“Laboriously I spelled out the words. They seemed different when they were on the page: not flowing and sonorous, as I had recited them in my head, but flatter, drier. Becka said that spelling was not reading: reading, she said, was when you could hear the words as if they were a song.”I adore that last bit--the idea that reading is when we feel the words as if they were music inside us. The words and phrases--the ideas--flow together. They fit. They fill us up. They rise and fall--the story rises and falls--as if it were a melody. Inexplicably, the song may contain beauty and hope and despair and loss all in the same piece. Like magic.
Of course, it stands to reason that this metaphor strikes me so, seeing how much I love both reading and music. They have a similar sort of magic to them, to use that word again, so the notion sits well in my mind.
When I read aloud for other folks--a fairly rare occurrence these days--it is just my regular Beth voice though. I am not a talented enough voice actor to make the voices I hear inside my brain come out of my mouth. That is cool to realize in and of itself. I can hear an Indian accent with my mind's ear, but I cannot produce it with my lips.
Johnny Cash's version of Hurt instead of Nine Inch Nails' original. The song is both the same and different because of the change in voice.
(For the record, that is not one of my favorite songs, but a tremendous example of contrasting versions of the same tune. I prefer Johnny Cash's, but I can remember my friend, Val, hating it because it didn't sound right to her. There have been a handful of audiobooks I couldn't get into because the voice was all wrong, so I guess I understand.)
|Photos from October 2019 - Early Snow and Fab Fall Colors.|