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I am afraid I cannot answer your questions very satisfactorily. I, myself, have no photographs of Nebraska3 in 1885 or 1895. All flat countries are pretty much alike, I imagine – except for the river valleys. Professor Pupin4, of Columbia, used to tell me that the part of Nebraska I know best was very like the great plain of Russia5. He, himself, knew the country along the Burlington Railroad very well.
Otto Fuchs6 is a composite picture, of course. If one has known a good many cow-punchers and immigrant day-laborers and miners, when one needs a subordinate character of that kind the person who walks in is much more likely to be a composite character than a sketch of one actual person. (This is much more likely to be true of the minor characters of a book than of those on whom the writer's interest is chiefly centered.)
The original of Blind d'Arnault7 was a negro pianist, Blind Boone8, who used to give concerts all through the West and Southwest when I was a child. Long before his time there was a Blind Tom9, and a Blind Noah10, of whom our fathers and grandfathers used to tell.
Clara Morris11, not Fanny Davenport12, was the actress whom Jim13 saw in CAMILLE14.
As to the stirrup and the Spanish sword15, many things of that kind have been dug up in southwestern Kansas16 and are kept in small town museums or in the State museum. Occasionally the farmer or well-digger who finds something of this sort keeps it for himself.
You will pardon me, Mr. Leonard, if I tell you that I think the ⬩W⬩S⬩C⬩ present fashion of reading contemporary writers as a part of the required courses in English is very unfortunate. I am sure you will agree with me that a thorough knowledge of the great English writers and, when possible, the great Latin writers is necessary to the formation of a discriminating literary taste. Something has to be developed in a boy to enable him to experience the special form of pleasure which the great English writers can give one. That taste can certainly not be developed by reading contemporary writers—this happens to be a particularly low period in English writing.
¶Photographs of sod houses and Otto
Fuchs are altogether beside the point, don't you think? Zane Grey17's
"documentation" is probably as good as anyone's; he lives all the time among the things he writes about, at least. What I am trying to say is, that
learning facts about a book doesn't in the least help your boys to read the book
itself – indeed, it turns their minds in absolutely the other direction. If I
had been trying to write a book full of interesting facts about ranch life in
Nebraska, I could certainly have done something more useful than ANTONIA18. In so far as I can understand, the book is
read in schools for exactly what it is not.
Please believe that the argumentative tone of this letter means no unfriendliness toward you—perhaps deep in your heart you dislike this system as much as I do.— My letter is a confidential expression of honest conviction, and I will ask you not to read it to any of your students. How much more they would get out of KIDNAPPED19 than out of ANTONIA!—or out of Vanity Fair20!
Very sincerely yours, Willa Cather