What´s going through my head right now #32

"reading – reading aloud – being read to"

An article appeared in ZEIT Magazine on December 11, 2025, featuring several statements from successful German writers on the topic of “readings.” What their stance is, what they think of them, and how they handle them.

The general sentiment: not really keen on it, just no Q&A with the audience—why am I putting myself through this!

Well, despite the different starting points of the individual authors who spoke—there are the moderators who are used to conducting interviews and asking other people questions; the writers who delve deeply, analyze, and approach their work with scientific meticulousness; or those who would prefer to hole up in an ivory tower—they all agree that they get nothing out of readings, especially with curious readers.

All I can say is: What a shame! It certainly has to do with the fact that I come from a background in theater. I’m used to being on stage, creating for the stage, and thus automatically and directly entering into a dialogue with the audience. In fact, that’s what I strive for. Otherwise, I wouldn’t work in this art form or want to make a living from it. So it’s perhaps easier for me to bring a theatrical element to my readings, to develop a dramatic structure, and to sense whether the listeners are staying engaged or drifting off.

Also, the fact that dance is a form of nonverbal communication and usually relies purely on the physical, this performing art form contains a high degree of abstraction and is, for many, more difficult to access than language, which—with its words, sentences, and entire narratives—is simply easier to grasp and recognize. Here in dance, constantly answering the audience’s questions and helping these people understand the material is a never-ending task that I have always gladly taken on and still do, even after all these years. These experiences are, of course, beneficial and helpful when I prepare for readings and direct contact with readers.

My experiences with public readings have been positive across the board, and I love connecting with people. Of course, there were also the simple questions and/or comments that I couldn’t always quite place correctly, and the questioner’s concern wasn’t entirely clear to me. Nevertheless, I answered them. As well and convincingly as I could. Because for me, there are no stupid questions—only stupid answers, if anything.

And that’s where I briefly recoiled in shock at Elke Heidenreich’s comment. She compiled a list of potentially “stupid,” “boring,” “uninteresting/irrelevant” questions from audience Q&A sessions and added her answers in parentheses, some of which were presumably meant to come across as ironic. But the wink has devolved into a grimace of scorn. A mockery of the readers who, in her opinion, simply shouldn’t have asked at all or had posed “better” questions. I find that presumptuous, if not downright disrespectful. After all, these readers didn’t just buy the book; they also paid for tickets to such a reading so they could experience the author of their “beloved” book in person. This generates speaking fees, along with additional book sales. The income from my reading fees is currently significantly higher than the share of book sales I receive from the publisher as a royalty. Most writers couldn’t survive at all without readings, events, writing workshops, etc.

Okay, not everyone can read aloud well or has a reading voice that captivates the audience.

After over twenty years of experience at the Schwäbischer Kunstsommer Irsee with numerous readings by writers and poets, I can tell you a thing or two about who truly managed to captivate the course participants that evening and transport them into their world of language—and who failed miserably at it. Whether it was because the voice was simply unpleasant, the reading was too monotonous, or—come hell or high water—an entire chapter was read for sixty minutes without a break or brief interjections and insights, so that this dry storytelling session quickly turned into an invitation to fall asleep.

Especially when someone knew how to select just the right snippets from their novel to share, enriching them with a few personal details, anecdotes, or insights, or when, in poetry, someone has opened up images and worlds that resonate within you all night or even days afterward—those were exactly the moments when you could assume there would be a line at the book table afterward to purchase a copy. And preferably with a personal signature (no matter how illegible it might be).

Yes, I also know that the majority of audiobooks aren’t narrated by the authors themselves. Usually for good reason. Because a trained speaking and acting voice certainly delivers these texts with greater intensity and depth, though of course we tend to prefer or reject certain voices here as well.

What irritated me the most is that the editors of ZEIT Magazine didn’t publish a range of opinions, but instead left the impression that the majority of authors actually don’t think much of readings, even tend to reject them, and would prefer to remain in their ivory towers.

For me, writing is just as much a part of art as everything that happens on stage—the performing arts, the visual arts, music, and everything else that goes with it. AND: It’s always about dialogue. About correspondence. About engaging with the reader, the listener, the audience/viewer. It is a dialogue that in some cases can take place directly, while in others it occurs only indirectly—and usually in the creator’s absence. So the more likely a face-to-face encounter is, the more one should engage with it—or, rather, be curious oneself about what, why, and how the created work triggers a response (or fails to do so) in other people.

I do not shy away from these encounters in any way. On the contrary. I look forward to them every time and am happy to answer questions or respond to comments or criticism—no matter how banal or redundant they may be. These dialogues help me move forward with new creations and represent an important part of my self-reflection.

So, on to the next reading. Challenge the author. Perhaps with the question: Who do you write for, if not for me?

Yours Jochen, sincerely