Thinking Aloud About Reading Aloud
Not long ago – to my surprise, because computers and the devices they’ve spawned ordinarily confuse and confound me – I figured out how to work an iPod. Ironically, this technological leap forward has allowed me to rediscover one of the great pleasures of my non-digital, unelectronic childhood: the joy of being read to. My iPod contains no music files, only audiobooks, and within a few months I’ve logged over a hundred hours of listening. From the first moment I heard a narrator intone “Chapter One” I was entranced, gone, lost in the world being revealed syllable by syllable over the headphones.
Part of the reason for what is rapidly becoming an iPod addiction is that I’ve found that listening to downloaded stories can still evoke the blissful emotional state that I remember from the time when my mother read to me and my siblings, all of us squeezed into an armchair or sprawled across her bed. At first the idea that a voice coming out of a little piece of metal could in any way remind me of my mother was disconcerting. It became less so when I thought about all the elements that came into play during those early real-alouds. There was the extreme happiness of having the undivided attention of a parent; there was the comfort of physical closeness; there was, with the reading of each story, the creation of a common body of knowledge – words, characters, jokes, images – that became part of our family’s shared intellectual and imaginative life. Those positive associations were compelling enough to make the changes wrought by time unimportant. That I’m listening to different books, read by different voices, in a different setting, doesn’t matter. The alchemy is the same.
All of which is not to say that the warm-fuzzies emanating from those parent-child read-aloud times made the books themselves less important. My mother genuinely enjoyed reading to us, and the pleasure I heard in her voice when she encountered a clever turn of phrase or a funny-silly word taught me that language can be both a wonderful plaything and something to revere. Nevertheless, some of the books she chose for us were duds. Style alone wasn’t enough; if there wasn’t a vigorous storyline, we were out of there. I was reminded of this recently, when I tried reading one of my picturebook works-in-progress to a visiting six-year-old. Restless squirming occurred at precisely the moments when I had put the action on “pause” for just a little bit too long, in order to wax poetic about something or other. It was a good, though painful, lesson that a balance of simplicity and sophistication – a lot of the former, not so much of the latter – is the paramount goal when addressing young children.
I still don’t like mucking about with cyberstuff, but I have to admit, grudgingly, that my iPod Awakening been a good thing in more ways than one. I’m enjoying an old pastime anew. I’ve thought more about exactly why that old pastime was so delightful. And that in turn has made me more sensitive to the way my writing can affect the listeners I hope to captivate in the same way. If my hours with the iPod can be the indirect cause of a child’s turning away from a computer game to spend a few minutes getting acquainted with a book, it’s time very well spent.
Tags: Duke new media parent-child reading aloud storytime
July 17th, 2009 at 12:10 pm
My fondest childhood memories are of my father reading to me and my siblings before bed. We read and re-read books, to the point that my father could recite our favorites. Years later, when my youngest daughter was two, I dug up A Fly Went By by Mike McClintock at my parents’ house. As my daughter snuggled into my lap in anticipation, and we turned to the first page, my father began, from across the room. “I sat by the lake. I looked at the sky, And as I looked, A fly went by.” He had the warmest smile!
July 17th, 2009 at 12:15 pm
I love this, Kate. New technologies aren’t always evil!
My husband & I were driving back to CT from Acadia last week, a seven hour drive. We did chat for a few hours (!), but then decided to listen to A MOVEABLE FEAST. It was great listening, but it was also really wonderful that we were actually able to talk to each other about the book as it went along. Or chuckle at some line or another, or whatever – respond to little things that we wouldn’t necessarily remember to mention had we each read the book as a book, in our own little corners.
July 22nd, 2009 at 2:46 pm
It astonishes me how hungey we humans – all of us – are for story. T.V., video games, movies, theater sell story – and how eagerly we buy! But there is even more power in story read one to another.
I read aloud to my family in the car and always have. They prefe it to taped stories (and my stomach doesn’t object.) I visited one school this year where community volunteers come in early to simply read aloud to kids before school starts. At another school, senior citizens are matched one-on-one to socially and emotionally needy kids. Thair job? Simply to read aloud to them during lunch hour. Perhaps they’ll play a game, share a cookie and a laugh, but being read to is the main event. My son helps coordinate a “book group” for adults with special problems. The simply pass a book around, taking turns reading it aloud to each other. That is enough. (They judt finished Harry Potter # 1, will read Dewey next)
Watching story hunger expressed all around makes me feel humble to be among the story spinners. This is a most ancient and profound calling.
July 27th, 2009 at 12:43 pm
Listening to stories is time well spent indeed. I’ve been listening to books on CD’s in he car lately, and now I don’t want to drive without one. Waiting for someone to hurry up and get into the car to go somewhere? No problem. Just turn on the story. Arriving too early? A happy moment to listen a little more.
If only I could figure out how to download a book onto my Phillips audio thing.