Making Memories in 2D
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The Year of Virtual Everything
Tonight, I attended the kick-off event for the Miami Book Fair’s Big Read: a virtual reading given by two of my favorite writers—Aimee Nezhukumatathil and Ross Gay.
Every week, I get email invitations for half a dozen literary events from various publications and literary groups. Usually, a few will catch my eye; I’ll register online and jot down the time into my planner. But to be honest, out of the dozens of readings I’ve registered for in the past few months, this was only the second one I’d attended.
I’ve seen both Aimee and Ross give readings in real life. I have copies of their signed books sitting on my bookshelf. And while it was lovely to see their smiling faces (they really do have great smiles, both of them!), and peek into their world a little bit (as much as a video square allows), and hear them read from their work (which I love), I wasn’t all there.
The reading was just one thing happening on the several tabs that I had opened. During the intros, when the host mentioned Ross’ work with the Bloomington Community Orchard, I went to their website and downloaded a document about how to start my own community orchard. When Aimee mentioned the name of a chocolate bar, I opened a new tab and googled it, staring at the lettering while she spoke. For the duration of the reading, I clicked through articles and browsed Twitter. There, but not really there.
To be fair, it’s my fault—not the internet’s. I could be less distractable, a better listener. But that’s just who I am on the internet—my attention splintered into a million shards.
I will also admit that I got a bit turned off when I noticed a banner at the bottom of the video that read: "Not Live". Was the reading pre-recorded? That must have been weird for them? Or not, since they couldn't see the audience anyway? And why should it matter to me anyway? At the end, though, they answered a few questions that had been posed on the chat, so... who knows.
I think about how this experience would have differed in person. I likely would have left my cell phone in the car in preparation for the reading (literary events are a bit like attending a religious service for me). I’d browse through the pages of their book while I waited, people-watching as the crowd filtered in. Once the reading began, I know for a fact that I would have been engrossed in their words, perhaps even jotting some down in my notebook as inspiration. And while I did have a notebook open on my desk tonight, the only thing I wrote in it was the two authors’ names.
Roxane Gay writes about this phenomenon in her latest column, Work Friend:
“I enjoy live events, but doing them virtually is not the same. When I walk out onstage and see a thousand people cheering, the energy is absolutely electric and unexpected. It’s surreal because I’m just a writer. It’s magical because I know that we will have an experience that can’t be replicated.
And I miss the signing line, where I could spend a few minutes with readers, hearing about their lives, seeing that my work mattered maybe a little. Now, I make myself presentable from the waist up, and sit at my desk in basketball shorts, and when the event is over, that’s that.”
I’m not a famous writer like Roxane (no relation to Ross), but I also find the energy in a reading electric, even when it’s just a dozen people gathered into one of the crowded rooms at the back of Books and Books, my local independent bookstore back in Miami. And so why can’t I summon that energy here in my house, listening to these writers whose work I find thrilling speaking to me straight from my screen?
I think it’s the difference between 2D and 3D animation, the difference between a photograph and a sculpture. I think about the way that all my senses would have been engaged, had we been sitting together in a room having a traditional in-person reading. My attention would have little place to wander besides on the things happening in that room—which isn’t to say it wouldn’t wander. While my attention would certainly stray, it would be brought back to the present moment thanks to all that sensorial stimulation. Add to that the self-consciousness of being surrounded by other people.
But alone in my office, where I’ve already spent several hours today staring at my computer screen, working on a deadline, my attention was a runaway horse. And at one point, while I was willing myself to focus on the reading, I noticed that the attention of one of the readers was also being splintered by something else on their computer screen. I could tell by the look on their face—there, but not really there.
I think about the word “memorable” and wonder—how much do our senses play into our ability to make memories? Tell me about your most memorable virtual experience this year.
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