times. At the same time, I felt genuine dislike and even anger towards them, rather than the nominal disapproval I sometimes feel towards token baddies. Everyone is at least a bit complicated: in general, Nye portrays all her characters with flaws, and the question is how big those are and how the character deals with them.

While the group end up travelling a fair way, this isn't really the stereotypical Fantasy Journey; they encounter a few more of the world's races, but there's not much in the way of sightseeing.

Impressively, this book actually wraps up the story; I was half-expecting it to turn into the typical trilogy, but Nye's pulled off the all-too-rare two-part fantasy novel and skipped the usual unnecessary middle section altogether. Rather than Quest, Bridge/Travelogue, Resolution, she has a quest in the first book which forms part of a larger quest in the second, and has an ending so conclusive that I can't really see her adding a third. The ending wraps things up pleasantly, and mostly optimistically, with many misfortunes being reversed. Some of this was predictable and/or heavily foreshadowed, but I felt like it didn't quite cross the line into saccharine and unrealistic territory. There are still some losses and pains for the party to bear, and a certain amount of character development too.

One thing that struck me is that Tildi is a decent example of a genuinely non-violent protagonist. She's distressed by violence without being a fainting violet, and neither chooses violence nor manifests sudden combat proficiency when forced into it. She sympathises with the pain of enemies and beasts, and regrets their deaths rather than taking satisfaction from them. This is pretty unusual in my experience of fantasy, at least in terms of doing those things convincingly rather than nominally. She's also very vulnerable, being physically weak, quite timid and generally nice, with recognisable limitations. At the same time, she isn't entirely passive, though I feel like she's more so in this book than the last; her quest and her captivity constrain her choices this time. Her limitations and vulnerability always felt in keeping with her stated character and background; despite her one unusual talent, Tildi isn't the common One True Hero with a retinue of themed followers, but one of several questers who just happens to be the protagonist.

In other news, I chucked out Giraffe by JM Ledgard, having decided it was looked artsy to suit me, while also having too much misery and gore, and no apparent cheer at all.

Yeah, so here's the thing... my depression has been pretty bad recently, which means reading new, unfamiliar and often somewhat hard-going books is just too much a lot of the time. On top of that I've ended up somewhat burned out on reading. Partly it's just the effect of reading so many new books in a short time, some of them quite hard work. Partly it's also doing plenty of other reading, not least during long boring shifts at work with nothing but internet to do. Plus I've had non-reading things I wanted to get on with; it's not like anyone's paying me for this! So at the moment I'm on a fairly fallow period. But hopefully things will pick up again.

On the plus side I've read a couple of things; on the downside, they haven't made any impression on the reading pile.

Monday, 10 June 2013

Er traa as Texas - liorish William F. Nolan

“Lesh ard-vuilley,” dockil magh yn Olloo C. Cydwick Ohms, lesh sheeidey magh rybban keyl dy yaagh gorrym ass e phiob, as leaystey er e ghaa voyn, “ta mee kiarail feaysley magh ard-ghoilleeid jeianagh deiney. By ard-vroc fardailagh eh jannoo coloin ‘syn Arctagh. As cha dod y Çhalee Castey Clienney Curmit ve curmit. She birrag ‘sy vio foast ee ro-chummaltys, gheiney seyrey—” Scuirr eh as yeeagh eddyr daa hooill dagh fer naight v’ayn. “—cha row agh un freggyrt ain.”

“Dunverys er y clane?” as fer aeg, er craa.

“Ommidjys, yilley! Cha nee son shickyrys!” Haink caulg er yn olloo. “Ta mee çheet er—TRAA!”


“Dy jarroo,” as Ohms lesh snoggal. Ren eh cowrey ard-haghyrtagh as tayrn erash curtan velvad jiarg—as soilshaghey magh jeshaght ard ass meain soilsheanagh. “Myr feanish!”

“Moirrey, cre’n nhee shen?” vrie y quaillian naight.

“She Dorrys Traa C. Cydwick Ohms eh y nhee shoh,” as yn ollee, dy geayr.

"Jee bannee mee, jeshaght hraa!”

“Cha nee, cha nee. My saillt, yilley! Jeshaght Hraa, rere yn eie cadjin, shen obbyr ass pooar deiney. Fansee keoie! Agh—” Scuirr eh, as folmaghey y piob echey. “—liorish mooarane earrooaght neuloaghtagh chruinn, ta mee er groo Dorrys Traa C. Cydwick Ohms yindyssagh. Foshil eh, gow kesmad ynrican—as presto, yn Emshir Chaie!”

