Author as performer: performing autobiographies

ABSTRACT

It may be argued that audiobooks should not substitute for reading, and authors—contrary to common conception—seldom are the best narrators of their own work. On the other hand, as the first-person narrative constitutes an inherent aesthetic property of the audiobook as a unique performance-based aural artefact, the audiobook versions of autobiographies can potentially amplify one’s aesthetic experience of a written personal history. Nonetheless, rather than focusing on so-called ‘standard’ autobiographies, this essay attends to the aural iterations of Barry Humphries’s pseudo-autobiographical writing. Overall, the aesthetic complexity in Humphries’s work is virtually labyrinthine and borderline-surreal. While there surely prevail far more complex first-person narratives, the complexities in Humphries’s case stem from the texts’ incarnation as audiobooks, putting into question not only the identity of the narrating protagonists, but also their very (non)-existence. They simultaneously exist as commonplace works of fiction written by Humphries, and as the quite literal memoirs of Humphries’s own fictional characters. They thus raise the question whether certain audiobooks might in fact negate the original printed work.

KEYWORDS:

• Audiobooks
• narration
• autobiography
• Barry Humphries
• Dame Edna

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Notes on contributor

Born in 1983, Dr. Sheinberg was awarded his PhD degree at Goldsmiths, University of London in Oct. 2017. His dissertation is currently pending revision and publication in book form. Dr. Sheinberg is an early-career academic, possessing an extensive interdisciplinary theoretical background. He is predominantly a philosopher of the arts; scholar and practitioner of theatre, drama, and performance; and a researcher, aficionado, and connoisseur of audiobooks and aural performances.

ORCID

David Sheinberg http://orcid.org/0000-0002-7729-8138

Notes

1 In what might resonate with Flaubert’s famous assertion, ‘Madame Bovary, c'est moi’, Humphries himself often refers to Edna as an actual person—making it abundantly clear they are not one and the same. Indeed, both Flaubert and Humphries effectively exercise a male artist’s depiction of a fully formed—and, conceivably, authentic—female character.

2 Although no longer in circulation, both More Please and the aforementioned Women have been received Humphries-narrated aural iterations (released by Penguin Audiobooks in 1993 and Reed Audio in 1996, respectively). Given the scope of St Pierre’s study, I find it regrettable that he does not sufficiently analyse Humphries’s aural performance. While he identifies ‘seventy-two audio recordings’ among Humphries’s ‘art’, citing the audiobook releases of My Gorgeous Life, More Please, and Women in the Background in his appendix, he does not explicitly address the recordings themselves. (St Pierre 2004, x and 281-82), respectively. To be sure, had St Pierre been able to include Handling Edna amid his study, it could have been interesting to compare its audiobook version to that of More Please in respect of the manner(s) in which Humphries voices his own alternate selves.

3 Even in considering the various interview segments of Dame Edna’s act—in which she predominantly engages with individuals who are no strangers to the stage—it seems as though her interviewees, almost without their realizing it, constitute as much of her audience anyone who is watching the interview itself.

4 Hypothetically, had Humphries been unable, for whatever reason, to record Edna’s book himself, and a different performer would have attempted to narrate the book as Edna (i.e. in-character), it might have presented an interesting comparative case study—one that would have merely highlight Humphries’s own extraordinary talent. Conceivably, such a recording—by someone other than Humphries taking on the role of Edna—could be regarded as an attempt of re-interpreting, and perhaps re-inventing, an already well-established character. Consider, for instance, the ‘muppet’ of Miss Piggy, who shares with Edna not only the status of a distinct public figure and cultural phenomenon, but also the achievement of being identified as an ostensible agency in her own right. (Although she has been operated and performed by a number of puppeteers over the years, it was surely the remarkable talents of Frank Oz that endowed Miss Piggy her ubiquitous status).

5 Had he done so, the recording surely would have served as an interesting case study—comparable to author-read autobiographies in the same vein, e.g., Bruce Springsteen’s Born to Run (2016). Indeed, Springsteen, much like Dylan, is endowed not only with a unique artistic voice, but also with a distinct literal one. As such, having the opportunity of listening to Springsteen tell his own story, in his own voice, substantially amplifies one’s aesthetic experience of the overall autobiography, and conceivably, also adds a certain level of prestige that is not as inherent for a consumer who ostensibly ‘settles’ for reading the printed book.

