The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain

So, not wishing to disappoint my readers (I do have readers, right? You don't all just ignore me, do you? *sob*) this isn't a review. Again. This is (again) brought to you by the thoughts that roam through my head while I read. Although this one is also brought to you by several embarrassing episodes I have had in discussing literature over the years, in different settings with different people.

Books are filled with words. Some with more than others, but mostly words. Yes, there are books with pictures, but even those usually have words. And the ones without words, well, you need to be over eighteen to be reading them, no? (Having said that, in this day and age, what with their fancy intertubes and all, I guess those sorts of _books_ are going out of fashion. Enough innuendo, on with the post.)

Again, mostly, these words are internalised, and not said out loud.

Allow me to digress a moment. Yes, I know it will prolong the post, and alienate more readers from getting this far, but stick with it, I just want to rant a little. Ever since my youngest was born, I have read to all my children. (I no longer do, they read for themselves. It would probably embarrass them if I still did.) When they were all little, they all got the same book. Then I had to spin off and read three different stories a night. Bedtimes went on for a while, I can tell you. Lemony Snicket was a joy to read, whereas Harry Potter was not. Harry Potter sucks. Truly, it does. Try reading any of them out loud. Awful. The writing is turgid, slow, boring, clumsy and trite. The plot may be passable, but they are awful books. She needs a good editor. I never, ever want to say aloud 'Harry, Ron and Hermione' in the same breath ever again. Ever. Digression ends.

And because character names get spoken only in your head, the pronounciation is yours, and yours alone. The accent they have (with in the confines of the setting, development and arena of the story) is yours to hear. (One of the points people dislike films of their favourite books is that the characters look and sound wrong. Among the many problems with film adaptations.) Then we have the words that you never use in real life, but you are aware of what they mean, but only appear in books. Your pronounciation of those is all your own.

Imagine, for example, you find yourself in bourgeoisie salon, with the great and the good, and the discussion comes round to one of your favourite novels. (Bourgeoisie? Salons? Has he still not got over his Proust kick?) For sake of argument, let us say this novel has a heroine by the name of Adele. In your enthusiasm, you wish to talk of a crucial plot twist, a moment of import in the sweep of the narrative. You open your mouth and go:

'Well, at the juncture where Ad-ell turns to the narrator and...'

whereupon everyone looks at you and says 'Who? Oh, you mean Ah-dell.' Cue titters, amusement and hot cheeks. (We haven't even factored in, which is for me is another degree of freedom in this social minefield, accents. Some people in this country understand me when I speak. Some even when I write...) It strikes me as something that isn't ever taught, how to pronounce words you only see in books.

Or is this just me? Do I not talk to the right people? I have been caught out lots of times with this, not being understood as the language we speak is the same, but the words come out differently. I can't be this only one to have considered this, can I? Please tell me I'm not!

I get this post in now, as I don't want to spoil the flow of the short stories coming up, and let the focus be on those.

Original photo of the beach one used up there. And the starfield from my back garden, which is my current desktop wallpaper, as it happens. Yeah, yeah, pimping my own pics again.