“Agh, c’raad ‘syn emshir chaie, Olloo?”

Hug sheese Ohms mongey kiune er yn ‘ainney dy eddinyn lane çhennid. “Gheiney seyrey, er çheu cooylloo y dorrys shoh hee shiu foawr anvaaragh America Heear Yiass—thalloo dy liooar dy hoo stiagh pobble brash ny cruinney myr shen!” Ren eh polt lesh e veir. “Gheiney seyrey, ta mee çheet er Texas, 1957!”

“Nagh bee ny Texanee n’oi?”

“Cha nel reih ocsyn. She cassan un-hrawagh glen eh y Dorrys Traa. Hug mee geill da. Cha cosoylagh eh er chor erbee da fer erbee ass 1957 çheet erash da’n teihll 2057 ainyn. As nish—ta’n Emshir Chaie fieau orrym!”

Hayrn eh ny coamraghyn ollooagh jeh. Foue, va eaddagh shenndeeagh as quaagh mysh Cydwick Ohms: bootsyn markee doo, gloasagh as oirr argid oc; troosyn olley; cryss lheead lane cliejeenyn as glackey foawragh eck; lheiney as sambleyr kerrinagh gial er; as bandana jiarg gial mysh e wannal. Dy tappee, vroo eh edd jeih-galloon er e chione, as shooyl rish y Dorrys Traa.

Ghreim eh doarnane eboin, as tayrn seose. Ren y dorrys meain mooar snaue ry-lhiattee dy moal. “Traa,” as Cydwick Ohms, lesh cowrey cour y veg lheeah honnick ad trooid y dorrys.

Ren fir naight as fotograafee freayney roue, as lioaryn screeuee ny shamraigyn ry-laue. “Cre haghyrys my ta’n dorrys dooney dty yei?” as fer jeu.

“Aggle gyn oyr, yilley,” dreggyr Ohms dy shickyr. “Ren mee shickyr nagh dod y Dorrys Traa dooney arragh. As nish—slaynt, gheiney seyrey. Ny, rere y chaant cooie—so long, hombres!”

Chroym eh ec y vouin, hayrn eh yn edd mooar reesht, as ghow eh kesmad er oaie.

Cha skell eh roish.

Hass eh ayns shen as meekey. Eisht ghuee eh mollaght, woaill eh e ghuirn er y woalley lheeah neulhoobagh, as loaganey erash da’n voayrd echey, tayrn ennal dy trome.

“Ta mee brisht!” as eh, lesh coraa caillt. “She obbyr rey eh Dorrys Traa C. Cydwick Ohms!” Chroym eh e chione ayns laueyn er creau.

Fer er fer, ren ny fir naight as fotograafee shooyl magh.

Eisht dirree yn olloo e chione çhelleeragh. “Eaisht!” as eh, myr raaue.

Dirree buirrooghey injil ass lheeahid y Dorrys Traa, plooghit ec foddid. Va yllee as gerrym ry-chlashtyn dy baghtal aynsyn. Daase eh dy tappee—dys bwoalley thousane drummey—dys faarkey tharmaneagh!

Roie ny fir naight as fotograafee er çhea roish ny greeishyn, as adsyn screeaghey.

Ah, feysht kialgagh elley ry-‘eaysley, smooinee yn Olloo Cydwick Ohms, as eh lheimmey, dy dooillee, er cooyl fer jeh tree thousane terriu Texas gheayrt magh er ouyl ‘sy seyrlan.

Of Time and Texas

By William F. Nolan

"In one fell swoop," declared Professor C. Cydwick Ohms, releasing a thin blue ribbon of pipe-smoke and rocking back on his heels, "—I intend to solve the greatest problem facing mankind today. Colonizing the Polar Wastes was a messy and fruitless business. And the Enforced Birth Control Program couldn't be enforced. Overpopulation still remains the thorn in our side. Gentlemen—" He paused to look each of the assembled reporters in the eye. "—there is but one answer."

"Mass annihilation?" quavered a cub reporter.

"Posh, boy! Certainly not!" The professor bristled. "The answer is—TIME!"


"Exactly," nodded Ohms. With a dramatic flourish he swept aside a red velvet drape—to reveal a tall structure of gleaming metal. "As witness!"

"Golly, what's that thing?" queried the cub.

