![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
threeplusfireWent out to throw away some garbage, and felt the compulsion to check my car. I keep experiencing this nagging fear that someone's going to come by and smash that window again and again and again. I'm about ready for these feelings to leave me alone. I don't like being this paranoid or worried.
I am quite overwhelmed by the generosity of my friends, and their offers to send copies of things I have lost. It really means a great deal to me, and I wish I could gather everyone in one room and serve pies.
The book on Rasputin I am currently reading was published in 2000 in England. While I acknowledge the difficulties inherrent in any translation, this translator could have used a bloody editor. The book reads like a rough draft, with awkward breaks and an extraordinary number of sentence fragments. It's like the man did a run through and never bothered to correct the sentences. While sometimes it could be acceptable to start a sentence with 'and', starting four sentences one one page that way is not acceptable. It makes reading a bit irksome at times, though it does have the feeling of something you might have filched off a desk and read in secret.
I am quite overwhelmed by the generosity of my friends, and their offers to send copies of things I have lost. It really means a great deal to me, and I wish I could gather everyone in one room and serve pies.
The book on Rasputin I am currently reading was published in 2000 in England. While I acknowledge the difficulties inherrent in any translation, this translator could have used a bloody editor. The book reads like a rough draft, with awkward breaks and an extraordinary number of sentence fragments. It's like the man did a run through and never bothered to correct the sentences. While sometimes it could be acceptable to start a sentence with 'and', starting four sentences one one page that way is not acceptable. It makes reading a bit irksome at times, though it does have the feeling of something you might have filched off a desk and read in secret.