I am rereading "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead" and find I am physically unable to read it to myself, however hard I try. I cannot even merely mouth the words but must at minimum whisper dramatically, playing the scene.
And I must be Guildenstern.
And I must reread - respeak - sections that did not go as well as hoped, until I have the right sound.
My oldest son, when he was eight, nine, ten years old, used to ask who I was talking to when we were driving in the car. I'm accepting the Nobel Prize for Literature, Jonathan...I'm arguing with your mother about vacations - I'm winning this time...I am preaching sermon to a group of fundamentalists who will never ask me to speak to them...
He stopped asking, after awhile. I can't imagine this is likely to improve as I age. It seems to be getting worse.
5 comments:
or better.
My favorite was when you would go outside to smoke and I would see you pacing the driveway arguing with people.
Jonathan - That was really me hiding behind a tree throwing out liberal catch phrases into the night air to get a reaction. He never did catch on.
Your acting out the receipt of a literature prize reminds me of Fran Liebowitz, who said that an annoying visitor or phone call was not her favorite way to be woken up. Her favorite way to be woken up was for her Swedish lover to whisper in her ear that, if she didn't want to be late to pick up her Nobel Prize, they'd better ring for breakfast.
Great post on two counts. I saw R&G many, many years ago on Broadway and thought it was wonderful. I'll need to go reread it now. Also, with the imaginary speeches it struck a chord. Frequent reader - I linked to this post on my own blog.
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