The perils of reading aloud

We’ve either all seen this before, or been there: it’s the latest book event by favorite author x, and you loved the book and can’t wait to see him or her read. And then, alas, the writer hems and haws and generally fails miserably. If it’s bad for us readers, it’s not much better for the authors:

Ian Rankin tells a horrific story about a reading he once did in Aberdeen. Horrific, yet hilarious to another writer who knows just how nervous and disorientated one can get, adrift on a book tour in a strange town. Rankin walked on to the stage, stared at the audience and burst into tears.

It takes something extra to be able to both write a book and read it aloud. Dickens had it: an aspiring actor, he was able to fill theatres and hold his audience rapt. William S Burroughs had it, possessing an unnerving yet natural gift for comic timing. James Ellroy has it: he is capable of doing the police in different voices, so long as the voices are those of drug-crazed, depraved panty-sniffers.

Of course, there are other options: not reading at all and just spending the entire time talking about the book, or other stuff, and then taking questions from the audience. It also might be a bit jarring to hear a Brit author read a book set in the US, especially if it’s a first person narrative.

But in any case: for those who’ve done the book tour rounds, how do you feel about readings? Are you good at it, or not? Are they worth doing, and if not, why not? The backblog is yours…