For many years, my parents had to read me a bedtime story every night. I remember the sad night when Dad declared me “too old” for bedtime stories, while he continued to read to my little sisters. But even at the time, I understood that expecting someone to read The Lord of the Rings to you is maybe asking a bit too much (although asking a third grader to read The Lord of the Rings to herself is also maybe asking a bit too much).
But for all of my early childhood — even though I spent most of the school day making trips to the school library and reading during class — books were primarily an auditory experience. There were the picture books (The Elephant and the Bad Baby was a favorite and I highly recommend it; I’m also kicking myself that we lost our copy of Wuggie Norple, which is now out of print), Dr. Seuss (I tortured my parents by demanding endless encores of Fox in Socks), The Boxcar Children and all the terrible sequels (Mom still complains about the formulaic “and then Benny said _____ and everyone laughed!”), the Narnia series and the massive library of children’s books (some great, some terrible) Grandma Lohrenz accumulated over her career as a teacher.
My sophomore year in college, I bought a futon for my dorm room. The roommates agreed that we’d allow overnight guests on the futon, but the guest would have to read us a bedtime story in return for our hospitality.
Several months later, I remember reading Sarah Vowell stories to a friend — I don’t remember if it was his idea or mine for me to read them out loud — while sitting on the front porch of my first apartment.
Quinton and I took turns reading chapters of Sarah Vowell and David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs to each other while curled up in bed.
And now when no one is around to hear me, I read to myself sometimes. (No, I don’t really do voices.) Because seriously, The Areas of My Expertise is just better out loud (yes, I did get the audiobook when it was free on iTunes).
Last month, I read Mortified and kept thinking that it was hilarious in print, but there is a reason it started out as a stage show: stories that hilarious need to be heard.
Tonight, I’m reading Love Is a Mix Tape and I’m thinking it would be best if John Cusack were reading it to me, but I’d gladly welcome any male reader.
The saddest feeling in my life lately is getting a new book and realizing I have no one to read it to me. Yes, there are audiobooks, but they’re nothing like having someone there, reading the words just for you, asking you how to pronounce the tricky words and pausing when you laugh.
Posted: 10:50 pm ·
Category: Books ·
Comments: 2
