Now Hear This

One of the things about being a lifelong reader, who cannot actually travel in time, and who is not surrounded by masses of those who have precisely the same interests, is that reading remains in the mind.  When you're a kid, this can mean not learning how to pronounce certain names until later on - I was probably past ten before I knew Prague was not a two-syllable name.  I had read Mary Stewart's Arthurian trilogy several times, and until it had a fourth book to knock the numbers around, before my mildly dyslexic brain caught on to the fact that the name I had read as "Ambriosus" for ten years or so was in fact Ambrosius.  I had the same problem, during my research, with Aegidius, which I read at first as Aedigius.  Solitary reading leads to solitary mistakes, and we may not always correct our minds' eyes.

There are those things you can never hear authentically.  Latin, as it was spoken in the first century.  Old English.  All the tongues which have given birth to today's.  The way we'll sound tomorrow, at that.

I can live with my moment in time well enough to hope my stab at the past won't sound pathetic in the future.



The one name, though, which has stymied me for twenty years is this one:  Ceawlin.

I've read about this Braetwalda for half a generation and more.  I've never yet found a pronunciation key to his name.  It drives me nuts.

I love being a reader.

The ways it leaves me ignorant, though, still drive me crazy!