Grobe BookPerformanceReading 2016
Grobe BookPerformanceReading 2016
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On Book:
The Performance of Reading
Christopher Grobe
reading.3 Alive to the book and dead to the world, I read with
When reading.3 an intensityan intensity
I was Aliveand young,
focus nowandunimaginable
to focus theto Ime.wasI remember
book now nearly and unimaginable dead impossible to the to world, to me. rouse I I remember read from with my
this fact, but little of the feeling. What was I heańng, seeing , and sensing
as I shut out the world? Now, decades later, on the far side of a literary
education, I feel no better equipped to answer this simple question -
and, really, why should I? We neither teach our students nor expect
ourselves to attend to reading's ghostly sensorium. "Interpretation,"
complains Susan Sontag in her essay against it, "takes the sensory ex-
perience . . . for granted, and proceeds from there."4 If this is true in
the case of, say, sculpture or theater - which at least put things palpably
before us - how much truer must it be of literature, with its obliquity
of reference? Singers, when they talk shop, don't just stick to questions
of musicality or style; they discuss their vocal production and the stout
column of breath that sustains it. We literary folks, meanwhile, mostly
leave unacknowledged the pillars of our art.
I first realized all this back in graduate school, when some students
and I invited Elaine Scarry to discuss her latest work, Dreaming by the
Book. In it, she wonders how books, though themselves "almost wholly
devoid of actual sensory content," create images in our minds that "do
acquire the vivacity of perceptual objects."5 She gives this phenomenon
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568 NEW LITERARY HISTORY
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ON BOOK 569
"shor[es] up . .
self-forgetting
our reading-spa
Our reading is
because it remai
the surest sign o
"That is one of
"the creation o
occasion share
criticism?), but
II
One thing we have insistently done with our bookishness since the
middle of the twentieth century is to perform it. By all rights, this should
be impossible - inappropriate, at best. How could this quintessential^ púvate
act go public ? Yet such "bookish performance" has thriven on the con-
temporary scene. From literary readings to docudrama, from reader's
theater to found-text performance, today's writers and performers
spend more time reading in public than their counterparts in almost
any other era. They speak every "he said" and "she said" in chamber
theater productions. They read at random from a pile of books in some
avant-garde performances.15 They stay "on book," holding binders or
booklets behind music stands and microphones. In short, they make an
act of their reading. As a performance historian, I see here a trend of
unusual power and range. Cutting right across the divisions that structure
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570 NEW LITERARY HISTORY
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ON BOOK 571
III
Take, for instance, one of the simplest scenes of reading aloud: the
"formal" poetry reading.20 Essays on the subject skew polemical, with
a knack for inchoate cliché and a tendency toward moral outrage.
Manguei, as you might predict, distrusts them as intrusions upon his
cherished reading-space. Being read to, he says, "deprives the listener"
of "freedom"; it "condemns the ear to someone else's tongue."21 So, even
though he admits that he enjoys when authors read their own work,
he insists that each such reading "distorts the text, by improving (or
impoverishing) it with interpretation."22 DepHve, condemn , distort - such
language is common when the topic is readings, presumably because
they threaten the hopes we had pinned on silent reading. If reading
is ineffable, a secret source of the self, then we can only destroy it by
performing it out loud and in public.
Indeed, to hear some poets tell it, every aspect of performance is a
threat to the poem "itself." The venue might clash with the world of the
poem. The poet's voice might drown out the fainter sounds of our inner
ears. Meanwhile, our fellow spectators might corrupt our reactions with
their own. "When we read silently," says Donald Hall, ". . . our response
to the poem is our own: no communal laugh or sigh or in taken breath
controls" us.23 Even poets who value readings often think of them this
way: as the melodrama of poetry's narrow escape from the grubby grip
of the real. 'The myriad distractions that mitigate against the ideal,"
Peter Middleton suggests, "are stage villains ... in the drama of poetry's
tentative appearance."24 Poetry's job is not simply to conjure immaterial
worlds; it must palpably scrap its way past the things of this world.
Most poets, though, have no stomach for the fight. The poet's plea
therefore (widely heeded by poetry critics) is to disattend - especially,
for instance, to the reading's visible features. Poets "aren't doing any-
thing" with their visible selves, Charles Bernstein once insisted to me,
and he is hardly the first poet to shudder (or critic to shrug) at the idea
that we watch poetry readings while listening to them.25 Most modernist
poets seem nauseous at the thought. As William Carlos Williams once
complained, giving a reading can feel like pulling "back your foreskin
(if you have one) in public."26 And even as readings became a fact
of life for postwar poets, this unease persisted. Denise Levertov, who
pointedly calls these events, not readings, but "poetry listenings," once
recalled with horror her audiences' desire to look : "Many people were led
by the cult of personality that grew up around Dylan Thomas to think
of poetry as something you went to see being read. At a reading in New
York in which I participated along with five other poets, one member of
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572 NEW LITERARY HISTORY
IV
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ON BOOK 573
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574 NEW LITERARY HISTORY
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ON BOOK 575
paintings to me
kind. These pair
gone in thought
ing - to "decode
serial cognition.
examine these o
right back into
Stewart owes th
and theorist who
art once did (an
the latter unders
audience. "Art d
Fried declared in
it by encouragin
covers in his boo
by painting scen
book. Painters m
Fried muses, "bo
the act of paint
the beholder bef
ing, and requiri
the producers a
absorbed into the art itself.
