The Politics of Art & Authenticity

Unlike operas, I feel that books are meant to be read, not read aloud, or technically, performed. There’s a special bond bond between reader and text that exists only between the two, and it’s always unique to that specific pairing. The way one person reads the book will never be the same exact way another person will read it, whether it be the way they envision the characters, or which images their mind chooses to expand upon. Now, I had never been to a reading before, but I was curious to find out what it’s like to be read to, as opposed to simply reading on my own. (The last time I was read to was well over a decade ago, and even when teachers would read aloud passages in high school, we had our own copies of the text to read along to. Those standardized test “read and take notes” passages don’t count.)

The reading was an experience in itself, because at the very least, I was able to sit in the same room as an accomplished author who went on to read and discuss passages from a book that she wasn’t done writing yet. People live for events like this, so why shouldn’t I? There’s something vulnerable about an author being brave enough to read something unknown to her audience when she knows there’s going to be a possibility that people don’t like it, and that made the whole night for me. The detail that Ms. Vaz went into when telling us how she decided which passages she was going to read to us, as well as the stories she brought up afterwards about the actual process she went through that lead her to write this novel, made me think of books in a whole new light. Sure, there’s a story within the pages of a book, but what’s the story that created this book? Her stories were hilarious, and I enjoyed them as much, or even more, than I did the actual reading.

A collection of short stories by Katherine Vaz

When I read, it’s more about mental images and developing an imaginary scene than it is about actual words, but when I was listening that night, I felt myself connected to each word that I heard, and I had trouble coming up with a fluid picture in my mind. The first passage that we heard (and I know I’m not going to do Ms. Vaz any justice in trying to recall the exact wording here,) went into detail about how the mother would reassure her son that she would always be with him. To walk through spider webs and to make bandages from webs as well, for she would be in the web. I don’t know if it was because I heard those words rather than simply scanned over them, or if it’s because it’s just that great of a literary metaphor, but it stuck with me.

I feel like I appreciate words more when I hear them, and that descriptive sentences (with tassels hanging off of them,) aren’t as draining when they’re not staring you in the face just waiting for you to trip up and reread them because you get lost. That was “Lisbon Story” for me. Now, I know that it’s a completely different experience from what we heard, but the same level of description applies, but it becomes an issue of voice. When I read Lisbon Story, I was hearing my own voice, or the voice of the characters that I was making up – and I find it very, very easy to find my own voice irritating. Reading a story gives you unlimited creativity in how you’re going to interpret the text, which takes away from maybe really “reading.” Hearing the story spoken to us took that away, and I was able to hear a story the way the author intended it to be read; the only true interpretation.

Hearing a story is great. You have a different voice, a different understanding – and if I can judge other literary readings based off of this one – a great time.