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Letters of E.B. White
Originally edited by Dorothy Lobrano Guth, and revised and updated by Martha White
Foreword by John Updike
These letters are, of course, beautifully written but above all personal, precise, and honest. They evoke E.B. White's life in New York and in Maine at every stage of his life. They are full of memorable characters: White's family, the New Yorker staff and contributors, literary types and show business people, farmers from Maine and sophisticates from New York–Katherine S. White, Harold Ross, James Thurber, Alexander Woolcott, Groucho Marx, John Updike, and many, many more.
Each decade has its own look and taste and feel. Places, too–from Belgrade (Maine) to Turtle Bay (NYC) to the S.S. Buford, Alaska–bound in 1923–are brought to life in White's descriptions. There is no other book of letters to compare with this; it is a book to treasure and savor at one's leisure.
As White wrote in this book, "A man who publishes his letters becomes nudist–nothing shields him from the world's gaze except his bare skin....a man who has written a letter is stuck with it for all time."
Foreword by John Updike
These letters are, of course, beautifully written but above all personal, precise, and honest. They evoke E.B. White's life in New York and in Maine at every stage of his life. They are full of memorable characters: White's family, the New Yorker staff and contributors, literary types and show business people, farmers from Maine and sophisticates from New York–Katherine S. White, Harold Ross, James Thurber, Alexander Woolcott, Groucho Marx, John Updike, and many, many more.
Each decade has its own look and taste and feel. Places, too–from Belgrade (Maine) to Turtle Bay (NYC) to the S.S. Buford, Alaska–bound in 1923–are brought to life in White's descriptions. There is no other book of letters to compare with this; it is a book to treasure and savor at one's leisure.
As White wrote in this book, "A man who publishes his letters becomes nudist–nothing shields him from the world's gaze except his bare skin....a man who has written a letter is stuck with it for all time."
736 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1976
About the author
E.B. White
176 books3,049 followersElwyn Brooks White was a leading American essayist, author, humorist, poet and literary stylist and author of such beloved children's classics as Charlotte's Web, Stuart Little, and The Trumpet of the Swan. He graduated from Cornell University in 1921 and, five or six years later, joined the staff of The New Yorker magazine. He authored over seventeen books of prose and poetry and was elected to the American Academy of Arts and Letters in 1973.
White always said that he found writing difficult and bad for one's disposition.
Mr. White has won countless awards, including the 1971 National Medal for Literature and the Laura Ingalls Wilder Medal, which commended him for making “a substantial and lasting contribution to literature for children.”
White always said that he found writing difficult and bad for one's disposition.
Mr. White has won countless awards, including the 1971 National Medal for Literature and the Laura Ingalls Wilder Medal, which commended him for making “a substantial and lasting contribution to literature for children.”
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 64 reviews
July 20, 2020
I finished the last few letters of this collection last night. It ends in 1975, two years before the death of his wife in 1977, and eleven years before his own death of Alzheimer's in 1986. In many letters near the end of this volume, he was complaining about his forgetfulness in correspondence and taking medication, and I find it tragic that someone of his intellect and erudition would suffer from this disease, but Alzheimer's respects no one. He and his wife were both plagued with health problems for a great many years before their deaths.
Letters are particularly personal things to publish, since there is no editing except in choosing which ones to allow. It gives you a sense of the real person behind the author. As he told one correspondent, what you read on the pages of an author's books sometimes has nothing to do with the person who wrote it. But nothing here disappointed me in the least, and I loved the stories behind the writing of his essays, his time at the New Yorker, and how and when he came to write his children's books.
This book has inspired me to re-read Charlotte 's Web, which I haven't done since childhood. Time in a barn with the animals appeals to me right now.
Letters are particularly personal things to publish, since there is no editing except in choosing which ones to allow. It gives you a sense of the real person behind the author. As he told one correspondent, what you read on the pages of an author's books sometimes has nothing to do with the person who wrote it. But nothing here disappointed me in the least, and I loved the stories behind the writing of his essays, his time at the New Yorker, and how and when he came to write his children's books.
This book has inspired me to re-read Charlotte 's Web, which I haven't done since childhood. Time in a barn with the animals appeals to me right now.
Read
February 15, 2022He wrote letters to family, friends and fans every bit as well as he wrote is New Yorker pieces and his books. Worth reading for this snippet alone -- "I can only assume you tripped over the First Amendment and mistook it for the kitchen cat."
