As seen almost everywhere on LJ lately:
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 56.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next seven sentences in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Don't dig for your favorite book, the cool book, or the intellectual one: pick the CLOSEST.
Well, the first one had less than 56 pages (a Mr. Men book of Sean's), so I grabbed this:
'By now you know the reason. In a minute or two I shall collect myself. Far from loitering, I am racing through a whole life, rushing it through a sieve.
Where was I? - I was nearly sixteen and my days at Santa Maria Novella were drawing to an end. Acting on messer Lanfredino's advice, my guardians decided that next year I should begin work on degrees in theology and philosophy, and so go up to Bologna, to that city of loggias, wonderful little shops, rounded spaces and colonnades. I was to love its huge blocks of well-cut stone, its graceful turnings and soaring towers. And though I lodged with other Dominicians in the friary of San Domenico, Bologna gave me my first heady taste of being on my own.'
There's nothing to indicate one has to say what book the extracted text is from, thus, unless anyone asks I withhold the information.
Back to Tusitala in a moment, but first,
As seen at
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
horridporridThis is the "explain your lj page" meme.
1. My username is Goddlefrood. This is an amalgam of three elements of myself. Without conceit my initials are GOD. dle is part of my father's childhood nickname for me. Frood comes from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, as in he's a frood dude, no need to be so froody, etc.
2. & 3. My journal is titled "Observations on Various Matters" as that's exactly what it is. It used to have the secondary title of "Things you may have missed", but because little is missed by today's oh so astute blogger ;-), I removed that. It now has the subtitle of: "Ramblings of a Loon", hopefully for obvious reasons.
(If not obvious it's because I am a small bird)
4. My friends' page is called "Perilous Reading Material" due to the fact that it often isn't.
5. My default userpic is of Marvin the paranoid android from the BBC TV series adaptation of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Marvin is possibly my favourite character in all of fiction and my ideological twin.
Anyway, Treasure Island, what's it all about? But first,
This was the result of a little quiz - I say little, but it had 70 odd questions - as espied at
elfundeb:
Your result for The Golden Compass Daemon Test...
Gruff Soul
You are a bold and fearless person, with a strong sense of self. People, especially people who don't know you well, might think that you are unfeeling or callous, but your loved ones know that you are a loyal and fierce friend. Your loyalty does not come easily, though. People need to earn your affection and respect.
You like to be with your favourite people, but you don't have much patience for the rest of humanity. Even your close friends and family can drive you crazy some times, so you need your space from them every now and then. You often hide your feelings behind offensive or rude jokes, and you rarely let your true feelings shine through. If an emotion does shine through, it is likely to be masked as aggression or through a joke.
Your daemon's form would represent your clannish, loyal nature, your self confidence and your aggressive, joking exterior. He or she would probably help you mock the people whom you dislike and disrespect.
Suggested form:
Hyena, Coati, Maned Wolf, Raven, Dingo.
Take The Golden Compass Daemon Test at HelloQuizzy
It's not a bad result really, however I'm not enamoured of the hyena.
Next time: Robert Louis Stevenson.
- Mood:
ecstatic
Comments
Heather Ale
A GALLOWAY LEGEND
From the bonny bells of heather
They brewed a drink long-syne,
Was sweeter far then honey,
Was stronger far than wine.
They brewed it and they drank it,
And lay in a blessed swound
For days and days together
In their dwellings underground.
There rose a king in Scotland,
A fell man to his foes,
He smote the Picts in battle,
He hunted them like roes.
Over miles of the red mountain
He hunted as they fled,
And strewed the dwarfish bodies
Of the dying and the dead.
Summer came in the country,
Red was the heather bell;
But the manner of the brewing
Was none alive to tell.
In graves that were like children's
On many a mountain head,
The Brewsters of the Heather
Lay numbered with the dead.
The king in the red moorland
Rode on a summer's day;
And the bees hummed, and the curlews
Cried beside the way.
The king rode, and was angry,
Black was his brow and pale,
To rule in a land of heather
And lack the Heather Ale.
It fortuned that his vassals,
Riding free on the heath,
Came on a stone that was fallen
And vermin hid beneath.
Rudely plucked from their hiding,
Never a word they spoke;
A son and his aged father --
Last of the dwarfish folk.
The king sat high on his charger,
He looked on the little men;
And the dwarfish and swarthy couple
Looked at the king again.
Down by the shore he had them;
And there on the giddy brink --
"I will give you life, ye vermin,
For the secret of the drink."
There stood the son and father,
And they looked high and low;
The heather was red around them,
The sea rumbled below.
And up and spoke the father,
Shrill was his voice to hear:
"I have a word in private,
A word for the royal ear.
"Life is dear to the aged,
And honour a little thing;
I would gladly sell the secret,"
Quoth the Pict to the king.
His voice was small as a sparrow's,
And shrill and wonderful clear:
"I would gladly sell my secret,
Only my son I fear.
"For life is a little matter,
And death is nought to the young;
And I dare not sell my honour
Under the eye of my son.
Take him, O king, and bind him,
And cast him far in the deep;
And it's I will tell the secret
That I have sworn to keep."
They took the son and bound him,
Neck and heels in a thong,
And a lad took him and swung him,
And flung him far and strong,
And the sea swallowed his body,
Like that of a child of ten; --
And there on the cliff stood the father,
Last of the dwarfish men.
"True was the word I told you:
Only my son I feared;
For I doubt the sapling courage
That goes without the beard.
But now in vain is the torture,
Fire shall never avail:
Here dies in my bosom
The secret of Heather Ale."
----------------------------------------
It was a required reading and the one we had to memorize when we were in fourth grade and translation was really really good as I now realise.
So, yes do talk about Treasure Island, and what about Florizel? Do you like him?
Oh and inquiring minds do want to know what book that was :-)
I will post about Stevenson at some point, but don't hold your breath, it's been long in the planning.
The book was: 'Loredana: A Venetian Tale' by Lauro Martinez. Don't ask me what it's about because I haven't read it all yet. I will soon though.
I know the poem by heart in Russian and can say it from memory, but I always wanted to read it in English. I mean, I did not actively search for it till say a week ago, it was easy enough to find on line. It was just on the back of my mind for the longest time and that is why I was amused to see that you mention Stevenson and when I finally read it recently.
But you are now scaring me :-). I only read Treasure Island and Florisel, so if your post will be talking in depth about his other works as well, I am sure I will enjoy reading it, but not sure about being able to actually discuss it.
Some of his south seas tales are excellent, The Bottle Imp, for one. I'm happy to stick to his more famous works, but will mention some other little gems when it gets written up. Don't panic, as the Hichhiker's Guide recommends :-)