6 Penn’s achievement—successfully identifying not only the overall internal logic of both Dylan’s (2005) autobiographical writing and Dylan’s prominence as a significant cultural figure, but also the manner in which these particular aspects should manifest as an exclusively-aural performance—is further underlined when compared with another aural iteration of Dylan’s text: namely, Nick Landrum’s unabridged narration. Furthermore, while the abridged audiobooks might be instinctively discarded for consisting as ostensibly incomplete representations of an original work, I would argue that whether or not a particular recording happens to be abridged should not factor in ascertaining its aesthetic quality. Comparing between Penn’s and Landtum’s narrations—being abridged on the one hand and unabridged on the other—can help to establish precisely why.

7 It should be noted that the audiobook does, however, retain the word ‘readers’—rather than replacing it with ‘listeners’—on more than one occasion. Conceivably, these instances can be written-off as something of an oversight, ill-adapting the aural iteration. See, e.g., ‘Had any of my readers felt that an evening was ruined even before it began, that was how I felt that night’ [emphasis added] (transcribed from Everage, [1993] 2014, 54m23sec). ‘I suggested these tasks caringly, listeners, and as occupational therapy, to stop her becoming morbid. I'm sure that grief-counselors reading this will back me to the hilt’ [emphasis added]. (02hr10m42sec).

8 Arguably, had anyone other than Humphries, for whatever reason, set out to record an audiobook version of Edna’s work—attempting to evoke and exhibit her particular qualities, and perhaps even purposefully impersonating her—I am doubtful whether the result would have been as rewarding. his which can only fully be grasped by the listeners of the audiobook.

9 Consider, e.g., Edna’s account of her near-drowning experience, having attempted to save Madge’s life: ‘With no thought for myself, as per usual, I plunged into the aqua sea and struck out in the direction of my floundering friend. Only when I was out of my depth with the salt water searing my throat did I remember that I could not swim! […] I tried to make my life flash before me but it wouldn’t. I must have blacked out, but seconds later I came to. […] I saw the face of my rescuer […] my young saviour carried me in his arms and laid me gently on the sands. […] At that moment I felt, and I am not ashamed to confess this, listeners, as though that […] young warrior could do with me as he liked’ (Everage, [1993] 2014, 36m22sec).

10 For Humphries, ‘the fact that most healthy women are sexually attracted to Sir Les contributes in no small measure to my pleasure in inhabiting him. A cautionary figure, as well as a comic one, Les Patterson is that part of me that didn't stop drinking. […] It was always wonderful and exhilarating to walk into my dressing-room at the theatre and slip into a vast and clammy ‘fat suit’, obscenely and priapically padded, then to don a deeply stained powder-blue Hong King suite, ‘kipper’ tie and finally a pair of two-toned, Cuban-heeled shoes of a monstrous design, fashionable in the early seventies. A boozy make-up swiftly applied and a clip-on denture of crooked, nicotine-stained teeth complete the transformation. (Humphries 2002, 221–222).

11 By the same token, consider Harold Pinter's radio play, A Slight Ache (1958) in similar respects. Explicitly, with respect the fact that one of its three characters (a Matchseller) does not utter single word, and onto whom the two other characters (Edward and Flora) gradually project their own realities. While the play has also been performed on stage, the visible silence of a mysterious mute figure is surely different from that of an un-seen one. Indeed, the idea that a radio play even permits the ‘presence’ of a character who does not speak, surely makes one contemplate whether or not he exists at all. Now, many radio productions—including one from 2002 staring Pinter himself—credit only two performers. What I find interesting in respect of whether or not Humphries performs his characters’ autobiographies in full costume, is questioning whether or not, and to what degree, would the performers of A Slight Ache be affected by the physical presence (or, indeed, lack thereof) of a third performer. Conceivably, just as Humphries’s performance would benefit from a narration in full costume, the cast of Pinter’s play would benefit from the presence of a third performer—his muteness notwithstanding. In this respect, if one were made aware that Humphries is in full costume or that there is indeed a third cast member, it could, potentially, re-direct or fine-tune one’s interpretation and aesthetic evaluation of the performances.

12 Consider, for example, the segment where Edna mentions that she had ‘got a nice long aerogram from Norman’, followed by her stating that ‘only the postscript irritated me slightly: ‘You'll be pleased to hear the kiddies haven't mentioned you once since you left. So don't worry’ (Everage, [1993] 2014, 01h53m47sec). By way of comparison, when Edna narrates a letter from Madge, one clearly hears that it is Edna who is reading Madge’s words, while employing a slightly different intonation. (01h54m52sec.) Here, she goes between her reading of Madge’s letter and commenting about it, which is in the text, and expressing various reactions to it, as part of her performance, such as releasing a small amount of air in disapproval or irritation.

13 For further reading, see Wallace 2018.