"This thing," replied the professor acidly, "—is the C. Cydwick Ohms Time Door."

"Whillikers, a Time Machine!"

"Not so, not so. Please, boy! A Time Machine, in the popular sense, is impossible. Wild fancy! However—" The professor tapped the dottle from his pipe. "—by a mathematically precise series of infinite calculations, I have developed the remarkable C. Cydwick Ohms Time Door. Open it, take but a single step—and, presto! The Past!"

"But, where in the past, Prof.?"

Ohms smiled easily down at the tense ring of faces. "Gentlemen, beyond this door lies the sprawling giant of the Southwest—enough land to absorb Earth's overflow like that!" He snapped his fingers. "I speak, gentlemen, of Texas, 1957!"

"What if the Texans object?"

"They have no choice. The Time Door is strictly a one-way passage. I saw to that. It will be utterly impossible for anyone in 1957 to re-enter our world of 2057. And now—the Past awaits!"

He tossed aside his professorial robes. Under them Cydwick Ohms wore an ancient and bizarre costume: black riding boots, highly polished and trimmed in silver; wool chaps; a wide, jewel-studded belt with an immense buckle; a brightly checked shirt topped by a blazing red bandana. Briskly, he snapped a tall ten-gallon hat on his head, and stepped to the Time Door.

Gripping an ebony handle, he tugged upward. The huge metal door oiled slowly back. "Time," said Cydwick Ohms simply, gesturing toward the gray nothingness beyond the door.

The reporters and photographers surged forward, notebooks and cameras at the ready. "What if the door swings shut after you're gone?" one of them asked.

"A groundless fear, boy," assured Ohms. "I have seen to it that the Time Door can never be closed. And now—good-bye, gentlemen. Or, to use the proper colloquialism—so long, hombres!"

Ohms bowed from the waist, gave his ten-gallon hat a final tug, and took a single step forward.

And did not disappear.

He stood, blinking. Then he swore, beat upon the unyielding wall of grayness with clenched fists, and fell back, panting, to his desk.

"I've failed!" he moaned in a lost voice. "The C. Cydwick Ohms Time Door is a botch!" He buried his head in trembling hands.

The reporters and photographers began to file out.

Suddenly the professor raised his head. "Listen!" he warned.

A slow rumbling, muted with distance, emanated from the dense grayness of the Time Door. Faint yips and whoopings were distinct above the rumble. The sounds grew steadily—to a thousand beating drums—to a rolling sea of thunder!

Shrieking, the reporters and photographers scattered for the stairs.

Ah, another knotty problem to be solved, mused Professor Cydwick Ohms, swinging, with some difficulty, onto one of three thousand Texas steers stampeding into the laboratory.

Sunday, 9 June 2013

Shalee lhaih 2013: Shiaghtin 23

Jerrey treeoo hiaghtin as feed ny Shallee Lhaih. Shoh ny lhiah mee yn çhiaghtin shoh chaie:

Veg. Reesht. Ta mee ass bree.

The end of week twenty-three of the Reading Project. Here's what I've read this week:

Nothing. Again. Too burned out.

Monday, 3 June 2013


Skeeal firrinagh.

Shalee lhaih 2013: Shiaghtin 22

Jerrey nah hiaghtin as feed ny Shallee Lhaih. Shoh ny lhiah mee yn çhiaghtin shoh chaie:

Veg. Mollaght.

The end of week twenty-two of the Reading Project. Here's what I've read this week:

Nothing. Well, pants.

Saturday, 1 June 2013

Shalee lhaih 2013: Jerrey Mee ny Boaldyn

Jerrey wheiggoo vee ny shalee. As?

Hoshiaght ny bleeaney: 128 lioaryn

Hoshiaght ny mee: 101 lioaryn

Myr shen, ta mee er scryssey 10 veih'n rolley, as cur stiagh 3 noa, as ta 94 faagit er y rolley. Fo y cheead, fy-yerrey!

  • Lioaryn lhaiht aym y vlein shoh (y chied cheayrt): 57

(ta lioar elley ayns ynnyd Alice in Waterland er y fa dy dug mee ish da carrey ennagh

(there's a placeholder book for Alice in Waterland, which I gave away)

End of the fifth month of Reading Project, so?

The Beginning: 128 books

The start of this month: 101 books

So I've knocked seven off the list (read ten, bought three), which leaves me 94! Finally, under the hundred!

  • Books read (for the first time) this year: 57