I’m a writer (or so I claim) but I’m also a talker (so everyone else claims). I’m just as happy giving a speech or having a conversation as I am writing a story or an essay or a poem. And yet I’m perplexed by the concept of  “readings”. Not all of them, of course; I understand perfectly well the poetry reading, as poetry is equal parts oratory and literacy–we write poems that are meant to be both read and spoken, and often a single poem will seem incredibly different when spoken as opposed to read silently. Poetry is a genre that almost requires there to be readings.

But I’m not so sure with fiction and non-fiction. We have come a long way from the oral story-telling of pre-literate history, and as such we (at least we speakers of languages descended from Greek) no longer communicate in a lyric way, in patterns of short, easy to remember collections of sounds designating sensuous objects and actions. There is beauty in our language, sure, and many pieces of prose utilize that beauty quite well, but most of our prosaic language is abstract and conceptual, and, compared to the languages of cultures that don’t have writing, seems not to allow for the verbalization of text in the same way that poetry does.

As an example, I want you to think of nearly any line from Proust’s Swann’s Way. Any line! Here, I’ll pick one at random.

And so it was that–whereas an artist who, reading the memoirs of the seventeenth century, and, wishing to bring himself nearer to the great Louis, considers that he is making progress in that direction by constructing a pedigree that traces his own descent from some historic family, or by engaging in correspondence with one of the reigning sovereigns of Europe, is actually turning his back on what he mistakenly seeks under identical and therefore moribund forms–an elderly provincial lady, by doing no more than yield wholeheartedly to her own irresistible eccentricities and a cruelty born of idleness, could see, without ever having given a thought to Louis XIV, the most trivial occupations of her daily life, her morning toilet, her lunch, her afternoon nap, assume, by virtue of their despotic singularity, something of the interest that was to be found in what Saint-Simon called the “mechanics” of life at Versailles; and was able, too, to persuade herself that her silences, a suggestion of good humour or of haughtiness on her features, would provide Francoise with matter for a mental commentary as tense with passion and terror as did the silence, the good humour or the haughtiness of the King when a courtier, or even his greatest nobles, had presented a petition to him in an avenue at Versailles.

It’s beautiful prose, of course, but it’s also complex and complicated to read. Indeed, there are other passages that are even more confusing, and which require a number of passes in order to fully grasp what is being said, or rather, to grasp at the very least what the sentence means on a surface level. After figuring out what the structure of the sentence is, you then get to discern its overall meaning in relation to the other thousands of confusing sentences! It is the kind of book that requires a very slow reading in order to understand it and enjoy it fully, and it is a book which would not do well if read aloud.

This is not to say that there aren’t books which have poetic prose, or prose that is simpler and thus more easy to understand even as it is read to you. I simply think that prose, in general, is not suited to being read aloud. Such an approach allows for no re-reads, and subjects you to a single speed of absorption. If you stop to ponder a particular line you miss the next one, and once you are playing catch-up the game is over.

Perhaps the best way to approach readings is to think of them as adaptations of a book you have already read, albeit an adaptation that is more felicitous than those in movie or television form. This way, you can listen and not worry about catching meaning or understanding complex passages, as you will have already done that part. You can simply enjoy the sound of the words. In a way, this equates readings, certainly for those who haven’t come in contact with the material before, with musical concerts, in that the point is auditory more than anything else. You’re listening for sound; the rise and fall of a line, breaths, pauses, alliteration, etc, and not so much for a logical understanding of the words and phrases. That’s not a bad thing, but I think it’s a very different thing from what we think readings are now: opportunities to hear good stories. I’d much rather embrace readings as an opportunity to hear good music.

Tags:   Joe · Musings · oral · Proust · readings · text1 Comment