Godric is the first--and thus far, the only--book I've read out loud to myself from start to finish. It reads entirely in an old English dialect, as written by Saint Godric the medieval monk himself. The book is the story of his life. The man who was to be sainted by the Roman Catholic Church buried the wild roots of his youth to become a monastic, forever remembered for his healing touch and for taking baths in a freezing river to mortify his sinful flesh.
The book begs to be read out loud, not only because of the flow and beauty of the old English, but also because the dark, sometimes crude humor eminating from the lofty language and cadence is simply a treat.
For that matter, what the language embodies is the charm and challenge of the whole story. Godric surprises us because, though he is a saint and in himself a pilgrimage destination, he is crass. At the same time, though he is irreverent, he speaks of grace and purity in that far off and imminent way that lets us glimpse for a moment the beauty we know we were made for, but have never seen.
I was compelled to read Godric after reading a review from a man who said he categorizes books in two eras: those he read before reading Godric and those he has read since. Indeed, if you read it, I believe you will find it is unlike anything you have ever read, and it will change the way you read books--and see the world--thereafter.