On Reading Aloud

A favorite new old ritual.

Welcome to the Tuesday post for all subscribers! We’re back in book talk mode, which feels exciting and refreshing. On Friday, paid subscribers will receive a recipe for a sweet treat to make with any leftover chocolate you happen to have around. As always, you can learn more about what I do for work at my website.

In case you are one of the three people I haven’t yet complained to about this, our December was quieter than anticipated due to another round of COVID that hit us over the holidays. In an effort to find something special to do, I picked up a book and started reading out loud.

The book I picked up, as it happened, was one that was read aloud to me as a child: The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. It’s a book that’s close to my heart, which I’ll talk more about later this month, and it’s written in a style that makes it incredibly easy to read, either to yourself or out loud. It’s not like Harry Potter, for which you feel pressured to do voices, or Lord of the Rings, with an encyclopedia of characters that are easy to lose track of without visual aids.

It’s a simple story, good versus evil, and the writing swings wildly and joyously from very poetic to very matter-of-fact. Reading it out loud is fun, especially because of the way that the narrator directly addresses the readers. It’s an adventure, after all, and you feel a part of it.

Two chapters at a time, we tromped through Narnia, taking turns reading out loud to each other. What had started as a desperate ploy for something/anything to shake up a routine became something I looked forward to, not for the story, of course, but for the act itself.

I’ve read The Chronicles of Narnia many times. It’s one of the books that I routinely pick back up when life is feeling particularly colorless and lacking in magic. It’s not perfect, of course, but I love it anyway. I was surprised how much more poignant and moving the story was when I was reading it aloud. I felt tears prickling at my eyes more than once, hearing the words I know so well read aloud.

Aside from the story that we were reading, though, I loved the ritual of reading aloud. It felt intimate, so intimate that even writing about it feels somewhat uncomfortable. I wonder at that—is it because we’re used to being read to as children by our parents? Is it because of the wonder you feel when listening to someone weaving a world together with their voice? Or is it simply because we were curled up in bed, not feeling well, and being cared for in a special, gentle way?

I still haven’t put my finger on exactly why, but I know that it’s a balm that felt more powerful than medicine. It felt like we were reaching back, far back, into the days before television or radio or music on an iPhone. We were reading a story out loud, together, living in the same magical world and watching the same characters blossom into themselves.

When was the last time you read something aloud or were read to? No, not by a recording of a celebrity reading their memoir. By a living, breathing human in the same room as you. Was it when you were a child? Was it in your high school English class? Find someone you love and pick up a story to share. I want to know if you feel it too, the magic that bonds you together while you’re in the midst of a story.

As you know by now, I love writing about the books I’m reading, so I appreciate you showing up and reading these non-food essays. We’ll get back to snacks on Friday to chat about a post-Valentine’s Day treat!