Snaps

Letters of Note is a bit uneven, for me at least. Some weeks I soak it in, others I skip. I miss writing letters, and getting them. Which is why the blog, it's my version of writing letters, and rather satisfying since you all write back, one way or another. The letter linked above, from E.B. White about being distracted by letters to authors when he would be writing a book, startles me.

I have never written a fan letter for anything, nor would I expect, nor even want a reply on the rare occasions I actually considered the task. The idea of a teacher or librarian urging a class to write to a favorite author strikes me as a bit bizarre. Nearly as weird as a class writing "to any soldier" letters during Gulf War I. Those were annoying, as they clogged up the system so that we didn't get mail from our own loved ones. All were students given the assignment by teachers, so we pitied them, but it was a terrible idea. Oh, a very few without anyone to write to them took the any letters. We all did just to thin out the mailroom.

Still, I'd rather read a good novel than an irritated letter from an author. Authors write books. Friends write letters (if in the form of blogs and email and comments these days.)

Teachers are odd ducks, as a group. All kinds of individual exceptions, as per. Overanalyzing poems and symbolism in works of art, then getting their young students to harass the authors, then getting shirty with authors for being pointed writers. Ever hear about Harlan Ellison? How he wrote when he got irritated? Great to learn vocabulary from, certainly. Really, really esoteric vocabulary. I love the idea of a teacher writing Ellison for an explanation of his work, citing a particular (and spurious) interpretation.

Never cheat an angry writer with a platform. Like handing a sword fighter a sword, then insulting him, and expecting not to be sliced in half. Words as weapons, not to be dismissed by the stupid and shallow.


But I digress, (as usual really.)

I would never question a writer who decided not to write about a popular character. I think George Smiley could easily have ended with Smiley's People, but his framing sections in The Secret Pilgrim allow him a profoundly graceful exit. I was never one to think Douglas Adams should have written more Hitchhikers books. I know Terry Pratchett has told his stories. And that there will never be a sequel to To Kill a Mockingbird. I'm good with this. Although I would like to tell Mr. Le Carre that I don't think he does as badly with women characters as he thinks, they are seen from the outside, but there is a sense of a real character inside. Ahem. Sorry.

I've also read Satire That Blasted Art, and I think that finding particular, staid, meanings in art is like dissecting frogs, a cruel and useless exercise. If done as if there were a right or wrong answer, anyway. There isn't one, not with any real art. It's all a matter of interpretation and what one brings with them. A chemical mix of attitude and experience, artist and observer.


If I wrote to an author, I would expect a snappish reply, no matter what my question. That's what I adore in writers, that ability to say whatever comes to mind, eloquently, without regard to sentiment.