The best rejection letter ever in the whole history of rejection letters

220px-Gertrude_steinI suspect most young people have never heard of Gertrude Stein — or at least, most straight young people, since Stein lives on as a gay icon. She was famous in her day for her prose style, which some called experimental, some called lyrical, and some called insane. The Wikipedia article on Stein actually does a nice job of summarizing her prose:

Typical quotes are: “Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose”; “Out of kindness comes redness and out of rudeness comes rapid same question, out of an eye comes research, out of selection comes painful cattle”; about her childhood home in Oakland, “There is no there there”; and “The change of color is likely and a difference a very little difference is prepared. Sugar is not a vegetable.”

[snip]

Her use of repetition is ascribed to her search for descriptions of the “bottom nature” of her characters, such as in The Making of Americans where the narrator is described through the repetition of narrative phrases such as “As I was saying” and “There will be now a history of her.” Stein used many Anglo-Saxon words and avoided words with “too much association”.

Stein predominantly used the present progressive tense, creating a continuous present in her work. . . .

Here’s a good example of her early writing:

A RED STAMP.

If lilies are lily white if they exhaust noise and distance and even dust, if they dusty will dirt a surface that has no extreme grace, if they do this and it is not necessary it is not at all necessary if they do this they need a catalogue.

In 1912, shortly after she began her literary career, Stein submitted a manuscript (“M.S.”) to Arthur Fifield, a publisher in London. He, in return, wrote her the most magnificent rejection letter I have ever seen:

Gertrude Stein rejection letter

April 19 1912

Dear Madam,

I am only one, only one, only one.  Only one being, one at the same time.  Not two, not three, only one.  Only one life to live, only sixty minutes in one hour.  Only one pair of eyes.  Only one brain.  Only one being.  Being only one, having only one pair of eyes, having only one time, having only one life, I cannot read your M.S. three or four times.  Not even one time.  Only one look, only one look is enough.  Hardly one copy would sell here.  Hardly one.  Hardly one.

Many thanks.  I am returning the M.S. by registered post.  Only one M.S. by one post.

Sincerely yours,

Arthur Fifield

Mental Floss has assembled a collection of nine other rejection letters sent to famous people, in addition to Fifield’s letter to Stein.  All are somewhat interesting.  Only the one (the one, only the one) to Stein is brilliant.

Jane, you ignorant slut

I was a Jane Austen fan long before it became trendy to be a Jane Austen fan. I’ve read Pride & Prejudice at least 20 times, and read all the other books at least 5 or 6 times (except for Northanger Abbey, which I’ve just never liked very much). I’m not quite sure why I find her books so attractive. Certainly her dry, witty, perfectly balanced prose is a large part of the attraction. Every sentence is a pleasure. Her humor, too, the humor underlying the prose is also something that never stales, even with a ridiculous amount of repetition. In Sense & Sensibility, she handles in masterful comedic fashion the way in which Mr. Dashwood, who has just inherited his father’s estate, yields to his wife’s strong and greedy personality so as to convince himself he’s doing the right thing by leaving his stepmother and half sisters impoverished.

I also like the stable world Austen represents in her novels. It never was as bucolic as it seems, of course. Austen was writing at the start of the industrial revolution as factories were going up and women and children beginning their 12 hour days and the French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars were raging — but there’s still this incredible sense of peace and place in her novels. It’s a perfect British world with charmingly stereotypical people moving daintily around in their lovely little or big houses all nice located in or near green English villages.

Beneath this serene surface, though, there is a lot of sordid stuff. In Sense & Sensibility, Willoughby is a cad who impregnated a young girl and then abandoned her to her death. In Pride & Prejudice, Wickham is a lying, unprincipled fortune hunter, who tried to snatch a rich girl away from her loving family. In Mansfield Park, the heroine’s cousins, who take her in as a charity case, clearly derive their money from slavery. The novel is also (and again), concerned with men and women who will take unprincipled steps for advantageous marriages. Ditto for Emma; ditto for Persuasion.

In her books, Austen doesn’t paint all her cads with the same dark brush. While Willoughby and Wickham are genuinely evil men, other young men are simply rather smarmy gold diggers. All, though, whether black in character or merely gray share one common attribute: they are dishonorable.

