Once upon a time, and in a time that predates the invention of the microprocessor, the telephone, and even the telegraph, people had the option of either addressing one another in person or via letter. And when reading the biographies of various painters, writers, and musicians of the past few centuries one is immediately aware of, and can scarcely ignore, the significance of letter-writing—a vital part of remaining in touch with those close to us, and too a vital component of the progression of one’s particular craft. And when I speak of letters, I do not mean what may today pass for a letter; a one-line, or even one-word e-mail, with a Sincerely or Best sign off; although even this is seen by most as an unnecessary flourish. I refer instead to a letter made up of multiple paragraphs and possibly pages that not only took time to compose but significant thought. Take any one of Frédéric Chopin’s letters for example—I have probably written only a handful of letters in my life that are of this ilk and depth. And likely received even fewer. As the elder members of my family and circle of friends pass away one by one, so have the letters gone; letters like this one, written by Chopin and sent to his friend Wojciech Grzymala in 1839:
Here we are after a week’s travelling. We arrived very comfortably. The village is beautiful: nightingales, skylarks; you are the only missing Bird. I hope it won’t be the same way this year as two years ago. If only for a few minutes! Choose a moment when we are all well, and run down for a few days; take pity on a fellow creature. Let us just embrace you, and in return I’ll give you pills and first-class milk. My pianoforte shall be at your service, and you shall lack nothing.
Your
FRYC
As if human behavior wasn’t already confounding enough, we add e-mail as a variable in the equation of getting from one day to the next—and try reading between the lines(or the lack thereof) of a five-word note.
“Hey, just got the book.”
And herein lies the problem—an all too frequent absence of tone or any small cues that might be indicative of one sentiment over another. Not to mention, in this case, a categorical neglect of formality or what one might term etiquette. No Dear or Sincerely, not even one’s name except by way of their name.com. One might wonder—is the sender too busy to say more, to sign their name, or to include yours after a word like Dear for instance? Of course, brevity and the short note often are perfectly acceptable even preferable; and I am certainly not standing in judgment of the format itself or the length of one note versus another. What I am suggesting is that something quite real, quite significant has gone awry in our correspondence with one another. And I am not even addressing texting, Facebook or Twitter.
A few things that come to mind that render e-mail a troublesome format: its predisposition for misinterpretation, the simultaneity of intimacy and distance, and the expectation of a timely if not immediate response. The letter traveling by regular mail has its own pace and frankly a pace that lets people breathe a bit. And let’s not forget that e-mail is being viewed on a screen, and often a screen smaller than the palm of our hand—not removed from an envelope and held in our own two hands. Yes, e-mails can be printed out, but are there very many worth saving? A few. There is no law that says we can’t write expressive and substantial notes and letters using this format.
But do we?
There is also the group e-mail—effective for certain things, but still odd. Does one inform all of their friends and acquaintances via group e-mail that they are consulting a divorce attorney, having an operation, and so on? Would Chopin have written the same letter to all his family and friends when he gave his very first concert in Paris, became ill with consumption, had trouble working out a section of one of his Nocturnes, or fell in love with George Sands?
Dear everyone,
FYI concert in Vienna was OK. Talk soon.
Fred
I am acquainted with a few individuals who believe that e-mail and blogs are the ruination of just about everything. But there is a certain degree of humor in this—for in lieu of this so-called ruination are they writing letters and communicating in a meaningful way via other methods with their friends and colleagues?
There are so many extraordinary books out there written about the correspondences of the past, some of which include: Words in Air, The Letters of Vincent Van Gogh, Letters on Cézanne, Flaubert—Sand, One Art, and of course, Chopin’s Letters.
But I am left wondering; fifty years from now, will there even be enough letters to produce this kind of book about those who have lived and worked in this new era of correspondence?
The day of the letter, of graciousness—is it gone?
How refreshing to read something that addresses the lost art
of letter-writing! Nowadays when we receive letters it's most
often from a grandparent or someone of another generation.
While the convenience and speed of e mail or texting sometimes makes for more frequent communication....it just isn't the same
experience as receiving a good letter!
Posted by: Cari Lutz | April 06, 2010 at 10:34 PM
Thanks Cari for taking the time to comment.
Posted by: Amy Allara | April 07, 2010 at 01:45 PM
I and a few of my close, though geographically distant, friends, still converse quite meaningfully and thoughtfully, and yet through email. The format itself has little to do with how it's used--this is a technology first used by Unix hackers, after all--but a culture has grown up around it and the informality is somewhat expected. Except among me and my friends. A telephone conversation could never approach the intimacy with which we trade words by email; it is our outlet of feelings and ponderings to others of similar ilk.
So it still exists, for those who want it.
Posted by: Golias Bauknecht | April 07, 2010 at 08:40 PM
Thank you Golias, I appreciate your comment.
Posted by: Amy Allara | April 08, 2010 at 10:37 AM