Long story short:
I've been trying to read Alan Moore's Voice Of The Fire off and on for about 3 or 4 years now with absolutely no success. I've gotten repeatedly stuck, as I'm sure many have who've attempted to read the book, on the book's first chapter, and am too stubborn to simply skip it. (For those of you who haven't picked up the book: the first chapter, entitled Hob's Hog, is written from the point of view of a prehistoric boy who's a bit on the slow side, even compared to his peers. The language is, therefore, rather difficult to follow). The only way I've been able to get through it, I've found, is to go through the text sentence-by-sentence and, as closely as I can, "translate" it into modern English and write my "translation" down in a notebook. As I was doing this, it occured to me that I should post my "translation" on the Internet so that it might be of service to others who are attempting to read the book. Hence, this blog.
So, further without ado, here's my best shot at what's being said in the first couple of paragraphs of the Hob's Hog chapter of Alan Moore's novel Voice Of The Fire. The edition I'm using is the 2003 hardcover (ISBN 1-8918330-44-9), starting on page 5.
Behind the hill, on the horizon, the sun is setting. I walk up the hill, out of breath. The grass is making my feet cold and wet.
There is no grass on the top of the hill. There is only a circle of dirt, like a bald man's head. I stand there and I turn my face to the wind to sniff, and yet there are no smells coming from a long way off. My belly hurts in the middle of me. I burp, and the taste of it is like the taste of nothing. The scab on my knee is turning black and it itches. I scratch it and it starts bleeding again.
That's all for today. I'll try to post every day, even if it's just to put up a paragraph or two.