If this sounds a bit familiar, it's because these same theories lie behind
many polemics against poetry readings. Take Bernstein, whose rhetori-
cal debt to Fried is most outstanding.48 The neutral reading's lack of
"visual spectacle," he writes, helps us "overcome . . . the performance
context" and "defeat [its] theatricality." The payoff, once it does, is our
absorption into the poem: "listener [s] . . . enter into a concave acoustic
space," leaving the performance venue (and perhaps their own bodies)
behind.49 There's something "oceanic" (in Freud's egoistic sense) about
all of this liquefied subjectivity sloshing out of people's bodies and into
the hollows of poetry - and I confess I've never felt it at a reading, though
perhaps I've seen it on the faces of others.50
No: poetry readings of the sort defended by Bernstein (and the rest)
stage a fantasy of silent reading by authorial proxy. Instead of embrac-
ing poetry's publicity - the reading's most obvious achievement - they
insist they've achieved the contact of two privacies: ours and the poet's.
That's what's at stake when Hall says he has given us "the real sound of
words"; that's why, as an auditor, he finds others' reactions so threaten-
ing to his own. When "words speak for themselves," poet and auditor
are alone together. They meet in "the corridor between written words
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576 NEW LITERARY HISTORY
VI
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ON BOOK 577
VII
This is literally true of Gatz, though you would hardly guess it from
reading the reviews it has left behind. Most critics quietly narrow their
focus to just one performer (Scott Shepherd, the narrator) and his
relationship with the novel (i.e., mounting absorption in it). To get
a baseline sense of Shepherd's presence onstage, picture this: amid a
mass of drunken bodies, he sits - hunched over, unresponsive to their
clamor. Instead, face buried in his book, he shouts Fitzgerald's descrip-
tion of how a crowd has engulfed him (Fig. 2). It's a thrilling image of
what reading feels like - or, at least, one kind of reading: the kind that
plants you deep within yourself, a centripetal anchor against fiction's
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578 NEW LITERARY HISTORY
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ON BOOK 579
pull, against th
other perform
own rapport w
them tangle to
For instance, w
render" to The
smirks at the b
of Jordan Bake
complies only s
hearted feint o
other times, sh
e.g., when she
"A celebrated t
sung in jazz, an
over the garden
the summer sky
these. These "sm
hold us here fo
Another critic,
the finger more
"the way that
. . . tried almos
reviews tend to
of Sokol, threa
positive reviews
nothing away f
sures usģ58 Soko
repurpose Midd
villain ... in th
Her performanc
literariness. It
novel. For Soko
to be resisted o
which we grate
to make of Sok
Every second s
fun) readerly d
tachment for l
applies her inso
queer behavior,
out of the role
campy) to me
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580 NEW LITERARY HISTORY
VIII
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ON BOOK 581
part, to plays
be seen as a lon
Beckett quipp
text. I'm tryin
close to achiev
as the keynot
a play (or is it
share a table; one listens in silence while the other reads aloud. He reads
the tale of a lonely man, still haunted by the memory of love lost long
ago. Coincidences begin to pile up between the narration and the stage,
but, as in Gatz , the two never quite merge. We can't quite say, though we
may desperately want to, that Beckett shows us a man reading the sad
story of his own life to himself. When the story ends with the ominous
line, "Nothing is left to tell," the reader closes his book, and the two
figures lock eyes for the first time. Lights fade to black on this expres-
sionless gaze between doubles.61 A simple play - but as Francisco Frazão
observes in his essay on Gatz , no text stays simple once it has begun to
appear onstage: it "resists and causes friction."62 However static it may
be, it soon hums with electricity.
This is not, however, how Ohio Impromptu has generally been received.
