The absent “voice” in the college catalog was a coherent personality to let the reader know that the school (or business, or organization) has a handle on everything going on under its scholarly roof. The entries lacked the sound of a single purpose, a single mind and heart at work; it was a grammatical pillow fight. Incoming students were variously referred to as “students,” “the students,” “him/her,” “they,” and my personal soulless favorite, “the potential applicants.” The instructors referred to students from other countries as either “international,” “out-of-country,” or “foreign,” probably trying to decide which one sounded least offensive.

I regularly listen to books on my iPod (product placement!) and in doing so I noticed the following: when the author reads his or her own work, their voice is forever after stuck in my head, linked to their writing, even if I read an article or book by the same author sans audio. As I read the “silent” words, it's the author’s voice I hear.

Consider these “voices” from literature:

“Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.”-Charles Dickens, “David Copperfield”

“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.” -J.D. Salinger, “The Catcher in the Rye”

These well-known opening lines immediately set a mood, a character, a time period, and they whisper hints about the world in which the characters live. They also make you want to read more.

Where does a unique voice, a Joyce, a Salinger, or a Borges come from? What makes Borges’ voice different from Kafka? How was C.S. Lewis’s voice different from that of George MacDonald, whom he admired, or from J.R.R. Tolkien, an old friend? Is it strictly their education or lack of it, the time period and region in which they lived? Do you load your prose full of obvious pop culture references, like Stephen King, or do you deliberately leave them out to create a more universal tone, like Annie Dillard? What happens to the voice when the writer a colorful “character” in themselves, like Tom Wolfe, Oscar Wilde, Ernest Hemingway, Annie Lamott, or Hunter S. Thompson?

It’s a broccoli quiche whipped up from the history, the culture, the sophistication, the choices, the imagination—all of it baked into one big Pavarotti pie. Or maybe a Woody Allen cheese roll. Either way, it’s distinctive.

By the way, did you notice the “broccoli quiche” in the previous paragraph? If I had written “it’s a car-tipping plate of brontosaurus ribs” and used “one big Bubbalicious barbeque” it would have taken on an entirely different tone. Not necessarily good or effective, but at least it be different, n’est pas?

In Russell Hoban’s remarkable novel Riddley Walker, the title character introduces himself this way:

“On my naming day when I come 12 I gone front spear and kilt a wyld boar he parbley ben the las wyld pig on the Bundel Downs any how there hadn’t ben none for a long time befor him nor I aint looking to see none agen.”

Hoban’s hero is a wandering storyteller, a post-apocalyptic Don Quixote in a world that has mostly forgotten written language. This is a micron away from being a “stunt” voice; in the hands of a less talented writer, it’s a cheap gimmick. But Hoban makes it work, using it as a vehicle for subtlety, insight and expression, yielding amazing results and something more—a sense of wonder. Lots of authors try this at least once in their careers, and a lot of them hit the wall. In John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany, the title character has a SCREECHY LOUD VOICE THAT IS EXPRESSED IN ALL CAPS, a wonderful device, and it’s a pretty good book anyway, but Owen’s voice definitely has “gimmick” spray-painted all over it.

Finding the voice of an organization is a different, though similar, matter. Every company, organization and ministry develops a voice whether they like it or not. Companies like the ones spearheaded by Godzilla-scale moguls such as Donald Trump, Richard Branson or Martha Stewart are cults of personality—inextricably intertwined with the arm-flapping figurehead at the top. If the people stumble, the entire enterprise falls under attack. Walt Disney, despite departing the Magic Kingdom in 1966, essentially remains the ghost voice of all things Disney to many generations. After a relatively short period, the “Mouth of the South/Captain Outrageous” Ted Turner was relegated to the background, rather than as a mascot at the channel he founded, CNN.

You could even extend this idea of a unique “voice” to understand why TV commercials, animated films and documentaries are always using movie stars as narrators, such as Gene Hackman for Lowes, James Earl Jones’ Darth Vader rumble for CNN, James Coburn’s “Like A Rock” growl for Chevy Trucks, or James Garner for the “Beef: It’s What’s for Dinner” industry. It’s the distinctive voice that grabs your attention, eases you into comfortably familiar territory, and gives authority to the spot, even if the average person can’t “place” the actor or actress at first.

With 66 books written over hundreds of years on everything from stone tablets to parchment by dozens of authors ranging from kings to slaves, from scholars to shepherds, the Bible manages to sound like one voice, and it’s not just King James’ translators. Yet even with the consistency of voice, there are distinct personalities present in the individual approach of the earthly scribes. St. John referred to himself as “the one whom Jesus loved” and Peter seemed fond of the word “precious,” but then, so did Gollum from The Lord of the Rings. Just try to find a single unified voice in a collection of short stories or essays, even a collection on the same subject, possibly even by the same guy (Mark Leyner? David Foster Wallace?), and you’ll see what I mean.

What’s the “voice,” the “personality” of the place surrounding you? Is it friendly, inviting? Does it make you want to run for cover? Is it “businesslike”? Sloppy? Is it a warm and fuzzy Teletubbies environment, or the Death Star?

People are listening.