Living on the Big Island
Dear Sir.
I was heading down to our new loo recently with my well worn copy of A Short History of Everything under my arm. Let me hasten to assure you that the book was for reading and no other purpose. (Please do not feel insulted, I do some of my best reading on the loo)
I am into my fourth read of the book.
I managed to understand at least 80% of what you were explaining in my first read. And then promptly forgot about three quarters of what I had read. I find that the 20% that I can recall doesn’t quite get me though a discussion at a dinner party. (by the way, I am amazed by how few people actually know what percentage of their pillows are made up by dead skin and mites while eating their soup)
I have thus promised myself that I would read your book at least twice this year. Slowly, and with furrowed brow. This should get me up to about a 50% recall, and that sir, should see me through until dessert is served.
Anyway, back to my visit to the loo and my dilemma.
The problem that I experienced had to do with my wife.
On my second visit, to what has turned out to be a very pretty outhouse indeed, I noticed that my book was missing. Needless to say this upset my routine awfully, and something I was really looking forward to, turned out to be a very ordinary experience indeed.
Afterwards, having made a more thorough search, I found the book, pushed down between the box and the wall.
I suspect this was no accident as there is a member of my family who frowns at and looks down upon my reading habits.
I carefully watched my wife’s next visit.
She also carried a book in with her. Careful detective work on my part proved that the book was a Xhosa Speaking course, that we are both meant to be studying.
Yes, in short. Homework.
Now homework is obviously important in anybodies book. But I would as soon take homework to the loo as I would take it to some other pleasant and peaceful event, like a trip to the cinema. It makes no sense.
I am also prepared to admit that there may be an argument for me to learn Xhosa, although one could also discuss the merits of 99,36 percent of the village learning my mother tongue.
Also, my approach to the matter is to combine religion and language, and here I feel that I may be onto something new. I believe that purposely, and purposefully, not making a conscious effort to learn, will free my unconscious mind, which National Geographic tells me is all powerful.
I suspect that this approach, combined with a religious epiphany, will allow me to suddenly begin to understand a foreign indigenous language.
Instantly, and out of the blue.
Anyway. This is my plan. And it is my business.
And my choice of reading matter is also my own business.
However, in the interests of meeting my wife half way, to the crux. Please could you and your publishers consider including an abridged English-Xhosa dictionary at the back of your next print run.
I cannot imagine I am the only one in this predicament.
Who knows, it might even boost sales.
In the meantime, I have removed pages 83 to 127 from our Oxford English-Xhosa dictionary (Flower/intyatyambo to Monday/uMvulo) and pasted them in the back of your book.
This is obviously not ideal, as amongst general aesthetic and practical issues, I lost quite a few words when I trimmed the dictionary pages to be the same size as your paperback.
Even though I am sure my wife will be happy to see that I am making a move in the right direction I feel the only real answer will be getting a move on with the new print run.
Lets shake a leg.
Yours in appreciative reading.
Hamba Gashle
Charles Starling
PS - my son found the journey down, and the general working below, more interesting than the book. So perhaps a couple of pages of drawings to be coloured in, might also be worth considering.