Beckett's oeuvre "attracts interpreters like leeches," says Sontag, and this
play is no exception to the rule.63 One journal alone, Modern Drama ,
published five articles on this play in the first decade and a half after
its premiere. The very next year, Pierre As tier, who hosted the confer-
ence at Ohio State, published an interpretation par excellence of the play,
carefully cataloging its allusions, however faint, to Beckett's life and
works.64 Two other essays did Astier one better, focusing on the play's
"auto-critique" and its "reflexivity."65 The play interprets itself, you may be
surprised to learn. A fourth essay then takes up the issue of the play's
relation to its audience: how does it interpret its interpreters as they
interpret its self-interpreting complexity?66 What none of these critics
can say as they rush up the rungs of interpretation is the least of what
Sontag asks of them: "The function of criticism should be to show how it
is what it is, even that it is what it is, rather than to show what it means ."67
So, what, finally, are Ohio's erotics? I said the listener in Ohio Impromptu
was silent, and that's true, but Beckett does permit him one power. When
he knocks on the table, the reader must pause and repeat the last phrase,
and he can only resume his tale once the listener has knocked a second
time. It's a minimal form of resistance or friction, but it slowly builds up
a charge. Especially since - face covered, voice mute - the listening figure
is otherwise a cipher to us. You might, then, experience his knocks as a
precious revelation of character - our only hint of his desires. Or if, like
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582 NEW LITERARY HISTORY
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ON BOOK 583
ix
Stick around for enough post-show discussions and you'll soon hear
the actor's least favorite question: how did you learn all those lines ? It's an
embarrassing question - not because you can't answer it, but because
learning your lines is the very least anyone ever expected of you. (You
might as well ask a literary critic, how did you read all those books f) After
all, according to the tenets of mainstream realist acting, the real work
doesn't even begin until you've laid the script aside - until, that is, you've
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584 NEW LITERARY HISTORY
It must adapt. Thought of this way, the book itself becomes an actor, a
scene partner for the performers who handle it. As Jane Tompkins has
argued, a "literary work is not so much an object ... as a unit of force
whose power is exerted upon the world."74 In bookish performance, it
is both things at once: object and force. Indeed its physical presence
onstage makes its force, its activity visible.
More than wormholes to a textual elsewhere, after all, books are al-
ways things to hand. "The relation a reader has to a book," Karin Littau
reminds us, "is also a relation between two bodies: one made of paper
and ink, the other flesh and blood."75 Bookish performance enacts this
relation over time, heeling the reader roughly to the book's commands.
In her essay, "Dances with Things," performance historian Robin Bern-
stein offers a name for objects like these. They are "scrip tive things,"
notable not just for their form or their content, but also for how they
prescribe (or proscribe) the actions of people who encounter them.
To experience a racist alphabet book as a scriptive thing, for instance
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ON BOOK 585
(one of Bernst
sensory, even p
course, but you
wheels. "Like a
a performance
variations . . .
back into a the
as scripts - as t
from it - perf
In doing so, th
own relation to
commonplace
rich reading i
and repetition
discussions ch
starters, text
more importan
of parallel rea
Books are not
they are interf
tive world - li
view, like the
us. And finall
but as tactical
would be art -
tifying themse
Reading, in
book - perhaps
with loose thre
received in a
speaking, when
old ground - o
heals, the gro
will grow. If n
Now try again
Amherst College
notes
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586 NEW LITERARY HISTORY
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ON BOOK 587
25 Charles Bernstein
Amherst, MA, June
26 Qtd. in Paul L. Ma
1990), 589.
27 Denise Levertov,
York: New Directio
28 Studies in this f
is the (disembodied
as their organizing te
(New York: Oxford U
of Poetry / The Poe
Voidng Amerìcan Poet
NY: Cornell Univ. Pr
Millay to the Circle
however, been recen
See: Christopher Gr
1959," PMLA 127, no.
Walt Whitman to H
Bodies on the Line: Pe
2014).
29 Wheeler, Voicing
Stares: Disabled Wom
motion: Disability a
Univ. of Michigan P
30 David Wojahn, "'
New England Review
ing," 72.
31 Levertov, "An Approach," 53.
32 Hall, "The Poetry Reading," 76; Bernstein, Close Listening, 11.
33 I am hardly the first to point out that Gatz theatricalizes reading's interiority. Besides
all the theater reviews, which I discuss below, Sara Jane Bailes also touches on this in a
chapter on ERS's oeuvre. Several of their productions, Bailes says, have "examine [d] the
ways in which theatre can translate the solitary intimacy and interiority of the literary
imagination . . . into a public theatre spectacle." Bailes, Performance Theatre and the Poetics
of Failure: Forced Entertainment, Goat Island, Elevator Repair Service (New York: Routledge,
2011), 150.
34 Fiona Mountford, 'The Great Gatsby Renaissance," Evening Standard, http://www.
standard.co.uk/goingout/theatre/the-great-gatsby-renaissance-7753086.html; John Collins,
"Director's Note: A History of ERS and The Great Gatsby, and Gatz," KunstenFestivalDesArts,
March 2006, http://archive.kfda.be/projects/projects/2006/gatz/more.
35 All nontextual details about Gatz are drawn from an archival video recording. See:
Elevator Repair Service, Gatz (DVD, 2010), Theatre on Film and Tape Archive, New York
Public Library for the Performing Arts.
36 Dusty Hoesly, "Elevator Repair Service - GATZ," Portland Institute for Contemporary Art,
September 7, 2007, http://pica.org/2007/09/17/elevator_repair_service_gatz/.
37 Charles McGrath, "Heard Any Good Books Lately, Zelda?" New York Times, September
28, 2010.
38 Ben Brantley, "A Novel 'Gatsby': Stamina Required," New York Times, February 5, 2010.
39 Kester Freriks, "She Only Loves Me," trans. Elevator Repair Service, NRC Handelsblad,
June 2, 2006, https://www.elevator.org/press_items/she-only-loves-me/.
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588 NEW LITERARY HISTORY
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ON BOOK 589
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