March 21, 2018
A few months ago I started Letters of E.B. White and enjoyed the writing so much I made a conscious decision to read the book slowly, enjoying each letter, and letting the writing digest before starting the next letter. Toward the end of the book White mentioned in a letter that it took him longer to read good writers, because he wanted to savor the writing. Little did he know he was describing what I was doing at the very moment I read that letter.
I felt sad when I finished the book. Sad, because his life was over, there would never be another letter, and I hate closing the cover of a book that I have truly enjoyed. With good writing I am greedy, I always want more.
I felt sad when I finished the book. Sad, because his life was over, there would never be another letter, and I hate closing the cover of a book that I have truly enjoyed. With good writing I am greedy, I always want more.
August 27, 2007
I read this book years ago but I'm reading it again because his granddaughter has recently added new letters. It's a wonderful read.
At the beginning he tells of his adventures with a fellow Cornell graduate where they bought an old model T and traveled around the country getting jobs only when they ran out of money. When they were in Kentucky in 1922 they caught the horse-racing bug and decided to bet some money. White's travel companion, "Cush" (Howard Cushman) had done research and tried to figure out the racing forms and advice and had placed his bet. White went with his gut and bet on "Auntie May." Here's his account of the race which had me laughing out loud:
"The race was scheduled, I observed, for 'maidens three years old and upward.' By carefully tracing down the page I found that Auntie May's number was 8. This was a needless effort, for when a moment later I looked up and gazed down the track I knew her immediately. The race was, as I have said, for maidens three years old and upward. Auntie May looked upward of thirty-five...The other maidens were all life, all zest. They were frisking and sidling in the most maidenly fashion...Not so Auntie May. She not only had no personal enthusiasm for the race, but she had actually lost interest in life. The sight of the eager stands failed to thrill her; the feel of the turf under hoof failed to send a gladdening beat to her heart...I was sobbing quietly in my seat in the stands, beating gently upon my breast. Suddenly the starter cried "Come On,"...There never was such a change in any animal. Folks at home, I wish you could have seen my Auntie May! Thirty-five years of maidenly experience had taught her that prancing and showing enthusiasm before in front of the stands before starting time required just so many vitamins, and that the real dope was to save 'em for the performance." Auntie May won the race and White received the amazing sum of $24.60 for his $1 bet.
It's not all humor. The letter he wrote in 1929 to his new wife, a divorcée, older than him, and with 2 children is beautiful and at the same time down-to-earth: "Dear Katherine (very dear), I've had moments of despair during the last week which have added years to my life and put many new thoughts in my head. Always, however, I have ended on a cheerful note of hope, based on the realization that you are the person to whom I shall return and that you are the recurrent phrase in my life. I realized that so strongly one day a couple of weeks ago when, after being away among people I wasn't sure of and in circumstances I had doubts about, I came back and walked into your office and saw how real and incontrovertible you seemed. I don't know whether you know just what I mean or whether you experience, ever, the same feeling; but what I mean is, that being with you is like walking on a very clear morning—definitely the sensation of belonging there."
At the beginning he tells of his adventures with a fellow Cornell graduate where they bought an old model T and traveled around the country getting jobs only when they ran out of money. When they were in Kentucky in 1922 they caught the horse-racing bug and decided to bet some money. White's travel companion, "Cush" (Howard Cushman) had done research and tried to figure out the racing forms and advice and had placed his bet. White went with his gut and bet on "Auntie May." Here's his account of the race which had me laughing out loud:
"The race was scheduled, I observed, for 'maidens three years old and upward.' By carefully tracing down the page I found that Auntie May's number was 8. This was a needless effort, for when a moment later I looked up and gazed down the track I knew her immediately. The race was, as I have said, for maidens three years old and upward. Auntie May looked upward of thirty-five...The other maidens were all life, all zest. They were frisking and sidling in the most maidenly fashion...Not so Auntie May. She not only had no personal enthusiasm for the race, but she had actually lost interest in life. The sight of the eager stands failed to thrill her; the feel of the turf under hoof failed to send a gladdening beat to her heart...I was sobbing quietly in my seat in the stands, beating gently upon my breast. Suddenly the starter cried "Come On,"...There never was such a change in any animal. Folks at home, I wish you could have seen my Auntie May! Thirty-five years of maidenly experience had taught her that prancing and showing enthusiasm before in front of the stands before starting time required just so many vitamins, and that the real dope was to save 'em for the performance." Auntie May won the race and White received the amazing sum of $24.60 for his $1 bet.