And when I really think about it, that last point is what it’s all about for me. I came to the novels for the joy of fine prose, humor and romance. I stick around because of their incredible integrity. Without exception, her heroines and their loves are intensely honorable people who do the right thing regardless of the personal cost. Not only that, they admire the virtue of honor in others. Indeed, Austen makes it very plain that the turning point in Elizabeth Bennett’s regard for Mr. Darcy isn’t his wealth or even the flattering fact that he offered for her: it’s the letter he writes her in which she can see that, while he may be somewhat rigid and pride, he is a man of incredible moral rectitude. It is that quality that attracts her. He is the antithesis of the morally loose and dishonest Wickham and Lydia Bennett. She can trust her future to this man.

The same principles hold true in the other Austen books. Go ahead. Reread Emma or Sense & Sensibility or Persuasion or Mansfield Park. You’ll see that, in each, the lead romantic characters are notable either because they have a sterling core of honor from start to finish or because they want to be honorable, and through the guidance of another, more mature and honorable character, they can achieve that moral goal.

Given the intense morality that underlies each of Austen’s books, I found the movie Becoming Jane quite a surprise. I mean, things went wrong for me in the very first scene, in which her mother complains about her father’s performance in bed, with the latter responding by crawling under the covers for a round of oral sex. Very not Austen-ish.

Still, that kind of sleazy approach could just be a way to hook a 21st Century audience that’s lost the whole concept of reticence. But no, the movie just kept falling from there. Anne Hathaway’s Jane, rather than being witting and composed, is shrewish, whiny and chronically sorry for herself. (If you read Persuasion, you know that Jane’s idea of how a spinster should comport herself is to be kind, gentle and helpful.) Movie Jane is not at all an attractive personality — and is far different from actual reminiscences of real Jane, personal memories that paint her as bright, sociable, and so warm and humorous as to be beloved by all of her relatives, including a series of young nieces and nephews. You don’t become so beloved by being a whiny shrew.

***PLOT SPOILERS BELOW. STOP NOW IF YOU’RE PLANNING ON SEEING THE MOVIE***

What’s really bad, though, isn’t the characterization Jane as a self-centered pain in the neck. What’s really bad is her supposed love interest, Tom Lefroy.

Lefroy is painted in the movie as an undisciplined, licentious, brawling, hard-drinker, lazy parasite. His only virtue is that he sends to his family some of the money he apparently cages off his unpleasant uncle. Jane, nevertheless, is utterly charmed by him, so much so that she rudely blows off the advances of a truly nice young man who wants to marry her.

This irrational love also has movie Jane reading the dirty novels Lefroy recommends, trying to see him bathing nude and, eventually, eloping with him. It’s only because she accidentally discovers that he helps support of his family, thanks to the fact that he channels his uncle’s money through to them, that she doesn’t get further in the elopement than the first coach stop. Movie Lefroy, incidentally, is perfectly ready to blow off his destitute family, just so he can marry Jane.

It’s impossible to imagine the real Jane admiring someone like the movie Lefroy. He is a person utterly with decency, honor, or compassion. He’s a bounder, pure and simple.

One could argue that all of the Austen novels are Freudian vehicles in which Jane is trying to write a cad out of her heart. That is, with her constant emphasis that rigid honesty and honor matter, and that social con men are dangerous, she’s actually trying to distance herself from her own youthful passions. But why be so convoluted? Why not take Jane’s writings at face value? Her books and essays, coupled with what we know of a lively and happy family life in her father’s parsonage, tell us that she was a cheerful, humorous person, who hoped that, some day, someone handsome, rich and respectable would come along. When that didn’t happen, she turned her good energies to her family, friends and her writing, where she wrote, not about forbidden fantasies of sex and bad men, but about her true dream of not only doing the right things herself, but of finding someone equally committed to doing the right things.

Say it ain’t so, Horatio!

