'S dcha d1/4reach gur e ceist ine, neo t1/4m, a bha sin: nam biodh barrachd ine air a bhith againn, na bhiodh sinn air a dh anamh 's a choilionadh cmhla. An saoghal a bhiodh sinn air a dhealbh. Nam biodh gradh da-r1/4reabh againn air a ch ile, cha bhiodh sinn air dealachadh." "BOCO e samhradh fada teth a bhOCO ann..." chunnaic iad a ch ile air aiseag, ach bho nach do bhruidhinn iad, tha cianalas is aithreachas aOCO gabhail greim. Ann an sgr1/4obhadh alainn ealanta tha An Nighean air an Aiseig gar toirt air ais gu samhraidhean gaoil ann am Muile, an Uibhist is eile. "An Nighean air an Aiseag" is the Scottish Gaelic version of the novel "The Girl on the Ferryboat" and is believed to be the first novel simultaneously published in both English and Gaelic.
Angus Peter Campbell is a Scottish award-winning poet, novelist, journalist, broadcaster and actor. Campbell's works, which are written mainly in Scottish Gaelic, draw heavily upon both Hebridean mythology and folklore and the magic realism of recent Latin American literature.
I had already read a previous book by Angus Peter Campbell, Archie and the North Wind. So I came to read this one expecting great things. I wasn't disappointed. The writing is lyrical. Yes, there are smatterings of Gaelic, but this in no way interferes with the reading of the book in English, on the contrary it adds another layer of texture to an already beautiful work of prose. There's a sort of magical realism quality to the telling of the tale. It's a story of love––of love and its possibilities––of lifelong love, of love lost, love unrequited and love found. And intertwined with the lives and loves of the characters there are the opposing forces of chance and fate. Alasdair is prompted to look back over his life after a chance re-encounter with Helen whilst travelling on a Hebridean ferry. The two had first met on a similar ferry crossing about forty years before. That meeting had been brief as they passed each other and exchanged a few words on the staircase between decks on board. But it had made an impression on them both. Alasdair reflects on what might have been and what has been. He recalls the time in his youth when, on leaving university he returned home from Oxford to the island of Lewis and worked with a local boat builder to build a boat for a couple of elderly neighbours. These elderly neighbours had experienced a long and happy life together and still had hopes, plans and dreams. He then recalls his own experiences of love––of his first love and then his own long-lasting and happy marriage which ended with his wife's death. Helen's story is also told. Indeed there's a lot of head and time hopping but the whole remains coherent. The Scottish Hebrides, especially the island of Mull, are beautifully represented as are the ways of island life. But this is no parochial tale. On the contrary the characters are well travelled and worldly wise. Yes, it's an introspective story, but it's also outward looking and universal at times. And although there's a wonderful magical wistful a quality to the story, the nostalgia is never hopeless. On the contrary the mood is one of acceptance and of hope. Alasdair acknowledges that misunderstandings can have long term, sometimes negative, implications on a person's fate. But he also recognises that active decision making can lead to positive effects. This book is a short, poignant, sweet but not sickly, journey through the lives of its characters. in places it reads like a memoir. Campbell has crafted a tapestry––a tapestry where some of the panels are rather abstract yes, but the whole is well stitched together. It could have got horribly messy but it doesn't. And, ultimately as with any art, it's down to the reader to interpret the meaning. Type of read: Evening, in a quiet room - just the sounds of a ticking clock and a crackling fire, curtains drawn and with a whisky to hand.
Alexander (Alasdair) und das fremde Mädchen treffen auf der engen Treppe der Fähre nach Mull/Schottland aufeinander. Helen ist in einem Moment der Unaufmerksamkeit kurz zuvor ihre Geige gestohlen worden. Vielleicht hat sie deshalb keinen Blick für den jungen Mann, der von seinem Studienort auf dem Festland auf dem Weg zu seiner Heimatinsel ist. Die Wege der beiden trennen sich wieder, doch die Erinnerung an die kurze Begegnung lässt Alasdair nicht los. Helen reist weiter und lebt später ein erfülltes Leben als Entwicklungshelferin. Die Heimat zu verlassen auf der Suche nach Arbeit ist weder für Helen noch für Alasdair ungewöhnlich. Schon Helens Vater kam einst auf Arbeitssuche aus Irland. Alasdairs Schicksal wendet sich kurz darauf durch die Begegnung mit einer Fotografin von National Geographic, die ihn ermuntert, die Insel zu verlassen und ihn als Mäzenin tatkräftig fördert. Alasdair kann auf eine trotz bitterer Armut glückliche Kindheit zurückblicken. Sein Großvater fertigte in tagelanger Arbeit eine Angelrute für den Jungen an und lehrte ihn geduldig, gleichmäßig zu rudern. Der besondere Sommer am Ende seines Studiums wird Alasdair als Wendepunkt in Erinnerung bleiben, weil er gemeinsam mit Big Roderick ein Boot für einen anderen Alasdair baute. Für den älteren Alasdair und seine bretonische Frau muss das Fischen von diesem für sie persönlich konstruierten Boot das höchste Glück gewesen sein. Während der Arbeit mit Roderick zögert Alasdair, nur kurz wie auf der Fähre, als ihm Zweifel kommen, ob seine Berufung fern von Mull liegen kann.
