Letters

An excerpt from a novel I read yesterday, Letters from Skye by Jessica Brockmole:

Think about when you first meet a person, Sue. You have to get past all the superficial nonsense, the appraisals of accents and checked jackets. An interrogation of appearance. After you’ve deemed each other worthy, then you can actually settle down to get acquainted, to begin those first tentative probes of the mind. Find out what sort of thing fuels the other—what makes them scream, what makes them laugh, what makes them tremble on the rug. You and I are lucky. We never had to worry about the first part, the visual sizing up. We got to go directly to the interesting bit. The getting to know the depths and breadths of each other’s soul.

I don’t know about you, but I find it refreshing. I am sick to death of having to worry whether people think I look old enough or respectable enough or whatnot. Always having to be polite and look interested. When I write to you, I don’t have to think about any of that nonsense. I don’t have to worry about my big feet. I can peel away the husk (if you will forgive a corn metaphor) and reveal the shiny kernels of my dreams and passions and fears. They are yours, Sue, yours to gnaw on as you will! Marvelous with a sprinkle of salt.

I enjoyed this novel which sold as “A sweeping story told in letters, spanning two continents and two world wars, Jessica Brockmole’s atmospheric debut novel captures the indelible ways that people fall in love, and celebrates the power of the written word to stir the heart.” The excerpt below is from a letter from David to Elspeth, two of the main characters. They started writing to each other before World War 1 started.

Having said I enjoyed this one, I always have mixed feelings reading epistolary novels.

It’s envy and disbelief mainly: how can these people be such good letter writers?

I was about to write a gross generalisation that I hardly ever read novels using the letter as storytelling device, then I sat and thought about it and realised I have read a few:

84, Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff
The Color Purple by Alice Walker
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows
Dracula by Bram Stoker…

These are just the ones that come to mind – I’m sure there are more.

I suppose letter writing these days has been replaced by emails and text messages? Facebook posts? Blog comments…?

The excerpt above also brings to mind the point I’ve made before about how online communication and social media can really help with building relationships. Pre-Internet, things would have been somewhat slower if one had to rely on the post. How did we stand it? I’m trying to remember the frustrations caused when you had to wait for letters to arrive. Was the delayed gratification good for us?