I’ve always been a big fan of those few (two, actually) Horatio Alger stories I could get my hands on — Ragged Dick and Mark, the Match Boy. They’re incredibly stilted novels, filled with heavy-handed moral messages, but they still have a wonderful innocent charm, a beautiful sense of a time long gone, and a good point about hard work and honesty. What I didn’t know is that, in his own lifetime, Horatio Alger was accused of assaulting two young boys in his town. Because history casts long shadows, those long dormant accusations are now being raised to put a stop to a Horatio Alger festival in Marlborough, Massachusetts, Alger’s home town:

A riches-to-rags story could be unfolding in Horatio Alger’s hometown. As this Boston suburb gets ready for its 11th annual Horatio Alger Street Fair, town leaders are considering dropping Alger’s name from the festival next year because of allegations of pedophilia against the 19th-century children’s author.

In the 1860s, Alger quietly resigned as a Unitarian minister at a church on Cape Cod after he was accused of assaulting two boys — an incident that is old news to literary scholars but came as a surprise to some civic leaders in Marlborough.

“This was an absolute shock to me,” said school board member Joe Delano. “That’s a sad world, goodness gracious.” Delano, the father of three girls, said: “I’m confident the city will change the name next year.”

***

Alger, who grew up in Marlborough, is remembered for more than 100 novels about boys who go from rags to riches by working hard, often under the tutelage of wealthy men. Alger also is credited with helping to improve working conditions for youngsters.

The festival is organized by the Marlborough Regional Chamber of Commerce in cooperation with city. Janet Bruno, chairwoman of the chamber’s fair committee, told The MetroWest Daily News that the panel looked into the allegations nearly a decade ago and found that they were never proved in a court of law.

Alger’s biography on the Unitarian Universalist Association’s Web site describes complaints lodged against him when he was a minister in Brewster in 1866. It said he did not contest them, and left town.

In letters now housed at the Harvard Divinity School, Brewster church officials wrote to church higher-ups in Boston, complaining of Alger’s “abominable and revolting crime of unnatural familiarity with boys,” according to Swarthmore College professor Carol Nackenoff, who has studied Alger. Alger’s father, himself a Unitarian minister, promised that his son would resign and never again work in the church.

“I believe the complaint was not baseless,” Nackenoff said.

Nackenoff said there is no known correspondence from Alger himself regarding the allegations, which were essentially hidden until about 1980 or so, when some Alger biographies came out.

She said Marlborough should not change the name of the fair.

“He was an important literary figure who I think we should celebrate,” Nackenoff said.

Romance novels are changing

Since I have a sometimes embarrassing fondness for romance novels (Mr. Bookworm teases me a lot), I’ve written about romance novels before (once about British chick-lit, which I think is demeaning to women; and once about the conservative morals underpinning American romances). I was therefore intrigued when AP did a little story about the Romance Writers of America’s 26th annual conference. The reporter chose to spin it by saying that the stories are changing, with more plot, and less frothy sex. That may well be true, and may explain why I like them more than I did twenty or so years ago. I’m a big believer in plot. What’s also interesting is the claim that, as the genre explands outwards, it’s attracting more male readers:

With the expansion of romance novels into science fiction and military tales, though, the male following is increasing, said Nicole Kennedy, a spokeswoman for the group. The 2004 market survey indicated that male readership jumped from 7 percent of romance readers in 2002 to 22 percent in 2004.

Kennedy cited the success of Suzanne Brockmann, who has written two series of romance novels featuring Navy SEAL teams, which Kennedy said are wildly popular among Navy SEALs.

Though romance writing remains an almost exclusively female vocation, some men have ventured into the field. Former Green Beret Bob Mayer, who has written many non-romance books under his own name and under the pen name Robert Doherty, teamed up with veteran comedic romance writer Jenny Crusie for a military romance called “Don’t Look Down,” released this year.

Mayer and Crusie met at the Maui Writers Conference three years ago. Both were looking to do something different, and they decided to collaborate. Crusie writes the parts that come from a woman’s point of view, while Mayer weighs in with the male perspective.

That’s a big leap in male readership, and one I find heartening, considering that I like the genre, and that I believe in the values system unpinning so many of these books.

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Quality literature for quality kids

Laer has a rather horrifying exposé about a hot book series called Gossip Girls. You should read his post and, if you have young girls in your house, you might want to keep a weather eye on their bookshelf, backpack and library bag. This stuff is trashy by any standards, and it’s being marketed specifically (and successfully) at your daughter and mine.

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