May 19, 2009
The Lost Art of Reading Aloud
How often do you practice rolling words off your tongue?
Reading aloud recaptures the physicality of words. To read with your lungs and diaphragm, with your tongue and lips, is very different than reading with your eyes alone. The language becomes a part of the body, which is why there is always a curious tenderness, almost an erotic quality, in those 18th- and 19th-century literary scenes where a book is being read aloud in mixed company. The words are not mere words. They are the breath and mind, perhaps even the soul, of the person who is reading.
I remember an old roommate asking me if I was okay on the second of April after a particularly vigorous reading of the Wasteland in my room the night before. I got into the habit of periodically reading aloud to myself while taking homiletics classes to hone my articulation and sense of rhythm. I highly recommend it for folks who want to practice public speaking.
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“The words are not mere words”.
Which is why reading aloud to little kids is such a cool, bonding experience, especially when done with emotion to match the story. I think you’d find that among parents of small children the art of reading aloud is not as lost as it may be with the rest of the population in general.
I used to read like a swift silent demon. Then, after I commenced narrating/recording books for the Library of Congress and other such truck, I got to reconsidering. I practically ‘sub-vocalize’ now when I read.
I love reading aloud. In fact, one of my keys to knowing whether a writer is any good or not is whether I can read the words ‘cold’ and smooth.
Sheila, when I have the luxury, I read my writing aloud before presenting it as well.
Locally, I’ve read (recorded) for the blind for a number of years and have always enjoed it. At home our girls are but 3 and 6: reading aloud is a daily experience.
When I was a student I’d read out loud when I couldn’t concentrate on what I was reading or when I read poetry or stream of consciousness. I recommend you read all porn out loud. It keeps you inside.
What a great question! Something that’s been flipping around in my head for a month or so.
I subvocalize everything I read. And I hear everything I write in my head. If it’s an “artful” piece I’m working on (and there are woefully too few) I will read them sotto voce to myself over and over until I feel there is no “catch” in my rhythm, no word unsayable easily.
I will often interrupt Danny (while he’s working with the TV on) to read aloud some comment or post here. (Sometimes to his consternation), but it almost always results in his giggling along with me, over the words y’all place on these pages.
Confession: If you haven’t already guessed it was me, it was me posting the couple of Walken “spoken in tongues” posts recently posted here. I’ve been trying to read them aloud to myself. It isn’t easy to wrap my tongue around the words, let alone try to come to some consistent pronunciation of the words made by contracting all the spaces between the words of the existing pieces, then separating them into different syllables. Trying to read them aloud is like trying to learn a foreign language. Yet I would love to make a recording of them perfectly read aloud. As I’ve tried, practiced, it’s interesting how some lines come out of the mouth almost intelligibly. Little hints at the original piece, yet sounding sometimes like a Norse language, sometimes Hawaiian, sometimes Native American. I find it fascinating a familiar piece in English, can be made to sound so alien. (And if made alien, then somehow still conveying the original intent?)
I’d have miles to go before anything could be actually recorded, then presented in this forum.
Whenever I write, I find I have to read it aloud to determine whether it makes sense. The voice has a way of uncovering flaws in the flow of words. And it always makes it sound much more dramatic and interesting than if I simply read it in my head.
I’m sure the other people in my office think I’m slightly mad though.
I have no desire to practice public speaking, but I love reading to my nephew, or to any other loved ones who express a wish (or consent) to be read to. I read a lot of non-fiction, much of which doesn’t improve by being read aloud; poetry and some fiction, on the other hand, can be a joy to vocalize. Even if it’s just a quiet murmur to oneself, it can make all the difference from the kind of silent abstract processing that otherwise sometimes takes place.
Recent highlights of reading aloud were Dr Seuss’s Oh, The Places You’ll Go!, Leonard Cohen’s Book of Longing, and three Seán O’Casey plays. Last year, reading Ulysses, I was awestruck by the pure and exuberant musicality of Joyce’s writing. This can perhaps be partly attributed to the fact that he was half blind and supposedly a very fine singer.
Last summer on vacation with friends for a wedding, I took to reading portions of Moby Dick aloud. That was fun. The best part was when Stubb is yelling to his boatcrew to “Pull, me hearties, pull! Pull!” I read that bit late at night when we couldn’t sleep for excitement. Later, when the bride was quite stressed, I read some of the less exciting bits about ropes to help calm her mind. She woke from a late morning nap to tell me that she was in and out concentrating on ropes. I don’t read aloud in character too well- I forget to stay in voice, or wind up to a complicated voice and pause too long in character creation- stumbling the story.
Mary, I love this.
[...] Mary Jeys: Last summer on vacation with friends for a wedding, I took to reading portions of Moby Dick aloud. That was fun. The best part was when Stubb is yelling to his boatcrew to “Pull, me hearties, pull! Pull!” I read that bit late at night when we couldn’t sleep for excitement. Later, when the bride was quite stressed, I read some of the less exciting bits about ropes to help calm her mind. She woke from a late morning nap to tell me that she was in and out concentrating on ropes. I don’t read aloud in character too well — I forget to stay in voice, or wind up to a complicated voice and pause too long in character creation — stumbling the story. [...]