The Challenge of Dialect

OK, here's the problem. If you have read the previous blog you will see that I have developed a form of dialect for use in my novel, The Collector of Tales. Now it is meant to be a form of English believe it or not, and it is there to add to the overall look and feel of The Collector's World. Firstly, there is the brutishness of the language. I refer to it as Bruta Speke. If you can, picture the English language as it developed out of Chaucer's Middle English through people like Sir Philip Sidey and others on into the world and categorisation of the language say with Samuel Johnson. During that time spelling was inconsistent and no doubt pronunciation was also substantially varied.

Such is Bruta Speke. Read it as it sounds as it is phonetic. There is no particular grammar or syntax to it as it is not that clever. Add in a touch of regional dialect too. Kegs for trousers for example. Someone once asked me if it was Cockney...for the avoidance of doubt, though my mother was born within the sound of Bow Bells, no it is not Cockney - not even close.

The second aspect of the dialect is that of understanding. When we travel to places where we do not fully grasp the local language, we find a lot of gaps in our understanding. It is an uncomfortable feeling for some, tending towards paranoia in others. Are they talkng about us! That is the feel that I am trying to generate in the Collector of Tales. Much of the dialogue can be inferred from both context and from repetition or rephrasing by the Collector himself. Some of it may seem unintelligible but if it is, that's because it is unimportant. Much of communication is pointless and if it is not understood, it doesn't matter. It's just noise. I'm talking here about human intercourse not just the dialogue in my book. That is what I want to achieve in the story.

However, some people perfer to undertsand it all and so I have resorted in paper versions to icnluding notes on the dialogue at the end of each chapter. It is not ideal and for online versions I have popped some code in to bring up the translation when you mouse over the offending text. That works better. Sadly, I cannot currently include that on Kindle but no doubt it will come in time.

Ok that's my rant about dialogue... I say that becuase I have just spent several days re-writing bits of it to make it more readily understandable and in adding in notes. I guess I should leave the last words to The Collector, for after all it is he who is the man on the ground as it were.

"Although I understood the language quite well, the dialect was a bit of a challenge and I have to say that a lot of the noise that I heard was pretty unintelligible at first. Fortunately, most conversations had few words of substance or meaning in them but every now and then I would hear a word or phrase that would give the sense to what was being said. Words, context, gestures and repetition - these would be the things that would allow me to glean understanding."

From The Collector of Tales Chapter One - The Infernal Village

Final Recipe (No.3) Cumin & Carrots

This is the third and final recipe from the Roman world for the time being. If you feel so inclined you can now assemble a modest meal. You will note that there is no rice or couscous ( potatoes had not been discovered in the old world then) or other similar ingredient. I served the meal with homemade olive bread. For any comments on cooking or ingredients, please refer to the notes and comments on the previous post ( Varo's Pullet).

Ingredients:

• 6 peeled carrots


• For the Cumin Sauce


• 1 tsp black peppercorns


• 2 tsp lovage seeds (celery seeds will substitute although they are smaller and not as fragrant)


• 2 tsp dried parsley


• 1 tsp dried mint


• 1 tbsp cumin seeds


• 60 ml honey ( runny , not set)


• 3 tbsp red wine vinegar


• 3 tbsp nam pla (for liquamen)

Method:

First make the cumin sauce.

Pound the black peppercorns in a mortar and pestle (fresh is more flavoursome) then add the cumin seeds and lovage or celery seeds. Grind these up also before adding the parsley and mint . Just take a moment to smell these spices...they're amazing

Mix the ingredients well before adding the honey and red wine vinegar and the nam pla. Mix once more and set aside.

Boil the carrots in unsalted water until they are slightly undercooked and then chop them into rounds and transfer them to an oven-proof dish. ( I'm not sure if it makes any difference if you chop them first to be honest).

Pour the thick sauce mixture over the carrots and mix to ensure good coverage and then cook in a hot oven for about 10 minutes por so. Hot? Well say Gas 5 or 6. I use the top oven of our Aga.

Spoon into a warmed serving dish, making sure you keep as much of the sauce as possible.

