In doing so, it preserved the illusion that the source of the speech is located inside the speaking body. The teleprompter, though, replaced the need for these mental feats with an external device, which functions as an ‘extension’ of the self. They used mnemonic methods for memorising political speeches, including the famous ‘memory palace’ in which one visualises moving through sections of a text as if they were rooms in a large, labyrinthine house. The value of speaking ‘by heart’ – as if ‘from the heart’ – has been transmitted to us from oral cultures, including those of ancient Greece and Rome. Even when we know the text is being read from a screen, our perception of what counts as ‘true’ speech seems to be bound up with a particular rhetorical style that suggests spontaneity and self-confidence: a direct gaze, no cue cards, a natural pace. We, the audience, know that we are hearing a pre-written presentation but somehow we forget the artifice, and feel as if the speaker is creating something for us afresh. It relies upon an unstated contract between the speaker and listener. Yet the assistive technology of the teleprompter is a routine feature of contemporary speechifying. We tend to think of speech as a less contrived medium than writing. Yet, on either side of their podium, we spy a set of transparent boards, on which a text is screened for the speaker, to help maintain the illusion of naturalness. They are applauded for their eloquence and their sincerity. Their delivery is enthusiastic, fiery, full of pathos.
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