Reflections on the fine art of letter writing

In the past few years, I’ve pored over volumes of letters of such diverse luminaries as Harry Truman, H.L. Mencken, Toulouse-Lautrec, Ernest Hemingway, Dorothy Parker, Robert Frost, Voltaire, E.B. White, George Bernard Shaw, Virginia Woolf, Edith Wharton, Henry James, Theodore Roosevelt and the veritable, indefatigable master of the genre, Madame de Sévigné. As a professor of French language and literature, and as a devotee par excellence of the written word, I have collected, perused and admired personal letters for some time.

Not all of us manage to live lives of such celebrity or notoriety that our letters are bound and published in volumes appropriate for libraries or gift giving. But letters are a wonderful solace and even a potent catharsis for anyone.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said that when his writing was blocked, he would write a long letter to a dear friend. John Steinbeck, in writing “East of Eden,” extricated himself from the daily routine of writing books by composing a letter to his editor and close friend, Pascal Covici. These letters were in Steinbeck’s words “a kind of arguing around for the story,” but they also included valuable nuggets of information and fascinating comments and anecdotes for his friend about the events of the moment. Succinctly stated, epistolary literature is indeed a unique study and can’t be valued enough.

Think about your child’s first scribbled note, love letters exchanged with a spouse, sparkling missives we sent to our parents telling how much they meant to us, a note from a deceased friend, or simply your sons’ and daughters’ brief written requests for money from college, and the subsequent simple sincere “Thank You” jotted hastily on a piece of scrap paper.

There are other letters that I treasure in different, more private ways. These are the insightful, nostalgic letters written to me by longtime friends, former teachers, colleagues, and family members, a number of whom are deceased. Over the years, I’ve kept every one of those missives, and I treasure them more than ever. Rereading them is like having a good postprandial tête-à-tête with the individual, as they represent a definite connection from one human being to another. These letters have become relics from a day, age and era when life was simpler, easier and perhaps better!

Receiving a handwritten letter from a good friend is, for example, tantamount to receiving a long-waited Christmas or holiday gift. One never knows what unexpected treasures are inside, and there is a definite delight in just opening the envelope. As the celebrated writer, Geraldine Brooks, once said: “Letters formed a kind of road map of my life.” My distinguished late friend and colleague, Dr. Richard Ward, once told me the uniqueness of letters  “yield a resource that is of eternal value.”

With email, faxes and the cellphone so ubiquitous, it is obvious that people don’t seem – or want – to write any letters today. Yet no hurried email or telephone conversation can replace thoughtful, caring and intelligent written correspondence between two human beings. Spoken words grow dim with time; written words last forever. Letters are truly literary monuments, which show deep penetrating feelings, emotions and character. They delineate how people felt, lived and acted; they celebrate friendships, love affairs, admirations, turmoils and heartbreaks.

Once upon a time, the only way to communicate from a distance was through the written word. Letters were essential then. And what about history? Most of our knowledge of people and events is based on epistolary communication. Think of Harry Truman’s letters to Bess, Henry VIII’s to Anne Boleyn, Napoleon’s to Josephine, John Keats’s to Fanny Brawne, Madame de Sévigné’s letters to her daughter, and F. Scott Fitzgerald’s to his daughter.

I could not have delved into the creative mind and perused the brilliant cogitations of John Steinbeck, had he telephoned Covici. The letter writer par excellence, George Bernard Shaw, took great pride in delineating his thoughts via a missive. What if he had decided to telephone his friends and acquaintances instead of engaging in a civilized and enlightening exchange of letters?

A number of my students have told me, however, that they are derelict about writing letters, due to the fact that they expect themselves to create a masterpiece each time. I tell them that the recipient usually doesn’t give a tinker’s damn about the perfection of a letter or its style; he or she is usually delighted that an authentic handwritten letter has finally arrived.  

One of life’s happy moments is hearing someone say: “There’s some important mail for you today.” Yes, letters are intended for keeps. They are for saving, rereading and rethinking. Many make the heart leap with laughter, jubilation and delectation. Forty-nine cents is indeed the quintessential bargain to keep in touch, and in such a permanent way, with a friend or relative or colleague who perhaps lives thousands of miles away. So reach out, find a pen and write to someone today. And, by the way, the United State Postal Service would greatly appreciate this, as post offices are essential to the vitality and livelihood of a community, no matter how small the community may be!

MEL B. YOKEN, Ph.D. is Chancellor Professor Emeritus of French Language and Literature at the University of Massachusetts-Dartmouth