
Saïd Sayrafiezadeh Reads Samuel Beckett
The New Yorker: Fiction
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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