Over at Maisonneuve, there’s an interesting essay about how literature readings are not interesting at all.

One of the best depictions of how a literary reading becomes something to be endured instead of enjoyed is to be found in Russell Smith’s comic novel Noise. The protagonist attends a poetry reading in an unventilated room with a strong “odour of feet” and a drunken patron who shouts invective at the small gathering. The distractions mount:

The dishwashing machine at the bar came to life with a mighty buzz, and Dick’s voice was drowned. Simultaneously, someone in the front bar put money in the Dukes of Hazzard pinball machine, and it awoke with a synthesized William Tell overture and a fanfare of bells. …Another drunken shout from the bar, and a chorus of shushes from the crowd. “Whatsamatter,’ came the drunken voice, ‘am I in church, or what? Thought it was a bar.’

Smith’s description is funny because it happens to be entirely accurate. It captures perfectly the stifling atmosphere one often encounters at readings: the tiny, self-conscious audiences; the improperly set up sound systems; the readers who don’t know how to project or crisply enunciate; the forced laughter; the sheer tedium of it all. When readings are well-organized and the authors good performers, the result can be memorable. But this happens so rarely that I’m compelled to ask: what’s the point?

You should read the whole thing. It’s a pretty good case against readings. I disagree, of course; I think once you attend enough of them, you have a pretty good idea about who’s going to be a good reader and who’s going to be bad. And a lot of the readings described in the post sound like the author is talking about friends’ poetry readings, and so attended out of obligation. It’s never a good idea to attend a friend’s poetry reading. This is an important rule of thumb everyone should remember.