Wir begegnen Alasdair und Helen erst wieder, als beide rund 60 Jahre alt sind. Helen hat noch immer ihr Elternhaus auf der Insel, Alasdair kehrt zurück, um die Asche seiner verstorbenen Frau beizusetzen. Die Szene auf der Fähre wiederholt sich, das Paar erkennt sich wieder. Ohne Bitterkeit darüber, dass er sich damals falsch entschieden haben könnte, nimmt Alasdair sein neues Leben in der alten Heimat in Angriff.
Angus Peter Campbell wechselt in seinem kurzen, sehr gefühlvollen Roman immer wieder vom Englischen ins Gälische. Er lässt Alasdair über den Reichtum der gälischen Sprache sinnieren, mit der sich das Wetter, das Meer und die Welt der Schiffe so viel anschaulicher beschreiben lassen. Die englischen Begriffe Schiff und Boot reichen seiner Ansicht nach nicht aus, um die Vielfalt der Bootstypen zu beschreiben, mit denen man sich auf dem Meer und auf Schottlands Lochs fortbewegt. Mit Alasdairs Erinnerungen an die kargen Lebensbedingungen seiner Kindheit verknüpft Campbell anschaulich das Empfinden der Befriedigung durch handwerkliche Arbeit und stimmungsvolle Naturbeobachtungen. Durch Alasdairs versöhnlichen Blick auf seine Herkunft und seine Vergangenheit wird vermutlich jeder Leser individuell über seine eigenen Träume für sich und die Nachkommen und auch über die Macht des Zufalls nachdenken. "The Girl on the Ferryboat" als kurze Geschichte einer verspäteten Liebe war - völlig unerwartet - bereits jetzt eines meiner Jahreshighligts durch seine Sprache und die Nähe eines persönlichen Schicksals zu gälischer Kultur, Musik und Mythologie.
I really liked this little book, left with me by a visitor. It's well outside my experience, set mostly on the Isle of Mull and nearby islands, but the writing is poetic and beautiful and the story a mingling of regrets, longing, memory, and meditations on life in general. Campbell darts skilfully backwards and forwards between time and viewpoints, covering a period of fifty years or so, but it's never confusing -- it's so skilfully handled. And the occasional bit of Gaelic didn't disturb me -- when necessary, it's always explained. A very lovely surprise.
I partly enjoyed this book but I felt it was overlong and the main protagonist’s musings towards the end didn’t really add much to the story. The stories of Alastair and Helen (the “girl on the Ferryboat”) were interesting enough but I kept wondering how autobiographical the novel was, given I remember the author from his North Tonight TV presenting days. I feel he gave a good sense of place when describing the Western Isles and some of the descriptions were lyrical. But not sure I’d seek out any more of his books!
Beautiful and whimsical. Memories interweave together with the present, and whilst it takes a while to untangle the story, it is all written in such a vivid and lyrical tone, making it a pleasure to read.
I really did NOT like this book at first. I actually picked it up, and put it back on my bookshelf three times before I committed to plowing through and reading the whole thing. With that said ... first impressions really let me down with this book, because about 1/3 of the way through, I started to enjoy it. And by the end, I was completely wrapped up in the characters, their stories, and what their stories could have been.
Writing a story about a missed story is an interesting concept. But it's one I thought the author did a great job portraying. The story can be tricky to follow at times, because the narrators flow fluidly between 'now' and 'memories' or inner monologue. But, I suppose that's how people work - we're looking at something in front of us, which leads to inner ideas and thoughts. Interesting to see that take place in writing.
I really wanted to like this book. The central themes are classics - love, missed opportunities, belonging, feeling like an outsider, and he does honour the people of his home island, but there were parts that just jarred - in places it felt like an exercise in name-dropping in order to reinforce his points. I enjoyed it more as it went on, but ultimately this felt to me like a series of vignettes stitched together to make a story.
This was a solid read; interesting for the most part, though a little tiresome when wading through all the Gaelic. I bought the book last year as I prepared for a trip to Scotland but just got around to reading it. It brought back fond memories of several of the places i visited. Overall I liked the story and how the characters developed.
I found this book very pretentious, as if the author felt the need to 'Educate', both in general and for non-Gaelic speakers on the wonders of the language. I also found his rambling from one time to another irritating and not at all evocative of the places he is describing, many of which I know pretty well myself. His description of island life felt patronising rather than warmly reminiscent.