The New Yorker: Fiction cover image

Saïd Sayrafiezadeh Reads Samuel Beckett

The New Yorker: Fiction

CHAPTER

The Play of Language

This isn't a play so it isn't expressly designed to be read aloud right or performed right and i'll tell you some of these sentences were hard to get out what must this be like in french because he's the translator. The landscape he's describing is not french it's very very much irishYeah and it's grim this sort of green landscape overrun by stoned light stone chalk  it's a place where when the cabin was built there was clover coming right up to it and now it's a place of rocky stone everywhere.

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