It's not all humor. The letter he wrote in 1929 to his new wife, a divorcée, older than him, and with 2 children is beautiful and at the same time down-to-earth: "Dear Katherine (very dear), I've had moments of despair during the last week which have added years to my life and put many new thoughts in my head. Always, however, I have ended on a cheerful note of hope, based on the realization that you are the person to whom I shall return and that you are the recurrent phrase in my life. I realized that so strongly one day a couple of weeks ago when, after being away among people I wasn't sure of and in circumstances I had doubts about, I came back and walked into your office and saw how real and incontrovertible you seemed. I don't know whether you know just what I mean or whether you experience, ever, the same feeling; but what I mean is, that being with you is like walking on a very clear morning—definitely the sensation of belonging there."
September 20, 2013
So it took me nearly seven years to read this wonderful, wonderful book of letters by my favorite writer of all time. I bought it new, as soon as I saw it at my beloved now-defunct Locust Books in Westminster, and it became my bedside book. And, since I rarely read in bed any more--although I love to read in bed, so why I don't do it more often is a puzzlement--it, yes, took me all these years to finish.
But while reading it, there were many occasions on which I shook the entire bed (including dogs) because I was laughing so hard. (Fortunately, dogs are very patient and stoic about this.) E. B. White's humor is dry, his observations are clear and simple, and he makes it all look so easy. Yes, there are letters about Charlotte's Web and Stuart Little (I am more of a Stuart fan, myself), and his New Yorker columns, but it's the day-to-day stuff that overwhelmed me. White is the master.
If you're looking for excitement, this is not the book for you. But if you love good, clean, perfect, precise writing...well, E. B. White is the man for you.
But while reading it, there were many occasions on which I shook the entire bed (including dogs) because I was laughing so hard. (Fortunately, dogs are very patient and stoic about this.) E. B. White's humor is dry, his observations are clear and simple, and he makes it all look so easy. Yes, there are letters about Charlotte's Web and Stuart Little (I am more of a Stuart fan, myself), and his New Yorker columns, but it's the day-to-day stuff that overwhelmed me. White is the master.
If you're looking for excitement, this is not the book for you. But if you love good, clean, perfect, precise writing...well, E. B. White is the man for you.
May 22, 2011
Oh, how sad I am to be finished with this book. For over a month, I've been reading 20 pages or so every night before sleep, and I think I've been sleeping better. E.B. White was what the kids call a "class act," and these letters are by turns poignant and hilarious, with an emphasis on the funny. My writing must improve by osmosis after reading so many beautifully crafted sentences. This book also makes me want to move to a farm immediately. Perhaps we will acquire just two geese...
September 30, 2021
This book makes me so nostalgic for real correspondence and personal letters. Most of the time, we don't hear from anyone except by their broadcasts on social media -- which are no conversations or even personal, but only shallow and me-isms. Even email seems to be too much trouble for some, much less putting real pen to real paper. Archaic? Maybe, but don't you remember the thrill of getting something in the mail that isn't either a bill (and who even gets those USPS anymore?) or something addressed to Occupant?
E. B. White was a prolific letter writer, and his letters were the kind one would want to keep and read repeatedly. He was funny - mostly at his own expense and such a good storyteller even in his casual correspondence.
The book is long, and I think I would have enjoyed it even more spread out over a course of months rather than trying to read it all in the short library loan time I had. His granddaughter and other editors did an excellent job of providing context with footnotes and introductions where needed. Still, EBW kept up such a long and robust correspondence that the reader easily gets to know his friends and family through these missives. It's a fun read, and far more enjoyable than one might expect. Even his brief letters of instruction to assistants or publishers often contained some quirky observation or tidbit about his day that must have made the recipient smile. (Or maybe groan since EBW was not above punning or intentional non-sequiturs.)
There were some surprises tucked in the letters. It seems EBW was none too pleased with the animated version of Charlotte's Web. He was among the few who told the Book of the Month Club to take a hike with their hefty advance because he wasn't willing to agree to their holding his book hostage. He nearly told the publisher of The Elements of Style to shove off rather than change the tone of the book to appease others. He defended the free press and the responsibilities of writers with a sharp pen many times through his career. He was far more than the "simple, inept writer" and "almost farmer" that he claimed to be.
E. B. White was a prolific letter writer, and his letters were the kind one would want to keep and read repeatedly. He was funny - mostly at his own expense and such a good storyteller even in his casual correspondence.
