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#1076: Willa Cather to Fanny Butcher, October 14 [1931]

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⬩W⬩S⬩C⬩ Dear Fanny Butcher1:

I was so glad to get your card from Aix-les-Bains4. I was up on my Canadian island5 and glad of everything this summer, until my mother6 died suddenly in Pasadena7, August 31st. Since then life has been a tough pull. A long illness does not prepare one for the end of it.

2

I'm just back in New York2 for a few weeks, and one thing you can do for me; which is to send me six copies of your review8 of my book9, which certainly gave me a hand-up10 when I needed it—made me feel that I had been able to transfer to you the unreasonable and unaccountable glow that all those little details of life in Quebec11 gave to me. It's like a child's feeling about Christmas—no reason for it, it merely happens to one.

Of course most of the reviewers have cursed and scourned me for what I didn't write! No 'drama', nothing about Indian fights! As if one didn't have a perfect right to love a cream pitcher (of the early Georgian period) better than the Empire State Building. As if one could choose what one would love, anyway, or how one should love it. - - - But, as I told you, I did this one to keep me going, and I'm well satisfied if a few old friends like yourself get a little happiness out of it, as I did. I'm just back yesterday—haven't seen Alfred Knopf12 yet, but he telephoned yesterday that it keeps on selling like anything, 92,000 actual shp shipments for the office, besides the two Book Clubs13. I think that's because he himself liked it, and he and all his staff have worked awfully hard for it. I am so glad you liked it. You're so much with Miss Roullier14 that I almost feel as if you were French.

Affectionately Willa Cather