Alive & Knitting

You might remember a while back that I wrote about listening to a “live in concert” CD set, Loreena McKennitt’s NIGHTS AT THE ALHAMBRA. Well, my ears got lucky recently – we went to see Loreena perform live for the first time.

It was wonderful. It might have been the same set of songs as on the CD’s, but seeing and hearing the music live was an entirely different experience. I enjoyed the interplay between the musicians and their obvious connection, and her banter with the audience. There was a tremendous amount of energy, all that wonderful music, and it was a magical night.

And this – big surprise – got me to thinking.

For a musician, there are three forms of the work:

1. There is the studio-recorded version of each song, compiled into a studio album. 2. There is the live performance of the work, usually a selection of songs from a variety of studio albums.
3. And there is the hybrid form, the recorded performance.

So, the first version of the work, the studio recording, is carefully managed and engineered to be a perfect replication of the musician’s vision for the work. This contrasts with what is often the more spontaneous performance of the song which happens in concert – or the experience of attending the concert. The live concert is a full sensory experience, and I’ll guess, it’s an experience that shows some change with each performance even for the musicians – because the audience brings their vibe to the concert hall. Finally, the concert recording tries to present the experience of the concert performance – or at least provide a souvenir of it – but can’t truly include the energy one experiences at the actual concert. It’s evocative of it, though, and can recall the experience of the concert to someone who has been in attendance.

So far so good. My friend Philip is always on about the parallels between musicians and writers, so I’ve been thinking about the power of performance, and have been trying to come up with parallels to all of these for books.

The problem is that it’s not working.

Sure, the book is comparable to the studio recording. Both are carefully managed and presented. Both are static. Both should represent most closely the creator’s vision for his or her work.

After that, though, the comparisons fall apart.

An audio book is a performance of the written book, but one that doesn’t very neatly parallel either the concert or the concert recording. Although an audio book is certainly a recording, and even one edited into slightly different form from the original book, it’s read by actors from a script that is every bit as unspontaneous as the original book. The author has no participation in this form – it’s more comparable to a movie being made of the book.

My own experience of “performance” per se has been teaching workshops or participating in panel discussions or doing booksignings. I have never read my work aloud in public. I’ve used passages as examples in workshops I’ve taught, but these were illustrations of craft, not truly performances of the work itself. And at booksignings, it’s not typical for authors to read from their work – the connection that is made with readers and attendees is personal. You talk to people, discuss the work, discuss their reading habits, and if they buy the book, it’s almost a souvenir of the encounter.

It’s interesting that the work is not a part of these author appearances, while for a musician, the work is the focus of the performance. In some genres – poetry and literary fiction – the public reading of the work is very common, but it is less common with commercial fiction.

I wonder whether this is because an author reading a work aloud is not a full sensory experience. It’s not enormously different from reading the book yourself. There is no light show. There are no supporting authors. There’s no added dimensionality, and prose does not touch our souls the way that music so easily can. There is just the work, and it is just words, words you could consume in the privacy of your own world without taking the trouble to attend the reading.

And maybe this is the root of it – that books are intended for private consumption, while music can be either privately enjoyed or part of a communal endeavor. We play music at dinner parties, we set mood with music, we listen to music together and discuss it. We read books alone. We enter the universe of the book without any fellow travellers – in fact, sometimes that’s the point. Why else read on a commuter train?

So, the work of the book (quite naturally) doesn’t translate as well to public performance as music does. Another variable is that reading the book aloud doesn’t add that much to its nuances and meanings. Can an author add to the power of the work in a public reading? I think so, with the addition of anecdotes, or sharing the story of how the book came into being, or giving the “inside view” of the creative process. I doubt that most people at public readings of books are interested in the nitty gritty of craft, or the ins and outs of the publishing business – just as a musician will seldom discuss the recording business during a concert, or the challenge of managing details on the road. The interest is in the work and its creation, and maybe that’s the only place that an author can add dimensionality to a reading.

Hmm. Why is this on my brain? I’m requested to do a reading at the opening reception for the Writer in Residence program at the Toronto Public Library. This will be the first time that I’ve done such a reading, so I’m thinking about it too much.

So, tell me – how many of you have been to an author reading? Do you like to hear the author read his or her own work? What kind of “performance” do you expect from a book author? Or even better, what do you think is the performance parallel between music and books, between musicians and authors?