Are literary readings boring?
on writing the book vs. performing it
A brief interlude from the usual content, here is something about the difference between writing a book and reading from it at events.
But first, a shout out the Macondo Writers Workshop, who is celebrating 30 years of being a “homeland for writers” – particularly but not exclusively Latine writers. I was lucky to be a Macondista a couple years ago, attending an amazing ekphrastic workshop run by Nelly Rosario and meeting some great folks along the way. Having published books for 15 years (I’ll be writing about that at some point), it was a vital space for me to take off my publishing hat and focus on writing. I recently donated $30 to Macondo in honor of their 30th year, and I’d encourage you to do the same. The donation site is a little janky because it’s through the college that is their fiscal sponsor. But they deserve every penny, so give what you can!
I was recently invited by a college to talk about my novella Lizard People, which Thirty West published back in 2023. It’s cool that a small press book of such a short length can have an extended life like this. My buddy Steven Dunn is still doing appearances for his amazing small press debut, Potted Meat. Every author hopes their books see the same kind of longevity. (Potted Meat was also made into a short film, so if anyone wants to adapt Lizard People, I’m all ears… or scales, or whatever.) But I digress.
As if writing the book were not enough, authors are expected to present their work to a live audience. In a perfect world, authors wouldn’t have to leave the house. Our books would magically find their audience while we hang out at home binging reality TV and feeling guilty about not working on the next book. Alas.
What to present at a book event is usually situational. In the case of the recent classroom visit, I was initially going to forego reading and just answer questions, because the class had already read and discussed the book. They don’t need any context. This is not usually the case at a typical bookstore reading. In the US, the traditional model for a book event demands the author read an excerpt from and/or talk about their book as a form of advertisement in hopes the audience will buy a copy.
This doesn’t always make for an interesting event. Some authors are not compelling readers. Some books do not translate well to being read aloud. Some authors are not adept at choosing an excerpt that is conducive to being read aloud. I tend to prefer the shortest of readings followed by a conversation with a fellow author. This format also takes some skill, and it can sometimes be a flop.
I like to frame readings as performances. Books are meant to be read in private, and are written with that experience in mind. Readings are public performances, even if you’re only reading from the book or chatting with a fellow author. The writing and the reading are two distinct creations. Framing a reading as a performance may at least help authors work on what and how they read from their books.
I see readings as an opportunity to do something different. I also acknowledge that this isn’t for everyone, but I find it to be a fun creative challenge despite requiring lots of thought and work. To craft a performance is to create an entirely new thing. This can also flop, but less predictably than a boring reading at least.
For my first book, Nextdoor in Colonialtown, it was easy for the readings to stand out. The book pairs remixed comments from Nextdoor dot com with suburban gothic photos, so I just projected the photos behind me as I read the accompanying text. But also, toward the end of the reading, I had volunteers from the audience read different pre-selected “comments” over and over, so that a cacophony of voices (or neighbors) reached a kind of frenzied pitch. This was fun but awkward because I had to solicit participation from strangers at various events. It required giving instructions and this cut into performance time. But at the launch in Orlando, where I knew most of the people there, it worked out perfectly, because I asked people ahead of time. I knew they’d do a good job. And the rest of the audience was startled when a bunch of people around them started yelling about coyotes and zoning laws. The coordination was on point. To get it right took trial and error.
When I first read from Lizard People, at a great Orlando reading series hosted by the Vulgar Geniuses, the book wasn’t out yet. I tested the waters by braiding the first three narrative scenes, told from the “I” narrator, with text from a faux-academic paper that appears toward the end of the book, written by a therapist character. For the therapist sections, I shifted to a more pedantic tone and donned a fake pair of glasses. A small performative gesture. But I was still essentially reading from the book.
When I did my first official event for Lizard People, I created a sort of expanded universe for the world in which the book is set, a world where whiteness is considered a mental illness. The faux-academic paper excerpted in the book proposes certain subcategories of whiteness for inclusion in a future edition of the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders). Instead of reading from the book, I decided I would embody the therapist character who wrote this paper, and expand the academic excerpt into a full powerpoint presentation on whiteness.
At the first launch event in Orlando at Zeppelin Books (RIP), the space was a little constrained in terms of setting up a projector and screen so that everyone could see the visuals. I dunno if the performance flopped, but it wasn’t as effective as it could have been.
In addition to revising and expanding the powerpoint presentation itself, I also adjusted the technical aspects for the next reading at Tombolo Books in St. Pete. I made sure the visuals were not obstructed and I read from certain slides so the audience wouldn’t miss any aspects of the performance. On top of this, my buddy Shane Hinton, who was moderating the post-performance conversation, had the brilliant idea to continue the performance into the convo. I stayed in character as the therapist and Shane pretended to believe, like the narrator of the novel, that he was a “lizard person.” Shane’s character obviously found the book to be offensive, and the conversation was hilariously confrontational, intentionally stilted and awkward. We even stayed in character through the audience Q&A.
About a year ago my buddy Asha Dore reached out with the opportunity to submit work to her lit mag, Parley Lit, which emphasizes literary performance. For me it was a chance to publish and preserve a “definitive” version of my powerpoint performance. I recorded myself as the therapist sharing slides on Zoom as if I were giving a presentation at a virtual conference. I like the idea of the piece living online as a kind of deleted scene, or a supplementary text to the world of the novel. Here it is, if you’re curious:
As for the recent classroom visit, I got word that a few other classes have been invited. Bigger audience, bigger room. This obviously changes things. They won’t be familiar with the book. They probably have no idea what they’re getting into. I’m definitely going to break out the old powerpoint presentation, my fake reading glasses, dress shirt and tie. But I’m also sensitive to what it’s like to be a captive unwitting student in the audience, so I will probably begin the event as myself and offer some of the thoughts I’ve just shared above about writing versus performing (but, like, way smarter – I promise).
In my own undergrad education, several hundred years ago, I remember feeling confused about what my writing life would be like after graduation. There were no real opportunities to peek behind the curtain. So in a classroom setting my goal is to be as generous as possible with information. But it would be fun to do another public performance because I’d feel no compulsion to explain myself. If people wondered what the hell happened, they’d just have to deal with it. And that might be the strength of this performative approach to literary readings. What might be par for the course in a gallery or performance space, comes off as truly bizarre in a bookstore setting.
As for the clickbait question, Are typical literary readings boring? I’d be most curious to hear from non-writers who attend readings. Do you exist? But also, from the writerfolk, what are some different formats you’ve seen at book events that were fun and engaging?
As a poet I feel like this is more of a prose debate (not that I haven’t seen poets bomb a reading before) because reading and preforming feels so inherent to the poetry experience. Readings to me are the equivalent of the concerts, which makes them intrinsically interesting. I often go out of my way to see a poet read their work and can care more about that than the Q&A portion. Looking at you, Ilya Kaminsky.
That said, I enjoyed your performances for Lizard People and as a form, I think you raise a fair point about there being a lot of room for innovation depending on the context. Apparently the Ancient Greeks used to dance during readings of the Iliad based on the rhythm of poem, so it would be interesting to see what contemporary traditions could arise from breaking the structure. Maybe it would even change how we write/consume literature.
This is a great way to describe readings. So much creativity in the performance!