The book is long, and I think I would have enjoyed it even more spread out over a course of months rather than trying to read it all in the short library loan time I had. His granddaughter and other editors did an excellent job of providing context with footnotes and introductions where needed. Still, EBW kept up such a long and robust correspondence that the reader easily gets to know his friends and family through these missives. It's a fun read, and far more enjoyable than one might expect. Even his brief letters of instruction to assistants or publishers often contained some quirky observation or tidbit about his day that must have made the recipient smile. (Or maybe groan since EBW was not above punning or intentional non-sequiturs.)
There were some surprises tucked in the letters. It seems EBW was none too pleased with the animated version of Charlotte's Web. He was among the few who told the Book of the Month Club to take a hike with their hefty advance because he wasn't willing to agree to their holding his book hostage. He nearly told the publisher of The Elements of Style to shove off rather than change the tone of the book to appease others. He defended the free press and the responsibilities of writers with a sharp pen many times through his career. He was far more than the "simple, inept writer" and "almost farmer" that he claimed to be.
June 25, 2019
Summer bingo-Epistolary
This is the best collection of letters I have ever read and they are every bit as good as E. B. White's essays. In spite of this book being nearly 700 pages long, I was sad to reach the end.
This is the best collection of letters I have ever read and they are every bit as good as E. B. White's essays. In spite of this book being nearly 700 pages long, I was sad to reach the end.
February 19, 2017
A rarity among books: a collection of letters that makes the writer seem more than you imagined, not less. Whether coaxing a young John Updike with his next story or responding to the umpteenth schoolkid with a homework assignment, White's good spirits and modesty are always plentiful.
August 24, 2016
Just a wonderful book. Open it at random and you are sure to find something that warms your heart or makes you wish you were eloquent enough to say yourself. When you're done, it's hard to not to feel like he was one of your friends, too.
June 5, 2016
Best thing I've read in years. Period.
February 5, 2021
E. B. White must have saved every carbon copy of each letter he wrote to family, friends, business associates, and even his wife. His granddaughter, Martha White, revised and updated the book which spans decades. She provides background information before many of the letters, so the reader will understand why White is writing a letter. The book begins in New York City with young White. He enjoys summer camp in Maine and falls in love with the state and the locals. Over the years, he spends more and more time there as his career in New York takes off. He knows nothing about country life, but the locals teach him, and he writes about his experiences. Witty. Funny. Revealing. I especially enjoyed reading about how the seeds for his children’s stories started to percolate in his mind. He learns about making an ax and researched spiders for a year before attempting Charlotte’s Web. At 713 pp, the book is perfect for reading during a pandemic!
July 31, 2023
In this intimate and candid collection of letters, White's voice resonates with warmth and wisdom, offering a unique glimpse into the mind of a literary luminary. With grace and wit, he discusses diverse topics, from writing to nature, from love to loss, creating an endearing correspondence that spans decades. These letters reveal the author's profound insights, delightful humor, and profound humanity, making it an extraordinary treasure.
September 20, 2024
As I am a slow reader with a long want-to-read list, books over 400 or 500 hundred pages tend to make me a bit impatient. Not this one, even though it's twice as long. It was a real privilege to be afforded such an intimate look at E.B. White's life. He had such a wide range of correspondents and led such an interesting life that I never felt bored for a minute reading his letters. Loved his humour.
March 8, 2018
I am in love with this book. We're in a relationship now.
As with most tomes of this kind, the latter years are not quite so gripping as early on. But relationships do tend to start off in a torrid frenzy, then settle into quiet comfort. It's only natural that reading someone's correspondence as they age would produce the same effect. It was a joy all the way through.
As with most tomes of this kind, the latter years are not quite so gripping as early on. But relationships do tend to start off in a torrid frenzy, then settle into quiet comfort. It's only natural that reading someone's correspondence as they age would produce the same effect. It was a joy all the way through.
June 2, 2021
A very long and deeply absorbing book. If you already liked E.B. White, I cannot imagine this making you like him any less.
No great scandals or surprises; I did find the material about his health struggles (physical and mental) rather illuminating as I hadn't been aware of those before.
No great scandals or surprises; I did find the material about his health struggles (physical and mental) rather illuminating as I hadn't been aware of those before.
February 4, 2022
Such a delight to read White's prose, be it his childrens' books, his essays, or these letters. Always self-deprecating, insightful, funny when appropriate, this collection gives the reader a good sense of the man behind his other writings. A gem.
March 2, 2019
One of the best letter collections ever.
July 21, 2020
I'm still working my way through this book. I really love beautiful English and E.B. White wrote beautiful English.
