A Lesson from Twain

A few weeks ago, I discovered a neat website called Letters of Note. (To say I discovered the site is factually incorrect, as I became aware of it only through the recommendation of the author of another website. The point is, after that initial referral, I have found myself returning to the Letters of Note site almost daily). According to the proprietor, Letters of Note "is a blog-based archive of fascinating correspondence, complete with scans and transcripts of the original missives." The letters come from all walks of life, and are both contemporary and historical in context. I am enjoying it very much.

Today's entry is a letter from Mark Twain to author Edward Bok, on the subject of an interview Twain gave to Bok. The article based on the interview was never published, and Twain's letter was the primary reason. Reading the letter was delightful and fun, although to think so you'd have to appreciate Twain's mastery of the written word to understand why I enjoyed it so. Below are a few excerpts, but I would encourage you to go read the whole thing:

For several quite plain and simple reasons, an "interview" must, as a rule, be an absurdity, and chiefly for this reason—It is an attempt to use a boat on land or a wagon on water, to speak figuratively. Spoken speech is one thing, written speech is quite another. Print is the proper vehicle for the latter, but it isn't for the former. The moment "talk" is put into print you recognize that it is not what it was when you heard it; you perceive that an immense something has disappeared from it. That is its soul. You have nothing but a dead carcass left on your hands. Color, play of feature, the varying modulations of the voice, the laugh, the smile, the informing inflections, everything that gave that body warmth, grace, friendliness and charm and commended it to your affections—or, at least, to your tolerance—is gone and nothing is left but a pallid, stiff and repulsive cadaver.

…

So painfully aware is the novelist that naked talk in print conveys no meaning that he loads, and often overloads, almost every utterance of his characters with explanations and interpretations. It is a loud confession that print is a poor vehicle for "talk"; it is a recognition that uninterpreted talk in print would result in confusion to the reader, not instruction.

Now, in your interview, you have certainly been most accurate; you have set down the sentences I uttered as I said them. But you have not a word of explanation; what my manner was at several points is not indicated. Therefore, no reader can possibly know where I was in earnest and where I was joking; or whether I was joking altogether or in earnest altogether. Such a report of a conversation has no value. It can convey many meanings to the reader, but never the right one. To add interpretations which would convey the right meaning is a something which would require—what? An art so high and fine and difficult that no possessor of it would ever be allowed to waste it on interviews.

Again, go read the letter in its entirety. This latter paragraph above I find to be true and instructive. In this internet age, we are often subjected to "soulless" quotations and transcripts of what people say, utterly devoid of the manner and context in which their words were spoken. Not a few times have pundits and common folk alike latched on to spoken words in print, suffering outrageous outrage to erupt in fury, only to learn later (if they so cared to learn) that the context and manner in which the words were spoken did not fit the outrage leveled. This is true for venues like message boards and blogs (and Facebook too, I presume) - we write our thoughts, but run the risk of being misunderstood because tone and manner are often lost when posted to the digital page.

Sometimes, the printed word is all we have to go by. The transcript of a speech must stand on it own, and crafted well, the reader can capture a glimpse of the shadow of its soul. The spoken word is its own invention. To capture the spoken word in written form is shallow and two-dimensional at best. The written word has more potential for depth, but is a horse of a different color. Bridging the gap between each modus may be a nearly impossible feat. The article which Twain dismissed in his letter must have fallen quite short in its conveyance, but in contrast Twain's letter is masterful - and full of "soul."

How much of me appears in what I write? Are my compositions two-dimensional, or do they have depth? I do not know. I likely spend too much time writing "about" things, as opposed to writing "of" things. To write well is indeed "an art so high and fine and difficult" that I quail in fear at the thought that my aspirations are unreachable. But aspire to that art, I will. However, it will require effort to overcome lazy formulation and "hackery."