I finished reading Anne Fadiman’s Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader yesterday. (Lovely little book for bibliophiles.)
One of the essays contained therein describes the joys of reading aloud to someone, or having someone read to you. She talks about reading romantic poetry with a boyfriend in college, and decades later she and her husband, George, are taking turns working through Homer’s Odyssey. She closes with this:
I was struck by this essay in particular, because one of the fondest memories from my unfortunately defunct marriage was the several days I spent reading a novel aloud to my wife following major surgery to her spine. She was completely incapacitated, confined to bed, and I wanted to help her pass the time, so I chose a book I knew she hadn’t read but that she’d enjoy, and offered to read it to her. My only condition: that I not tell her anything about it before I began. She chafed a bit, but she was stuck in bed, so what was she going to do?
The book was Stephen King’s Eyes of the Dragon, which is one of my favorites of his. And I’m not a King fan at all; I disagree with his basic approach to the genre, and I think he seriously jumped the shark a number of years ago. But Eyes of the Dragon is a departure for him, a compelling fairy tale, and I knew my wife would enjoy it. But she feels even more negatively about King than I do, so I knew I had to get her involved in the story before revealing the author. It was a risk, but I took it.
She loved the story, and thanked me for my persistence.
Now I’m preparing for a public reading this coming Friday and Saturday. I did the same thing last year: a small group of performers (five that time, four this time) reading, as a Hallowe’en event, the work of Edgar Allan Poe. The audience? A theater-savvy crowd in a small independent restaurant, with the stories coming between courses. Last year I read “The Pit and the Pendulum” and “Annabel Lee,” plus Fortunato’s dialogue in “The Cask of Amontillado.” This year I’m reading “The Conqueror Worm” and “Berenice,” and the father and other dialogue in “Lionizing.”
I’d invite interested folks to join us, but reservations are full up, with a waiting list. It’s a remarkably popular event; last year we did just one night for a packed house, and this year we’re doing two nights to meet the demand. And that’s the thing: Normally I hate dinner-theater type stuff, but last year was a lot of fun; the audience is really, really into it, listening quietly, responding appreciatively. I’m looking forward to doing it again.
Do you enjoy reading aloud, or being read to, like this? Do you make time for it? Not just with your kids, or other people’s children, but with your significant other, or anyone at all. Or even alone: when I read Shakespeare, I read out loud, usually on my feet, moving around my living room, worrying not at all whether I would look like a crazy person to an invisible observer. I mean, it’s just so much better that way.
It may seem like a luxury in this frantic age, but it’s so simple, and so pleasurable, that there’s no reason not to do it. If you’ve never tried it, I recommend it heartily. That hour when you’re flipping channels killing time between shows? Try reading out loud instead.
Fadiman again, regarding The Odyssey:
Who’s with me?