September 7, 2020
I love white’s writing style and the colorful details of not only his life, but the eras he lived through.
September 8, 2020
First read around 1982 and multiple rereads from then to now. Probably will be rereading it for the rest of my life.
November 1, 2021
I read these more than forty years ago and they still inspire me.
January 8, 2022
True it is definitely too long. But just keep it nearby and read as you want, some pages at a sitting. Gems in here and surprises.
January 22, 2022
No, I never finished. Yes, he writes well.
December 19, 2022
Is a nice book
November 13, 2024
Couldn’t finish it and had to quit for the time being. Hoping to find another book about EB White that isn’t as dense.
July 27, 2008
Here's a sample from this book that is simply to die for, from “The Hotel of the Total Stranger"
------------------
"Mr. Volente has just arrived at the train station in Manhattan, returning for a visit after years away. He is riding in a cab toward his hotel, on a steamy summer morning.
"New York is stretched in midsummer languor under her trees in her thinnest dress, idly and beautifully to the eyes of Mr. Volente, her lover. She lay this morning early in the arms of the heat, humorously and indulgently, as though, having bathed in night, she had emerged and not bothered to put anything on and had stretched out to let the air, what air there was, touch her arms and legs and shoulders and forehead, he thought, admiringly. The trucks and the sudden acceleration and the flippant horn and the rustle of countless affairs somewhat retarded by the middle-of-summer pause in everything, these were the sounds of her normal breathing (if you knew her well enough and had lived with her in this season in the long past) and her pulse, normal. It was the hour the earliest people were entering the buildings. Awnings were being cranked down already to spread the agreeable shade, the rectangles of relief sketched on the sidewalks. In every street the glimpse he caught of some door or some vestibule or some window would stir his memory and call up the recollection of something in his life that had once been.
“It was in this doorway…
“It was down that side street…
“It was in the back room of this café that…”
"That was the thing about New York, it was always bringing up something out of your past, something ridiculous or lovely or glistening. Here, all around him, was unquestionably the closest written page in the book of his life; here in the city in the streets and alleys and behind the walls and in the booths and beneath the roofs and under the marquees and canopies were the scenes of the story he remembered in tranquility, however poorly constructed, however unconvincing when retold.”
------------------
"Mr. Volente has just arrived at the train station in Manhattan, returning for a visit after years away. He is riding in a cab toward his hotel, on a steamy summer morning.
"New York is stretched in midsummer languor under her trees in her thinnest dress, idly and beautifully to the eyes of Mr. Volente, her lover. She lay this morning early in the arms of the heat, humorously and indulgently, as though, having bathed in night, she had emerged and not bothered to put anything on and had stretched out to let the air, what air there was, touch her arms and legs and shoulders and forehead, he thought, admiringly. The trucks and the sudden acceleration and the flippant horn and the rustle of countless affairs somewhat retarded by the middle-of-summer pause in everything, these were the sounds of her normal breathing (if you knew her well enough and had lived with her in this season in the long past) and her pulse, normal. It was the hour the earliest people were entering the buildings. Awnings were being cranked down already to spread the agreeable shade, the rectangles of relief sketched on the sidewalks. In every street the glimpse he caught of some door or some vestibule or some window would stir his memory and call up the recollection of something in his life that had once been.
“It was in this doorway…
“It was down that side street…
“It was in the back room of this café that…”
"That was the thing about New York, it was always bringing up something out of your past, something ridiculous or lovely or glistening. Here, all around him, was unquestionably the closest written page in the book of his life; here in the city in the streets and alleys and behind the walls and in the booths and beneath the roofs and under the marquees and canopies were the scenes of the story he remembered in tranquility, however poorly constructed, however unconvincing when retold.”
December 29, 2015
I started reading this in 2013, but being 662 pages long, it got set aside and buried at some point. A couple of months ago I dug it back up and have finally finished it.
What a charming and pithy letter writer was Mr. White. I guess that's no surprise given that he became a co-author of the famous "Elements of Style" on just that subject.
I loved meeting his friends and family in this way, and learning his views. Despite enjoying a bevy of "litry" friends and several friends outside that realm as well, he seems on the whole, to have been a shy person, never accepting an offer to speak to, or even belong to any group, nor even make an appearance to receive a national award from a president (both Kennedy and Nixon show up in these pages).
I mostly loved his interest in, affection for, and attendance to creatures in all shapes and sizes.
