Eileen is reading a book on the history of Iceland which is written in a non-traditional manner. The writer is traveling with her father from their home in Scotland to learn about his homeland. She starts by saying her father is too fastidious about language - both English and Icelandic. On the flight to Iceland to deflect his wrath about her English she suggests talking in Icelandic altogether. This is a smart move because although my grammar there is a mangled mess, he is delighted I can manage anything at all. I horrified him by asking if he could remind me how to decline bók, a word I knew would prove useful. The nominative for 'book' was no trouble, but we were nowhere near the eight case variations, including all the plurals, before we gave up. And this is the man who is supposed to be fluent. But then, Icelandic is a seriously tricky tongue. We are talking about a language which has twelve different forms for every number from one to four. Twelve, I tell you. Everything which moves is conjugated, declined and mystifyingly altered. They would modify your grandmother if you let them. As a matter of fact, they do modify your grandmother: amma becomes ömmu when she is the object of a sentence.
We found her commentary on Icelandic funny but seriously it is very difficult for those of us who don´t even remember what an adverb is or a participle for that matter. We are learning though!