From The Washington Post
From the first (dated 1908 -- he was born in 1899) to the last (in 1985, the year he died), these letters are a window onto White's world. He described himself once as "a fellow who spends most of his time crouched over a typewriter." As John Updike's affectionate foreword concludes: "His letters give us . . . what a novel scarcely can: the dailiness of a life, its wearing parade of duties and decencies, its endless-seeming fending (though it does end), its accumulating pyramid of, amid errands, carelessly and alertly noted hours, and the frequent if rarely stated discriminations whereby an artist picks his path."
White once told his brother Stanley, "I avoid writing letters -- it resembles too closely writing itself, and gives me a headache." We're all the richer for his having not been true to his words.
Dip in anywhere and come up with sentences that are simple and funny and wise:
"So far, nobody has managed to entice me in front of a television camera with my mouth open and my foot in it. And that's the way I plan to keep it." (January 1978, declining a request for an interview from CBS News's Andy Rooney)
"Here's a report from Minneapolis, home of the Twins. A mother of two . . . who works in a bookstore, says the ELEMENTS [of Style] is propped up on the front table with all the other hot paperbacks -- between the Rand McNally Road Atlas and The Joy of Sex -- and is selling faster than either of them. Actually, it's scary to learn that the country is turning from sex to semicolons. Makes me uneasy." (July 20, 1979)
"Quite simply, the best in-depth study ever made of an out-of-his-depth man." (May 28, 1983, suggesting to his biographer a blurb for the dust jacket)
"Thanks for calling me 'Professor E.B. White.' It has a nice sound but can be shortened to 'E.B. White' -- a saving of one word and a long step toward accuracy." (Dec. 27, 1983)
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