I’ve been following the Letters of Note blog for a good while now. The curator/editor, Shaun Usher, collects samples of real letters — often but not always from “famous” people — on matters of real import, and/or in styles worth sharing.
Today’s entry features a 1914 letter from Jack London to a young aspiring writer named Max Fedder. Fedder, apparently, had written a letter to London, a fan letter as we might call it nowadays, and enclosed a story of his own. No doubt he hoped for encouragement from his hero, if not actual praise.
From London’s first sentences, if not quite his first words, that hope must have flown out the window — or, finding it closed, crashed right into the glass and dropped senseless to the floor:
Oakland, Calif.
Oct. 26, 1914Dear Max Fedder:
In reply to yours of recent date undated, and returning herewith your Manuscript. First of all, let me tell you that as a psychologist and as one who has been through the mill, I enjoyed your story for its psychology and point of view. Honestly and frankly, I did not enjoy it for its literary charm or value. In the first place, it has little literary value and practically no literary charm. Merely because you have got something to say that may be of interest to others does not free you from making all due effort to express that something in the best possible medium and form. Medium and form you have utterly neglected…
Ouch, ouch, ouch. Objectively regarded, it’s a terrific letter, in fact — long, articulate, utterly non-generic, and frank. (See the whole thing here.) Somehow, though, I suspect that Max Fedder didn’t draw much comfort from any of that.
I’m trying, and failing, to think of any communication I’ve ever received remotely like it, from anyone. This doesn’t reflect on — haha — the grandeur of my works; it’s because I’ve been far much too nervous to offer them up for comment, unsolicited, to anyone at all. (To say that this complicates life for someone aspiring to write for a living greatly understates the case.) London’s response is exactly the kind I’d fear most.
How ’bout you? Are you the Give it to me straight, Jack, and don’t mince words! sort? Or the Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me! sort?
And if you were in Jack London’s shoes, can you imagine writing a response like his?
Jayne says
Um, a writing professor I had in the master’s program at RIC. She was spot on, of course, but not half as nice as London. She enjoyed smirking. She also liked very particular prose which became more evident as the semester wore on. But damn, she was good. And a good writer, too.
deniz says
I hadn’t heard of that blog, it sounds interesting!
I think… if I was dedicated to making my novel the best it could be, I might be able to appreciate review like that. But it would still hurt!
s.o.m.e. one's brudder says
Ah, one need only sit through a third year architectural jury with a cardboard model of the project you slaved and exalted over for a semester, to truly appreciate the depravity by which some can “judge” the work of others. Not that it’s not usually needed, at that point, but imagine Mr. London with an “Exacto” knife at the ready, dissecting the actual paper and associated offensive/badly structured text to truly appreciate creative criticism at it’s finest. Quotes like: “Have you considered accounting?” after a bleary eyed, no sleep presentation are legendary. Thankfully, I avoided both of these myself, but the threat of failing a semester after doing what I thought was an awesome job over one weekend, can be an eye-opener of epic scale to one’s creative psyché.