I recently realized that my first choice for books is audio. Nowadays, I only buy the paper version if the audiobook isn’t available. I find this a bit odd since I’m very much a visual person–I am addicted to the visual arts, as proof of my ocular-centricism–but I love the sound of words, their rhythm and even their texture on my tongue as I speak or as they caress my ear as they enter.
Perhaps it was because my mother read Armenian poetry to me as a child to help me sleep and I still remember how soothing the words felt. Or maybe it was all the literary interviews I would listen to on CBC radio or on public television with eloquent authors like Margaret Atwood or Michael Ondaatje who could easily string together a necklace of five-syllable words that sounded perfect, powerful and could even inspire awe.