Teacher Just Asked You to Read Aloud in Front of the Class. How Hard Do You Go?

Whoo boy, the teacher just asked you to read aloud in front of the class.

In fact, this is exactly what she said:

And can you read for Hamlet starting from line 45?

Considering refusal is not an option, it becomes not a question of “if” you are going to read aloud but “to what degree.” So, how hard do you go?

First things first, you don’t want to go too hard. Like you have been waiting for this your entire young life. Like you conspired with the teacher beforehand. Went to office hours and confessed that it has been a little dream of yours to read this monologue aloud, and asked if she would give you the opportunity to, but, like, in a classroom setting so that it wouldn’t seem contrived. Like you falsely manufactured this situation so as not to make it seem contrived. No, you wouldn’t want it to come off like that.

You can’t completely monotone it ether though. Poetry and dialogue have a certain natural rhythm to them. A certain je ne sais quoi in the words’ DNA that tells you that you put the emphasis on the “quoi.” You would look like a complete idiot if you read aloud like a text-to-speech robot, throwing any semblance of cadence to the metaphorical wind. Plowing on and on with utter sonic abandon. Like the word “harbinger” has just as much meaning as the word “hamburger” to you. No, you wouldn’t want to come off like that either.

At the same time, however, your cadence can’t be that perfect. Your Measure for Measure can’t be too measured. Like you’ve got that tense, manic, theater kid energy that’s always ready to spring into action like a pretentious jack-in-the box. Like you’re always cocked and ready to go. Like you’re the kind of person that could easily be seduced into taking part in a flash mob. No, you can’t let anyone think you would take part in a flash mob. You can’t go too hard.

In a way, though, you sort of owe it to the rest of the class to provide a pleasant audial experience, to hear the words of Shakespeare as they are meant to be heard. It’s not your fault that you were blessed with a perfect ear for sixteenth-century rhythms. The class is lucky to have the opportunity. People normally charge for this sort thing; ever heard of Sir Ian McKellen? What you’re doing is practically community service.

Whatever you do, just don’t go so hard as to pronounce “winged” as “wing-ed.” Then it’s all over for you.

But it’s definitely a fine line. Remember that time that Jeffrey from eighth grade pronounced the “Brute” “of et tu, Brute?” as “broot” and everyone laughed at him so much that he had to switch schools? You don’t want to be another Jeffrey.

On the other hand, none of this truly matters at all. We are all just specks floating in space, and soon enough everyone here to remember this moment will be dead.

Yet it is also important to consider how the hot shame of going too hard or not hard enough has the potential to haunt the rest of your living days. Can the anonymity of the afterlife really provide comfort to those living in hell on earth? Remember Jeffery.

On second thought, or third thought, or tenth thought…you might as well just smoke these fools. Shakespeare is truly the rap of the Renaissance, and you’re about to spit a verbal Mona Lisa. Bring me my chalice, Polonius–you slithering bitch. There’s a new king in town.

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