The Senior Common Room at St Anselm's: XVII. The Letter

Professor Quillibrace had developed the habit of reading correspondence at a large wooden desk in the Senior Common Room.

Mr Blottisham considered this for several minutes before speaking.

"You still read letters?"

Quillibrace looked up.

"Yes."

"Actual letters?"

"That is generally implied by the word."

"I mean paper letters."

"Ah."

Quillibrace placed the envelope beside his book.

"Yes."

Blottisham shook his head.

"Remarkable."

"In what respect?"

"That anyone still uses such a primitive technology."

Miss Elowen Stray smiled.

"Primitive?"

"Certainly. Ink on paper. An extraordinary limitation."

"What would you prefer?"

"Instant communication."

"You mean messages?"

"Exactly."

Quillibrace nodded.

"A significant improvement."

"There you are."

"Although improvements are not always replacements."

Blottisham looked suspicious.

"Are you suggesting the letter has hidden virtues?"

"I am suggesting that many inventions solve one problem while quietly creating another."

Miss Stray picked up the envelope.

"What appears to be a weakness may be the entire purpose."

Blottisham looked at the letter.

"It is still just marks on paper."

"Yes."

"Arranged into words."

"Yes."

"Which eventually becomes an old piece of paper in a drawer."

"Also yes."

"So where is the miracle?"

Quillibrace smiled faintly.

"Suppose you write to someone who lives far away."

"All right."

"When you begin, they are absent."

"Naturally."

"When you finish, they are still absent."

"Nothing remarkable there."

"The paper has not travelled."

"Not yet."

"The conversation has not occurred."

"Correct."

"And yet something has changed."

Blottisham waited.

Miss Stray answered.

"The conversation has acquired the ability to wait."

He looked at her.

"That is a very unusual description."

"Is it inaccurate?"

"No."

Blottisham frowned thoughtfully.

"I suppose speaking normally requires both people to be present."

"Exactly."

"The letter removes that requirement."

"It separates conversation from simultaneous presence."

Quillibrace folded his hands.

"An extraordinary achievement, when one considers it."

"People have been doing this for centuries."

"Which may explain why we no longer notice how strange it is."

Blottisham looked again at the envelope.

"So a letter is a delayed conversation."

"Not merely delayed."

"What else?"

"A conversation that has learned patience."

Miss Stray nodded.

"And reflection."

Blottisham raised an eyebrow.

"Because you can edit it?"

"Among other things."

"You mean I can remove the foolish things before someone sees them."

Quillibrace looked at him.

"That possibility has saved many friendships."

"I have often thought so."

"You may wish to begin using letters immediately."

Blottisham ignored this.

"But surely the instant message is superior."

"In some circumstances."

"You can reply immediately."

"Yes."

"You can correct misunderstandings immediately."

"Sometimes."

"You can send a thought the moment you have it."

Miss Stray smiled.

"That may occasionally be the problem."

Blottisham paused.

"I have been told this."

"By whom?"

"Myself, usually, several minutes afterwards."

Quillibrace returned to his book.

"The letter imposes a useful inconvenience."

"Inconvenience?"

"It requires attention."

Blottisham looked unconvinced.

"Surely all communication requires attention."

"Not equally."

Miss Stray touched the paper gently.

"A letter asks someone to sit down and devote time to another person who is not there."

The room became quieter.

"That is a rather different gift."

Blottisham considered this.

"The writer gives time."

"Yes."

"And the reader receives time."

"Exactly."

"Not just information."

"No."

"Attention."

Miss Stray smiled.

"That is the word."

Blottisham picked up the envelope.

"I suppose this explains why old letters feel different."

"How so?"

"You can almost feel someone having written them."

Quillibrace nodded.

"The paper preserves an act of attention."

"Even after the news itself has become irrelevant."

"Especially then."

Blottisham looked puzzled.

"Why especially then?"

"Because the letter's value was never merely its information."

Miss Stray looked around the room.

"A message tells you something happened."

"A letter tells you someone was willing to spend time thinking about you."

Blottisham was quiet for a moment.

"So the letter carries more than words."

"Yes."

"What does it carry?"

Quillibrace answered simply.

"Presence."

Blottisham smiled.

"That seems impossible."

"Many useful things are."

"The person isn't there."

"No."

"Yet somehow they are."

"Precisely."

A clock ticked quietly above the fireplace.

Blottisham glanced towards it.

"Modern communication has certainly made distance smaller."

"Yes."

"We can speak instantly across the world."

"An extraordinary achievement."

"But perhaps some things need distance."

"Indeed."

"Some thoughts need time."

"Yes."

"Some apologies."

"Yes."

"Some expressions of gratitude."

"Yes."

"Some declarations of affection."

Miss Stray nodded.

"Those are rarely improved by being rushed."

Blottisham looked at the letter once more.

"So perhaps the letter is not a slower version of a message."

"No."

"It is a different kind of machine."

Quillibrace smiled.

"An excellent observation."

"What does it do?"

Miss Stray looked out through the window at the fading afternoon.

"It allows absence to become a place where connection can happen."

Blottisham considered this.

"I began by thinking a letter was an inefficient way of sending words."

"And now?"

"I think it is an efficient way of sending someone."

Quillibrace raised an eyebrow.

"A rather poetic claim."

"I didn't mean literally."

"That is usually when poetry begins."

The three sat quietly for a while.

Eventually Blottisham folded the letter carefully.

"I shall write one this evening."

"To whom?"

"I haven't decided."

"That seems premature."

"Not at all."

He smiled.

"I shall first need to discover who deserves the inconvenience of my attention."

Quillibrace returned to his book.

"A noble use of stationery."

Miss Stray watched the old letter resting on the table.

"After all," she said, "the finest letters are never really delivered."

Blottisham looked puzzled.

"Why not?"

"Because they continue arriving."