We are working our way, slowly and painfully, through a
crime novel in Irish class. I am driving the teacher crazy because I keep
commenting on the guy’s poor writing style (can’t help critiquing it, as a
writer myself), and she keeps reminding me, “What we care about is the
language, not the style.” For example, this guy throws in completely
unnecessary details and then suddenly changes topics so you have no idea which
character is being referred to. All of us were a bit thrown for a loop by one
of his jumps. On the plus side, I am finding it is gradually getting easier to
translate this piece of questionable literary merit. Last night after class I
came home and told Travalon that I am really starting to learn this language.
It is kind of amazing to think that, at my age, I can still learn a whole new
language that has so little to do with any I’ve studied before. Even my Irish
CDs are seeming less mysterious, and I can make out whole sentences in the
conversations they are having. If I am ever lucky enough to get back to Ireland
and find myself in an area where they speak the language, maybe I can even try
conversing with the natives!
The teacher did tell us a funny story: her sister was
traveling in Ireland recently, and when she got back, she commented on how
large the town of Amach must be, because she kept seeing signs for it. Of
course, “amach” just means “exit,” and I said I had heard a similar story from
a guy who visited Germany and wondered why all the exits led to a town called “Ausfart.”
I wonder if non-English speakers think we have an extraordinarily large city in
this country called “Exit”?
Famous Hat
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