Author Willa Cather was born in 1873 and died in 1947. Her family moved from Virginia to Red Cloud, Nebraska, when she was a child. Throughout her life, though she lived and worked in the Northeast, she would travel back to the plains and later to California to visit the family to whom she was devoted. Though she toiled as an editor and for a few years as a public school English teacher, she supported herself primarily through the sales of her own work.
Her letters reveal a powerful person, one in charge of her own life from beginning to end. She and her longtime companion lived in various quarters in the Northeast and in Europe in order for Cather to research and write her considerable oeuvre. Among her best selling works are My Ántonia, O Pioneers, and Song of the Lark. In 1922 she won the Pulitzer Prize for One of Ours.
I believe the perusal of such letters can give the reader yet another look at an author’s life. In this case, Cather is addressing her publishers, editors, her parents (who live long lives), siblings, and dear friends. Much of what she writes is travelogue—as she spends much time on ships between the US and Europe, trains spanning the country from coast to coast—yet her letters are serious works of art themselves. The impression one walks away with is that she was an intelligent, business-savvy, and caring person. Yet she is no one’s fool. In letters to Alfred Knopf, she gingerly weaves her way through all the issues as to why she should have more money for a certain book or why she needs an extension, and because she is such a fine communicator and person, she often wins the battle. However, if she doesn’t, she gives in gracefully as part of the larger game. She moves on without holding a grudge.
One of many nuggets:
“You can never get it through peoples heads that a story is made out of an emotion or an excitement, and is not made out of the legs and arms and faces of one’s friends or acquaintances. Two Friends, for instance, was not really made out of your father [James L. Miner] and Mr. [William Newman] Richardson; it was made out of an effect they produced on a little girl who used to hang about them. The story, as I told you, is a picture; it is not the picture of two men, but of a memory” (492).
Well worth the time if you love Cather, and if you don't now, you might after you savor each letter in this collection.