Communicating in the age of technology has bred a level of informality that I’m not sure Jane Austen would approve of. Once commonly used greetings and salutations such as “dear” and “yours truly” have been hastily replaced with “hey” and “msg me l8r”. Jane would no doubt be appalled by such a lack of etiquette.
In Jane’s day, the proper Victorian lady was obliged to convey news and information through letters. Her talent for letter writing was not only a social obligation, but a skill that she was expected to cultivate. Polite correspondence, neat handwriting, the art of elegant composition, all were skills used to measure ones' breeding. Today it seems our breeding is measured by how quickly we reply to emails.
In the nineteenth century, Victorian letter writing manuals such as The Universal Letter Writer, The Wide World Letter Writer, Companion to the Writing-Desk, and Lewis Carroll’s Eight or Nine Wise Words about Letter-Writing, were all used to aid ones’ hand in how to properly address letters, how to accept or politely decline an invitation to a ball, or how to graciously declare your disdain for your suitor’s shooting-jacket.
While emailing has replaced letter writing, the intent remains the same: maintaining relations. It is just the format that has changed, and with it, the formalities.
Lewis Carroll offers many rules in his Manual, such as how to begin a letter, how to go on with a letter, how to end a letter, how to affix the stamp, and how to carry the letter to the Post Office (carry it in your hand because if you put it in your pocket you will take a long country walk and pass the Post Office twice, going and returning, and when you get home you will find the letter still in your pocket). While that last rule is not so applicable in today’s world, much of his 121 year old advice still holds true, but is often forgotten in the rush and immediacy that is email.
Although Facebook is a poor substitute for fancy stationary and handsome script, it has provided us with a way to hone our letter writing skills. They say the ‘better the letter writing, the finer the breeding’, and no truer words have e’er been spoken. While we admit that we are prejudiced when it comes to our own writings, we believe that our e-letters would make Jane Austen proud. To illustrate our pride, we have selected our most 1890ish messages to share with you.
Rachel Kagan February 23 at 2:22pm
Dear Kathryn,
To receive your letters, cloaked in their veil of rich observations describing the web of your life, and mingling them with words that are sharper than a serpent’s tongue, is very pleasant indeed. Mine’s eye reads each of your carefully chosen words with eager anticipation and takes me on a journey that I never tire of reading. And what a journey it is! How often I am diverted beyond moderation for your letters cause me so much laughter that I soon feel ill. Ill with joy! You are indeed the finest comic writer of the present age.
I am forever thankful that our fine breeding and sensible dispositions have saved us from ugly rows. How dreadful would that be! For if our correspondence were to end, dear friend, I shan’t express the misery I would no sooner display than for if I were bound too tight in my hourglass corset.
Adieu. Know that you cannot write too often, but never should your pen feel overburdened with a sense of duty for your letter-writing, for that would be a shame more cruel than a thousand deaths.
Yours most truly,
Rachel
Kathryn Rawson February 23 at 4:03pm
Dearest Kaggers,
Many moons have set since the auspicious beginning to our delightful friendship. I cannot mention too often my gratefulness for your many kindnesses and for the words that seem to seep from your pen like gilded roses. If not for your letters, I'm certain I would perish from boredom. And you are too kind and somewhat misguided (read on, dear Kaggers, do not fret) when you say that I am the finest comic writer of our age. For it is certainly you that should hold that honour. Or perhaps we shall share it. Our fine breeding, as you say, would allow for this with no danger of a snit.
As I write to you by the dawn's light I cannot help but reminisce about the times you have offered me your wisdom when I was feeling ill at ease in my brainpan. Your intelligence is akin in spirit to an aged grandmother while your face is as young and fresh as the spring's first fiddlehead.
I will write to you in times of joy and in times of need. I will write to you always. Our exchanges embolden my heart and sharpen my intellect. Burdensome they are not, nor will they ever be. Else let me die by the hand of man for I could not bear our letters to be anything more than a breath of fresh air carried on the winds of sincerity.
Yours in friendship,
Kath
