Long Live the Oral Tradition!
I wrote the following little article and submitted it to Austin Traveler this month (January, 2006). Still waiting to hear back from them, although I am guessing that since they are a travel magazine focused on getting people to write their travel stories down so they can print them, an article that celebrates the oral tradition and pushes doing the very opposite may not be up their alley. What was I thinking?
Some of you might read the following and say, "Hey! - What happened to the mad cat version?" The mad cat version didn't work for Austin Traveler Magazine. I needed a travel-related back story. But I have plans for the mad cat story. Stay tuned.
________________
When my friend Lisa says, "Remember the time we were trapped in the train on the way to Venice?" many of our friends wince.
"Oh Lord. Here we go." Eyes roll heavenward and several of them do their best to leave the room. But Lisa continues unhindered and I believe deep inside (OK, some deeper than others) everyone is happy to hear the story again. I for one, egg her on every time.
There is something to be said for telling a story over (and over) again, simply for its own sake. Yes, there are more popular ways to capture and share our experiences. So many of us, travelers in particular, work hard to preserve our memories with pictures, scrapbooks, journals.
I could jot down for you the story of our overnight train adventure (it is, after all, a fabulous story) and you might read it and find yourself momentarily between France and Italy in 1997. You might be able to envision five people - two American girls, a remarkably tall and unquestionably drunk Chinese professor traveling alone (save at least two exceptionally large beers he consumed in our presence), and a pair of affectionate German honeymooners that lacked a modicum requirement for privacy – all packed into a sleeper car no bigger than a common cubicle.
You might be able to visualize our mass concern when we first discovered our cabin door was locked, our anxiety at watching a young husband attempting to prove his manhood by trying (although thankfully, failing) to bust open the window, our distress at seeing the inebriated (and somewhat defeated) professor open a third oversized beer. The five of us took turns at displays of claustrophobia, panic, desperation, and our own varying forms of vulgarity.
An ill-humored porter eventually opened the door to a panic-stricken Chinaman no doubt being moved to extremes by his own bladder. Liberated, but not overconfident, we left the door slightly cracked for the remainder of our night together, and the rest is history.
It is wonderful to read a good story. But something happens with the audible telling of it that keeps it fresh. A story told aloud gains texture, layers. What happened to the good old oral tradition, anyway? And how do I, a writer, make an argument against writing? Do I really want to do that? Yes - long live the oral tradition!
It goes beyond gender, language, race, and class. It is our common heritage, the oldest known way of transmitting history, literature, and law from one generation to the next. It was the way of the world long before we could read or write. Yet this means of recording our memories has somehow gone the way of the 8-track.
Nothing is quite as effective as hearing a story firsthand. Just upon hearing the words "trapped in the train," Lisa and I snicker. Surprisingly, though, neither of us (both writers) have put it down on paper. It certainly isn’t because we don’t know it. Either of us could write down the facts. But how to do it justice? I’ve heard that story countless times as seen through the twinkling eyes of my friend. I’ve told it myself. Each time, I can see five distraught faces all crammed together to search for help through one small sleeper car window. I can hear the Chinese professor’s drunken pleas to oblivious passers by. I can smell the odd combination of cheap beer and bad German cologne.
So why write it down? Telling it out loud is so much more practical. You don’t need the web. You don’t need a camera or to buy anything. It’s cheap and easy. And hey, it’s in. We live in a world of monologues. Stand-up comedians, late night talk-show hosts, rappers – all of these folks are just saying what they have to say, telling their stories, uninterrupted.
A good story, told aloud, is worth more than a thousand pictures. Sure, you can put it down on paper and your story will be preserved forever, but that’s just it. That’s all the story will ever be. If you refrain from putting it to paper, you get the benefit of hearing what it becomes at the next happy hour when Lisa slyly remarks about something entirely unrelated, "That reminds me of the time we were trapped in the train on the way to Venice. It was just after Christmas in 1997 and there was this drunk Chinese guy…"
Some of you might read the following and say, "Hey! - What happened to the mad cat version?" The mad cat version didn't work for Austin Traveler Magazine. I needed a travel-related back story. But I have plans for the mad cat story. Stay tuned.
________________
When my friend Lisa says, "Remember the time we were trapped in the train on the way to Venice?" many of our friends wince.
"Oh Lord. Here we go." Eyes roll heavenward and several of them do their best to leave the room. But Lisa continues unhindered and I believe deep inside (OK, some deeper than others) everyone is happy to hear the story again. I for one, egg her on every time.
There is something to be said for telling a story over (and over) again, simply for its own sake. Yes, there are more popular ways to capture and share our experiences. So many of us, travelers in particular, work hard to preserve our memories with pictures, scrapbooks, journals.
I could jot down for you the story of our overnight train adventure (it is, after all, a fabulous story) and you might read it and find yourself momentarily between France and Italy in 1997. You might be able to envision five people - two American girls, a remarkably tall and unquestionably drunk Chinese professor traveling alone (save at least two exceptionally large beers he consumed in our presence), and a pair of affectionate German honeymooners that lacked a modicum requirement for privacy – all packed into a sleeper car no bigger than a common cubicle.
You might be able to visualize our mass concern when we first discovered our cabin door was locked, our anxiety at watching a young husband attempting to prove his manhood by trying (although thankfully, failing) to bust open the window, our distress at seeing the inebriated (and somewhat defeated) professor open a third oversized beer. The five of us took turns at displays of claustrophobia, panic, desperation, and our own varying forms of vulgarity.
An ill-humored porter eventually opened the door to a panic-stricken Chinaman no doubt being moved to extremes by his own bladder. Liberated, but not overconfident, we left the door slightly cracked for the remainder of our night together, and the rest is history.
It is wonderful to read a good story. But something happens with the audible telling of it that keeps it fresh. A story told aloud gains texture, layers. What happened to the good old oral tradition, anyway? And how do I, a writer, make an argument against writing? Do I really want to do that? Yes - long live the oral tradition!
It goes beyond gender, language, race, and class. It is our common heritage, the oldest known way of transmitting history, literature, and law from one generation to the next. It was the way of the world long before we could read or write. Yet this means of recording our memories has somehow gone the way of the 8-track.
Nothing is quite as effective as hearing a story firsthand. Just upon hearing the words "trapped in the train," Lisa and I snicker. Surprisingly, though, neither of us (both writers) have put it down on paper. It certainly isn’t because we don’t know it. Either of us could write down the facts. But how to do it justice? I’ve heard that story countless times as seen through the twinkling eyes of my friend. I’ve told it myself. Each time, I can see five distraught faces all crammed together to search for help through one small sleeper car window. I can hear the Chinese professor’s drunken pleas to oblivious passers by. I can smell the odd combination of cheap beer and bad German cologne.
So why write it down? Telling it out loud is so much more practical. You don’t need the web. You don’t need a camera or to buy anything. It’s cheap and easy. And hey, it’s in. We live in a world of monologues. Stand-up comedians, late night talk-show hosts, rappers – all of these folks are just saying what they have to say, telling their stories, uninterrupted.
A good story, told aloud, is worth more than a thousand pictures. Sure, you can put it down on paper and your story will be preserved forever, but that’s just it. That’s all the story will ever be. If you refrain from putting it to paper, you get the benefit of hearing what it becomes at the next happy hour when Lisa slyly remarks about something entirely unrelated, "That reminds me of the time we were trapped in the train on the way to Venice. It was just after Christmas in 1997 and there was this drunk Chinese guy…"
Comments