and their beloved son

2

Noctis: for my beloved Eav

The Things We Give Welsh Learners: y Babi Sinsir

So I was going through our bookshelf yesterday, because we’re fast approaching the point where we need a clear-out, and I came across one of my all-time favourite creations ever, probably even beating shit like the wheel and penicillin. Years back, before leaving The Man to pursue his dreams of being a sort of professional clown-thing, my husband used to be a translator for Neath Port Talbot Council; as is often the way with Welsh councils, though, owing to a lack of money and also everywhere is really close to each other (this country is 150 miles wide at its widest point, and about 47 miles at the thin bit. Ver ver small), NPT Council’s translating department was shared by Swansea Council. Thus it was that, in the halcyon days of circa 2009, the two decided to team up and produce a new Welsh language book for learners between them, and thus it got sent through to Steffan to proof read it.

A Thing You May Not Know: Welsh is one of ten indigenous languages to Britain, arguably the oldest, and has been viciously oppressed over the last millennium and a half as part of England’s big If You Destroy Their Culture They’ll Be Glad To Be Ruled By You policy. These days, it’s nonetheless still spoken by approximately a fifth of the Welsh population; a hell of a feat, considering, but the suppression of it continues to this day (just in cleverer, sneakier ways now than whipping people’s children if they’re heard.) But it is classified as Endangered. Thanks to Welsh-language schools now being a thing (though supply is much lower than demand), transmission rates to the younger generation are pretty good; but, Welsh is peculiarly dependent on adult learners.

This means that learner books might have to appeal to both children and adults while using very simple language, which I explain in case it in some way justifies the bewildering weirdness of what I’m about to show you; because at first glance, this book is simply for children. But it’s… Well. 

Well.

I present to you, with translations in bold and commentary by me, Y Babi Sinsir.

Literally, “the Ginger Baby”, but they mean ‘ginger’ as in ‘gingerbread’. Literal ginger. Not the colour.

This is Mr Jones. This is Mrs Jones.

What’s wrong, Mrs Jones? I want a baby.

Note: there will be some confusion in this book about whether the narrator is speaking, or anyone else. It might seem cut and dried here, but there are no speech marks around “Dw i eisiau babi”, whereas later speech marks are used, and also in two pages’ time the narrator will actively pass a value judgement using first person, so… Well.

But, so far so good.

Mrs Jones is making a Babi Sinsir.

… okay, so I like this page because of the capitalisation of Babi Sinsir and the lack of definite article. She’s just making a Babi Sinsir. You know, a Babi Sinsir? Magical baby made of gingerbread that you make if you can’t conceive but can’t afford IVF? Yeah. A Babi Sinsir. That’s right.

Let it be known that this is Not A Thing in Welsh folklore or mythology. What the fuck. How does this work. Where does the magic come from? Do you need a faerie ingredient? Will the next page tell us?

This is the Babi Sinsir. I like the Babi Sinsir.

Nope.

But it is apparently shit-capable and needs a nappy. It’s good that the narrator likes it anyway.

The Babi Sinsir is bad. He’s running.

Uh oh.

“Come back, Babi Sinsir.”

Look how Worried the Joneses are. Funny how they don’t seem to be calling that enthusiastically, though. I’d have expected an exclamation mark at least. Did Mrs Jones always have a massive left arm? I can’t remember.

“Run, run, catch me. I’m the Babi Sinsir.”

Yeah, okay, so that’s the Welsh for “Run! Run! As fast as you can! You can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man!”, but once again, I’m going to have to draw attention to the lack of expressive punctuation here. It really feels like this naughty Babi Sinsir’s heart is just not in this.

“Come and help, Mr Horse.” “Run, run, catch me. I’m the Babi Sinsir.”

Cool, look, a floating horse has come to help.

The pen there, incidentally, was an attempt by the translators to work out who was talking. I can’t imagine why. This dialogue is on fire, everyone can tell.

“Come and help, Mrs Cow.” “Run, run, catch me. I’m the Babi Sinsir.”

Now they have been joined in their high-speed zombie shuffle by a married floating cow who is, if I’m not much mistaken, high as shit.

“Come and help, Mr Goat.”  “Run, run, catch me. I’m the Babi Sinsir.”

I’m starting to suspect the artist only knew how to draw the legs on animals in one way.

“Come and help, Mr Dog.”  “Run, run, Catch me. I’m the Babi Sinsir.”

Yes, that dog is definitely here to ‘help’. Also… the Babi Sinsir is literally within reach of Mrs Jones’ massive left arm now. Why is she not just picking him up?

“Come and help, Miss Cat.” “Run, run, Catch me. I’m the Babi Sinsir.”

You may be wondering at this point if this is just… the whole book. An ever-increasing flock of floating zombie creatures shuffling after a naughty gingerbread baby in a nappy who is committing the cardinal sin of running. I mean… where can they go from here, amirite? A sheep? A squirrel? A chicken? We can hit a hundred pages this way, easy. The concern is the artist, whom I think was stretched a bit beyond their means on this project anyway.

BUT WORRY NOT! Shit’s about to go down, guys.

Oh no! Here comes Mr Wolf. Mr Wolf runs and catches the Babi Sinsir.

