Alison Lang

Tha an t-eilean làn de sgeulachdan agus tha Tormod gan cluinntinn a h-uile taobh dhan tèid e. Cha ghann nach cluinn e mu na saighdearan Ròmanach, còtaichean seunta, agus mu dhaoine air an toirt a thaobh, air neo am bruid, air sgàth an cuid aineòlas, agus droch rùn chàich.

Ach, chan e a h-uile càil a tha freagarrach do chluasan òganaich agus cluinnidh Tormod, 's a chluais ri claisneachd, gu leòr a tha ga chur a rannsachadh mu cò a b' athair dha, am measg nithean eile. Cluinnidh e sop às gach seid bho a nàbaidh Ruairidh, a mhàthair is cailleachan na bùtha, ach chan eil e idir furasta do Thormod bun no bàrr a dhèanamh dheth. Nach fheàrr neoichiontachd na h-òige na bhith air do bhuaireadh cus le còmhradh a tha am beul dhaoine?

The island is full of stories, and Tormod hears them everywhere—at home, at school, and from Ruairidh next door. There are stories about Roman legions and enchanted tweed coats and men carried off by brutal pressgangs and self-proclaimed bards who would steal a song right out of your mouth. And then there are the stories he isn't supposed to hear, and maybe one of them will explain a few things that puzzle him, like why he doesn't have a father. Stories can change with every telling, and a little boy's innocence can't last forever. Am Balach Beag a dh'Èisteadh aig Dorsan agus na chuala e (The Little Boy who Listened at Doors ) explores the power of stories and the motives of people who tell them.

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