Letter Writing

"The three [letters] you wrote me after I had broken of the engagement are so beautiful, and so badly spelled, that even now I can hardly read them without crying a little."
Cecily, The Importance of Being Earnest

Let's see, the last time I wrote an actual letter to someone, I mean a handwritten letter, was . . . maybe a birthday card to my sister last year. It's rare, who can afford stamps these days. 44cents. And what a waste of  paper, unless it is recyclable, (Actually I own some fancy stationary made from banana leaves - there's different kind of a renewable resouce.) But e-mail is so much better, right?

I wonder.

Everyday I come home from work and the first thing I do before I go inside is check the mailbox. I receive a magazine once a week, but other than that I get bills and junk mail. Unless it is birthday cards or christmas cards

I never ever write letters anymore. Actually I don't even send out Christmas cards - I think about sending them - does that count?

It's interesting that when Goosey began, ages ago, we started off writing letters to each other. I would write the first draft in my Goosey notebook, and then I would copy it down on pretty stationary, address it and post it. Eventually we stopped doing that, resorting to e-mailing our 'letters' or transfering digital files. There is still something wonderful about handwritten notes.

I pulled Frankenstein off my bookshelf recently, I'd forgotten that the story is framed. That is begins with a series of letters (!) from Robert Walton to his sister Margaret in England. He describes his journey north from Russia into the Artic where he has a strange encounter with Victor Frankenstein, who proceeds to tell Robert his life's story. The book ends with Robert continuing his journal/letter to his sister. Framing a story thus is an old literary device.

Of course, what interested me most was how Mary Shelley uses dialogue in Walton's letters, and how she weaves in the setting and description very subtly and entirely from Walton's perspective. Since he's a scientific, rational man, there are observations about whalefishers in the northsea. There isn't a lot of physical detail, except for a few passages when Walton describes how cold he is and all the snow and ice and the sun "forever visible, its broad disk just skirting the horizon and diffusing a perpetual splendour." These are remarked upon because, of course, Margaret has never been to the Artic, so her brother is describing it for her.

That's the sort of thing I need to do with my letters, when describing things address Mirth directly: "Oh cousin, let me describe the scene for you. There I stood, practically in tears, my arms drapped with green and gold fabric, the lamps burning low in the room and Lady May lording over me like some Sergent-at-arms."

So, coming soon, I will probably re-write and re-post letter 3 with this idea in mind. Maybe I'll look at all three letters.