THAT IS A FOX

THAT IS A GODDAMN FOX YOU HEATHEN FUCK

WHAT THE FUCK

AND WHY THE FUCK IS IT WEARING CLOTHES WHEN NONE OF THE OTHER ANIMALS WERE

WHY IS IT DRESSED IN DUNGAREES LIKE A LAZY FARMHAND ON AN AMERICAN RANCH IN THE 1800S

This doesn’t bode well for the -

Half of the Babi Sinsir is left.

WHAT THE

Quarter of the Babi Sinsir is left.

WHY DOES IT STILL LOOK SAD AND HORRIFIED WHY IS IT STILL ALIVE OH MY GOD

The Babi Sinsir has gone! There’s tasty.

What the

Wha

It

I realise this is not the main point to make here, but two pages ago it had eaten half of that nappy, and now it’s whole again and delicately discarded to one side, I just want

I mean

It’s okay, right? This happens in fairytales? Little Red Riding Hood? Someone will eviscerate the fox and out will come the Babi Sinsir…’s pieces, and they can be baked back together…?

No one cares!

Mrs Jones is making another Babi Sinsir.

The new Babi Sinsir loves Mrs Jones.

… 

…okay, so there’s a lot for us all to take in right now, and we’re all going to get through it at different speeds. But I’m just going to draw attention to the fact that Mr Jones is now merely depicted as a picture on the wall, and the new Babi Sinsir apparently only loves Mrs Jones, and…

Okay so they just lost their beloved baby gingerbread son because he got eaten alive by a fox in dungarees calling itself a wolf, right? Mrs Jones apparently couldn’t give less of a fuck if she tried, as long as she has some flour and ginger left over to make another. This one she made to love her.

Mr Jones, I presume, had a total mental breakdown and drank himself to death. At the very least, he’s left her, look. All she has left is the photo.

But does dim ots! Mae’r Babi Sinsir newydd yn caru Mrs Jones.

And that is the story of Y Babi Sinsir, aka the greatest work of literature ever written.

2

“When Odin’s beloved son died, not only did people weep. But fire wept, and iron, and all the other metals wept. The stones wept, earth wept.”                                                                                         “Farewell, voyager. Farewell, my heart. Farewell, for now.”

2

In my Russian culture class today, we got to discuss one of my favorite paintings, Ivan the Terrible and His Son, by Ilya Repin (1885), and I wanted to share it, not only because it is a beautiful and compelling painting, but also because of the history behind it. 

Ivan IV of Russia, commonly known as Ivan the Terrible, is pictured here with his dead eldest son and heir, Ivan Ivanovich. 

It was a very hot day and Ivan Ivanovich’s wife was heavily pregnant and walking around in what Ivan deemed was less than proper attire for the wife of a tsarovich. When he forcefully told her as much, his son intervened on her behalf, defending his wife from his irate father. Infuriated at his defiance, Ivan struck him in the head with his staff, killing him. His eldest son and the heir to the Russian throne was now dead. After Ivan IV’s death a few years later, Russia fell into a long period of civil strife known as the Time of Troubles. 

I don’t want to focus on the politics, though.

This painting is one of Repin’s most famous, and understandably so. We see Ivan’s son, cradled to his father’s chest, dripping in vibrant red blood, with still a trace of shock in his eyes. 

Ivan’s (IV) face is what captivates me though. His eyes are enormous, much like you would find in Russian icon paintings. Ivan, although tsars claimed to be appointed by God, looks anything but holy in this image; in fact, he looks a little demonic. His face is filled with horror, revulsion, and disbelief. Did this really just happen? Is his son truly dead? How many times has he held his son like this before, when he was smaller? It’s all the more interesting to think of a young Ivan (IV), whose father died when he was barely a toddler, leaving him to become a child ruler whose early life was dominated by powerful regents. He grew up without a father; now, in a cruel twist, he has lived to see his own son die, and at his own hands.

Everywhere, the painting is saturated in red, one of the most beloved colors in Russian art. His son is bathed in white, dressed in pale colors, while he is shrouded in black, leaning into the shadows. The two figures jump out at the viewer from the center of the painting, forcing you to study the two of them. It’s painful to look at. But Repin’s masterful use of oil paint and light and dark make it very beautiful, too. 

Mermaids: A Guide

Contents

  • O R I G I N S 
    Atargatis 
    Greek Gods

  • S P E C I E S
    General Capabilities
    - Nereides
    - Sirens 
    - Zagreus
    - Melusina
    - Briareos 
    - Galatos

  • L A N G U A G E
    Origins
    Basic Phrases
    Endearments

  • C U L T U R E 
    Magic
    Honor & Law
    Mating vs Bonding
    Courting
    Mating & Children
    Family Life

  • L I N K   T O  T H E  S T O R Y : C O R A L  &  B O N E
    This guide is based on the mermaids of Coral and Bone, who originate from the Assyrian goddess Atargatis and also, the Greek gods. This explores the theory of if the gods and their descendants fled to the sea in modern times.

Keep reading

  • what she says: i'm fine
  • what she means: auston matthews brought his mom as his date to the NHL awards. i mean he could've brought anyone. but as the good boy and son he is he brings his beloved mom whom we all love and adore. if you don't adore ema matthews then you are clearly lying to yourself. and knowing the pride she feels for auston and the respect auston has for ema. you know they are very close. AND !!!! HE !!! BROUGHT !!! HER !!! AS !!!! HIS !!! DATE !!!! TO !!! THE !!! NHL !!! AWARDS !!!! AND !!! RED !!! CARPET !!!!!!!!!!!!!!