Audiobooks make running easier — until our names get mispronounced

2026-03-27 - 16:02

One of the few genuinely good things to come out of the COVID-19 pandemic, at least for me personally, was running. I should clarify: I do not mean that I discovered a love of running; that would be far too strong and, frankly, suspicious. I remain unconvinced that anyone other than lunatics, masochists or people with unusually expensive GPS watches actually loves to run. But somewhere amid border closures, postponed wedding plans, social isolation, constant anxiety and the general derangement of that period — not to mention the 2020 Artsakh war, because apparently a global pandemic was also a perfectly good time to attack an indigenous population — I started doing it anyway. And, somewhat unexpectedly, running gave me audiobooks. I quickly learned that I do not particularly enjoy running to music, as most people do. I think music makes me too aware of the fact that I am running, which is not ideal. Audiobooks, on the other hand, trick me into continuing the story and, therefore, continuing the always arduous act of running. Somewhere between heavy breathing and regret, I realized I was not only listening but actually retaining what I heard better than when I tried to listen in bed and inevitably fell asleep three pages into any novel. Naturally, once I realized this, I began devouring Armenian-themed books — mostly novels — through my many library cards and the digital subscriptions they so generously enable (shoutout to OverDrive and Libby, especially when you live abroad and English-language books are not quite as easy to come by as they once were. God bless North American public libraries). When I say many, I mean a slightly suspicious number of library cards and digital subscriptions from various cities I have lived in, and a few I’ve merely visited. The legal and ethical status of this arrangement remains, shall we say, pleasantly unexamined. In any case, this listening-while-running routine should have been the perfect arrangement: I “read” while exercising and feel marginally less bad about my pace, my cardiovascular health and chronic lack of reading all at once. But there is one recurring problem that drives me insane: the foreign-language — i.e. Armenian — pronunciation in some audiobooks is downright appalling. I am not naming books because I do not want to publicly shame authors, some of whom are friends or acquaintances. I also understand that authors often have little to no say in who narrates their books. But still: damn. Armenian names, surnames, place names, food and sayings — anything slightly unfamiliar to an English-speaking narrator — can emerge from the speakers so mangled that it takes a few seconds to realize what word was even intended. A city like Shushi suddenly sounds like sushi — which, during Lent, is particularly cruel, because now I am distracted and hungry. A name like Shushan gets flattened beyond recognition. A food like kavurma becomes karvuma and, in turn, something else entirely — which, in this case, is less cruel during Lent. In the same book, basturma does not fare much better. It begins as basteerma, then somehow, in the same chapter, wanders into basteerma, by which point the poor cured meat has traveled so far from home that it barely knows its own name. The problem is not that I expect perfection. I do not. Languages are hard, accents are real, and not every narrator can or should sound like a native speaker. I am not demanding that every audiobook involving Armenians be narrated by an ethnic Armenian. And I understand that someone’s Uncle Misak from the community center can not be called up to do a professional’s job, though I admit there are a few uncles who would absolutely love the opportunity and treat the recording booth like a calling. What I am asking for is effort. If a book is filled with names, places and terms from another language, surely someone in the production chain can consult a native speaker, hire a coach or even ask the author for a quick audio note. This is not an unsolvable problem. When the pronunciation is careless, it breaks the spell. It pulls you out of the book and reminds you that, to somebody, somewhere, these words were decorative details rather than meaningful parts of a living world. Again, I am not trying to gatekeep. I am only suggesting that if publishers want us to listen for more than 10 hours, they should make sure the narrator knows how to say the names of the people we are supposed to care about. This is not a matter of cultural appropriation or whatever else you would like to call it — just basic mercy. Some of us are out here just trying to survive a run without hearing our heritage mispronounced at mile three.