Sunday 4 October 2015

Shalee lhaih 2015: shiaghteeyn 38, 39, as 40

Go here for English version. Note, this is rewritten from scratch, not a direct translation.

14oo Mean Fouyir - 4oo Jerrey Fouyir

Jerrey daeedoo shiaghtin ny Shalee Lhaih. Shoh ny lhiah mee yn tree shiaghteeyn shoh chaie:

A Prisoner in Fairyland (Algernon Blackwood)

Ghow mee toshiaght lhaih y skeeal shoh er y traen, as shegin dou gra, tra rosh mee y stashoon, v'eh foym gyn fosley eh reesht. She skeeal ennaghtagh ymmodee-focklagh t'ayn, soit er meiyghid as mynfalsoonyn - gollrish Hans Christian Anderson - as wandreil gyn dean baghtal.

Agh hrog mee eh reesht dy yannoo shickyr roish my scryss mee eh, as eisht va mee lhaih jeih duillagyn. Chreid mee nagh dod mee cur shilley bieau ny hrooid yn oie shen: she prose ta cree as feeuid y skeeal shoh, my ta feeuid echey, as er lhiam dy lhisin cur ammys da liorish lhaih dy currymagh. Ta red ennagh echey, kied echey focklagh yn aght screeuee; er lhiam dy row eh feeu sooill chairagh rere eh toilçhinyn hene, gyn jiooldey leah.

Lhaih mee ny smoo gyn boirey, as hoig mee dy nee skeeal kiune boggee t'ayn as y aigney kiart orrym. Shoh skeeal dy cheau oie liauyr geuree rish yn aile, as tey çheh ry-laue. Agh fy-yerrey, ta'n kiunid cheddin gastyral bun y chooish: cha row mian lajer aym dy 'eddyn magh feaysley yn skeeal, son cha row drama erbee chamoo folliaght erbee 'sy chooish, as she skeeal liauyr ass towse t'ayn. Myr shen, ny smoo feeynaid na skeeal hene. Ta feaysley ennagh ayn gyn ourys, agh by haittin lhiam goaill rish dy nee bun-cheeal cadjin moralaght thie rere aght Andersen, as scuirr jeh. Hroggym eh reesht laa ennagh, foddee.

Fockle s'jerree

Lhaih mee 1 lioar, va 75 aym yn cheayrt s'jerree, myr shen ta 74 faagit dou nish. Shegin dou lhaih 24 lioaryn ayns 12 shiaghteeyn.

Er lhiam nagh chooilleenin y dean.


English version

14th September - 4th October

The end of week forty of the Reading Project. Here's what I've read this past three weeks:

A Prisoner in Fairyland (Algernon Blackwood)

I began reading this on the train, and honestly I was inclined, on reaching the station, not to pick it up again. It's that genre of wordy, ambience-focused story full of sentiment and petty philosophy, like Hans Christian Anderson, and generally not really going anywhere.

However, I picked it up just to confirm that before striking it from my list, and found myself reading another page or ten. Then I felt like I couldn't just quickly skim the rest, as I'd intended, but needed to somehow do justice to it by slow careful reading of the prose, which is the meat and merit of the thing if it has any, and I ought to put it by for the next day. There's something to it at least, however prosy it might be - something that feels to me like it deserves a fair reading on its own lights, not a hasty dismissal.

I did read on without much trouble, and found it a gentle, relaxing read when I was in the right mood. It's something to while away a long winter evening, with a mug of tea to hand and maybe a crackling fire. Eventually though, that long gentleness undermines it. I didn't feel any particular pull to find out what happened, because there was no real sense that anything was happening - it's more like a very long vignette than a story per se. I'm sure there's some kind of resolution, but I felt content to assume it was one of the standard Andersenian morals and leave it at that. Maybe I'll come back to it one day.

Afterword

I read 1 book this week, I had 75 last time I posted, so 74 are left over. I have 24 books to read in 12 weeks.

I'm not very optimistic.

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