What struck me too, about the book, that seems unique to a book of letters, was the passage of time. He doesn’t mention his age until he’s in his 50’s, by which time we've already had visits to the hospital for one thing or another for he or his wife, and then, occasionally, an age number is dropped, and each time is a call to reminisce about the days of old, even though I wasn’t alive when he was young. Imagining, at times, my folks in those days, I'd gotten fond of his memories, as though they were mine and I missed our younger days of better health and less clash, grit, and modernity in our world.
What a charming and pithy letter writer was Mr. White. I guess that's no surprise given that he became a co-author of the famous "Elements of Style" on just that subject.
I loved meeting his friends and family in this way, and learning his views. Despite enjoying a bevy of "litry" friends and several friends outside that realm as well, he seems on the whole, to have been a shy person, never accepting an offer to speak to, or even belong to any group, nor even make an appearance to receive a national award from a president (both Kennedy and Nixon show up in these pages).
I mostly loved his interest in, affection for, and attendance to creatures in all shapes and sizes.
What struck me too, about the book, that seems unique to a book of letters, was the passage of time. He doesn’t mention his age until he’s in his 50’s, by which time we've already had visits to the hospital for one thing or another for he or his wife, and then, occasionally, an age number is dropped, and each time is a call to reminisce about the days of old, even though I wasn’t alive when he was young. Imagining, at times, my folks in those days, I'd gotten fond of his memories, as though they were mine and I missed our younger days of better health and less clash, grit, and modernity in our world.
March 21, 2012
Biographies of E.B. White and history books of the 20th century have both been written before, but I would venture that rarely would you find the merging of two hearts more intimately woven and on unadorned display. This personal correspondence that spans the years between the 9 year-old Elwyn and the nearly 86 year-old Andy is unmatched, in my reading of people, in it's capacity to capture the essence of a man and the personal implications of the century that shaped him.
At almost 700 pages, the readers journey is lengthy and strewn with facts and people that are unfamiliar and intimately irrelevant, but when the letters cease and the authors life journey comes to a close, this reader felt a melancholy tenderness and an intimate understanding for a flawed, ordinary man, who lived a truly ordinary life but left a lasting mark because he had something to say, a gift for words, and the temerity to write them down.
The reading enjoyment is in E.B. White's natural, creative wielding of words, but the books magic is nestled in the content within the content, where we witness a life transform before our eyes--real, sincere, and oh so humanly fragile. In that we find the heart of E.B. White and recognize our own as well.
At almost 700 pages, the readers journey is lengthy and strewn with facts and people that are unfamiliar and intimately irrelevant, but when the letters cease and the authors life journey comes to a close, this reader felt a melancholy tenderness and an intimate understanding for a flawed, ordinary man, who lived a truly ordinary life but left a lasting mark because he had something to say, a gift for words, and the temerity to write them down.
The reading enjoyment is in E.B. White's natural, creative wielding of words, but the books magic is nestled in the content within the content, where we witness a life transform before our eyes--real, sincere, and oh so humanly fragile. In that we find the heart of E.B. White and recognize our own as well.
September 15, 2014
Not where anyone should start reading E.B. White. Though this collection gives consistent pleasure to anyone who just likes to read good, clear, amusing writing, it wouldn't be enough to make a case for White the writer without One Man's Meat, Charlotte's Web, or The Elements of Style. Also, since this was put together when White was alive, and since White was well aware of what biographers and interpreters can do, there are not very many major revelations or controversial attitudes towards other writers (Hemingway and Woollcott get gently dissed; Thoreau and Perelman strongly praised) or friends.
Reading this, you get a picture of a man who hated ritual, hated public speaking, hated typos, loved sailing, loved animals, loved Katherine White, and loved freedom-with-responsibility. You do get to wondering why he was sick all of the time--Katherine was much sicker and in more serious fashion--but you also get to love his gentle irony and always interesting ways with words, as much as he frequently claims he can't write/hates to write. Best things are his letters staunchly defending the truth and clarity of "Charlotte's Web." His is the best argument for spiders anywhere.
Reading this, you get a picture of a man who hated ritual, hated public speaking, hated typos, loved sailing, loved animals, loved Katherine White, and loved freedom-with-responsibility. You do get to wondering why he was sick all of the time--Katherine was much sicker and in more serious fashion--but you also get to love his gentle irony and always interesting ways with words, as much as he frequently claims he can't write/hates to write. Best things are his letters staunchly defending the truth and clarity of "Charlotte's Web." His is the best argument for spiders anywhere.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 64 reviews