I was shocked out of my senses this morning to discover in the discard area outside my kitchen door a bin full of CDs, apparently being discarded by the family soon to move out of the apartment across from mine. On closer look they turned out to be CDs of bedtime stories, bedtime music, etc., you get the picture.
That picture dismays me no end. Where would the essence of the story be if heard on a CD? Where is the remarkable closeness of story-teller/-reader to the listener? Isn't the act one of mutual involvement, deep interpersonal imaginative union?
These children are being raised to participate in the production culture. Poor things.
Poor culture.
