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I was never much of a star trek fan--though I'm one day hoping to watch with audio description, and wondering if that'll give me a glimpse into why so many! folks love the phenomenon. Between that and Roots being before my time, I was criminally late to hear about LeVar Burton in all his glory.
He first came across my radar when he read one of Amal El Mohtar's short-stories in the debut season of his podcast, and her joy burst across my twitter feed like fireworks; so infectious I couldn't help joy by proxy, even if I was rather bemused at its ferocity. I've tried a lot! of auditory short-story podcasts. Some of them, the quality's been sublime, some terrible, but most are, for me, entirely middling. So I was taken aback at her absolute, unshakeable certainty this would be something special and vaguely decided mhmm, must listen to that someday.
Fast-forward another three years, and stepdad made me a shameless jeopardy addict (which is a delightful, hilarious tale in its own right, seeing as he only wanted to watch it for Aaron Rodger's tenure and is just watching, helplessly confused, as I inhale...everything and anything Jeopardy-related.) The moment I saw LeVar's name pop up on the guest host roster, I remembered that long-ago cascade of twitter delight; I'd finally see what all the fuss was about.
Y'all, he was an utter joy! The guest hosts really run the gambit: from very deadpan, utterly focused on keeping themselves as non-involved in the game as possible, to the worst sort of spot-light hogs. He was right down the middle, which was impressive enough. But the joy was what grabbed me: the same unabashed, fire-works display I'd seen from Amal all those years ago. Simply so delighted to be inhabiting this moment and stage. He made me so fucking happy by proxy it felt almost miraculous.
So, naturally, I went exploring his podcast and my GOD what the actual fuck HOW have I missed this for all these years. I could say all the things: that he has this marvelous command of cadence and tonality; that he does wonderful voices for multicast stories; that he has exquisite taste and the back-log is littered with enough of my favorite authors that I wanna check out all the unknowns to find new favorites. And all of it would be true. But, the thing that struck me most was his use of dead air. So many people are afraid of silence; afraid of losing the audience's ever-precious, always-wandering attention.
The first story I heard him read was An Equal Share Of The Bone by Karen Osborne. It's whaling in space! whaling that powers the space race just as it did the industrial revolution. And that's a ferocious, compelling plot all on its own, woven up as it is with late-stage capitalism and the lines between necessity and greed. And then LeVar comes in, telling this first-person past-tense reflection on a whale-hunt gone tragically wrong. He starts us off with some wonderful history of the title's origins which I hadn't seen elsewhere, so I was already delighted.
But there's a point, partway through, when he goes utterly silent! for about twenty seconds, right in the middle of a climactic scene. And I was utterly pinned, as effectively as any butterfly, breath suspended, pulse pounding; not only wanting to know what happened, but just stunned by the trust he placed in the audience. To take this story slow, spool it out--because this wasn't the first moment he'd taken a long, reflective pause, like the best oral tale-tellers. To trust that we would stay, or we wouldn't, but he was going to tell this story to the best of his ability, in precisely the way he saw fit, because he had the skill and confidence and experience to make those calls.
And it's really, really special, in a narrative where gender is never specified but where there is a male lover of the protagonist, to watch him queer the tale simply by being who he is, reading the story he is. I intend to devour absolutely everything, though I don't know how it will top Bone's opening.
He first came across my radar when he read one of Amal El Mohtar's short-stories in the debut season of his podcast, and her joy burst across my twitter feed like fireworks; so infectious I couldn't help joy by proxy, even if I was rather bemused at its ferocity. I've tried a lot! of auditory short-story podcasts. Some of them, the quality's been sublime, some terrible, but most are, for me, entirely middling. So I was taken aback at her absolute, unshakeable certainty this would be something special and vaguely decided mhmm, must listen to that someday.
Fast-forward another three years, and stepdad made me a shameless jeopardy addict (which is a delightful, hilarious tale in its own right, seeing as he only wanted to watch it for Aaron Rodger's tenure and is just watching, helplessly confused, as I inhale...everything and anything Jeopardy-related.) The moment I saw LeVar's name pop up on the guest host roster, I remembered that long-ago cascade of twitter delight; I'd finally see what all the fuss was about.
Y'all, he was an utter joy! The guest hosts really run the gambit: from very deadpan, utterly focused on keeping themselves as non-involved in the game as possible, to the worst sort of spot-light hogs. He was right down the middle, which was impressive enough. But the joy was what grabbed me: the same unabashed, fire-works display I'd seen from Amal all those years ago. Simply so delighted to be inhabiting this moment and stage. He made me so fucking happy by proxy it felt almost miraculous.
So, naturally, I went exploring his podcast and my GOD what the actual fuck HOW have I missed this for all these years. I could say all the things: that he has this marvelous command of cadence and tonality; that he does wonderful voices for multicast stories; that he has exquisite taste and the back-log is littered with enough of my favorite authors that I wanna check out all the unknowns to find new favorites. And all of it would be true. But, the thing that struck me most was his use of dead air. So many people are afraid of silence; afraid of losing the audience's ever-precious, always-wandering attention.
The first story I heard him read was An Equal Share Of The Bone by Karen Osborne. It's whaling in space! whaling that powers the space race just as it did the industrial revolution. And that's a ferocious, compelling plot all on its own, woven up as it is with late-stage capitalism and the lines between necessity and greed. And then LeVar comes in, telling this first-person past-tense reflection on a whale-hunt gone tragically wrong. He starts us off with some wonderful history of the title's origins which I hadn't seen elsewhere, so I was already delighted.
But there's a point, partway through, when he goes utterly silent! for about twenty seconds, right in the middle of a climactic scene. And I was utterly pinned, as effectively as any butterfly, breath suspended, pulse pounding; not only wanting to know what happened, but just stunned by the trust he placed in the audience. To take this story slow, spool it out--because this wasn't the first moment he'd taken a long, reflective pause, like the best oral tale-tellers. To trust that we would stay, or we wouldn't, but he was going to tell this story to the best of his ability, in precisely the way he saw fit, because he had the skill and confidence and experience to make those calls.
And it's really, really special, in a narrative where gender is never specified but where there is a male lover of the protagonist, to watch him queer the tale simply by being who he is, reading the story he is. I intend to devour absolutely everything, though I don't know how it will top Bone's opening.
