Reading the cold-medicine dream that is The Orange Eats Creeps by Grace Krilanovich, I have to slow down my usual reading speed to absorb it all — teenage slutty hobo junkie vampires marauding their way through a dripping mouldering Pacific Northwest landscape, in feral supermarkets and 7-Elevens, subterranean squats and filthy punk clubs, treacherous woods and decomposing trailers. It’s not like anything I’ve read before and yet there are familiar moments. It’s so dank and grotesque, and yet frequently also funny and strangely charming. Sometimes I pretend I’m listening to it read aloud by Brad Neely in his Wizard People Dear Reader voice, or by Laurie Anderson circa Language Is A Virus.
Do you ever find yourself imagining the voice of particular readers while you read? This is a rare occurrence for me, and I’m curious.