New Postings of The Collector

OK. Sunday morning. Everyone in the house is asleep. Even Wolf (the moggy-that-thinks-he's-a-Siamese) is asleep stretched out at the foot of the Aga. I have managed to get a synopsis ( which I am not happy with),the Prologue and the first four chapters of The Collector of Tales set up as additional pages on this blog. There are links now to the paper versions and to the Kindle Store at Amazon and all I need to do now is to work out where I am going to put the rest of the novel online. For now it's being loaded onto my base web page http://www.collector.dcpltd.uk.com/ .

There's also the matter of book two, The Xandrian Quarters ( also finished) and the Prawns of Lebowa (book three) which is a work in progress but I think that these can wait a while.

Extract from the Prawns of Lebowa. Book Three of the Collector of Tales Series.

The senior investigator hated seagulls. It wasn’t the fact that they were nothing more than aerial vermin nor the fact that they made such a mess. It wasn’t even the occasional attacks that they subjected the people of Lebowa to from time to time. What really got to him was that stupid noise that some of them made after the usual and publicised cries. That low four- syllable grunt that they repeated a couple of times. It sounded like they were muttering under their breath.

It reminded him of people. Those people that he interrogated: criminals often but they were not necessarily so. Some were just ordinary people, going about their own business and doing their own thing in that short space allocated to them between the cradle and the grave. It was the ordinary people, they were the ones that the gulls reminded him of. They were fearful and complaining, noisy or sometimes petulant. That ridiculous four- syllable muttering.

There were a lot of gulls that morning, just like any other morning really. The sun had just risen and was at that point just before the cool of the night was chased away and the heat of the day came washing in. The small flotilla of fishing boats were mostly up alongside and were bobbing about as they unloaded their catch into baskets on the quayside. As each basket was filled a man would carry it at speed across to the market sheds, braving the gulls that swooped and dived for the chance of another tasty morsel. In the sheds the shouting would begin and each basket would eventually make its way to an owner and then eventually, after being packed in ice in the special covered wagons, would head off for remoter parts of Xandria.

There were still one or two vessels that were waiting off for space to tie up and these rode the lazy water out in the estuary. They would be at a disadvantage when they finally came alongside as most of the catch would have been sold and the best prices would be gone, regardless of quality. The catch was prawns: destined for the local restaurants, the markets and the street food stalls. Here they would be transformed from living twitching flesh into that favoured of Xandrian dishes, Lebowan prawns.

From the small window of his office, Rollo could see two herring gulls fighting over a large prawn as they perched in the rigging of one of the larger boats. It was the Eye of Horos, so named because of the fearsome image sating fiercely out from its bow. The senior investigator couldn’t see the image from where he stood, even though his eyesight was good, but he knew that it was there. It was a bit like this investigation. He knew what was going on with these damned pardoners but he couldn’t quite collect the necessary evidence to bring this baby home.

He stepped away from the window and returned to sit at his desk. In doing so he failed to see two things. Firstly, he missed the smaller herring gull rip the prawn from the beak of the other and then fly off with his trophy. He also missed a small man dressed in the style of a marechati as he climbed off one of the fishing boats and make his way hastily and uncertainly towards the offices.

He was not surprised however when a few moments later, there was a timid knock at his door. He checked the clock placed carefully on the shelf beside him. It was an ancient timepiece that he had lovingly restored from a battered ruin that he had found in a filthy northern marketplace. He had enjoyed the haggling and was delighted when he managed to steal the thing away from the troll of a trader for less than he would expect to pay for a bowl of street food. He permitted himself a smile as he recalled the protruding lower lip and the brown cow like expression of the creature as he looked quizzically at the small coin squatting in his huge outstretched paw. It was all a matter of pronunciation, he reminded himself. It was a sweet success.

There was only one thing wrong with the old clock sitting in Rollo’s office. It would tell the time beautifully until half past the hour but beyond that its movement was erratic and imprecise until it passed the zenith and started once more its descent of the clock face.
It was just passed the hour.

“Come!” he called imperiously.