But part of the letter’s irreplaceable appeal is also its physicality.
WHEN was the last time you received a handwritten letter?
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Australia Post chief, Ahmed Fahour, recently announced a drop in profit of 35 per cent for the last financial year, blaming it mostly on their nose-diving letters business.
Parcels are doing just fine, with Aussies sourcing cheap “stuff” from every corner of the globe, but the statistics show that a whopping 97 per cent of letters crisscrossing the country these days are sent by businesses and government… envelopes with windows.
The chances of finding a handcrafted missive in your letterbox scented with perfume, or an aerogramme from Europe stained with a loved-one’s breakfast marmalade is on a par with being attacked by a shark.
As long ago as 1994, when only computer nerds knew about the internet, and mobile phones drew derisive chuckles in restaurants, the American academic Sven Birkerts noted that “a finely filamented electronic scrim has slipped between ourselves and the outside world”.
How prophetic he was.
I used to be an avid letter writer. Indeed, it was through letter writing – sending postcards, aerogrammes and long missives home from overseas in my 20s – that I discovered a love for writing in the first place.
But like so many others, as the years have passed, I’ve replaced the artform with weekly blog posts, hastily tapped emails and clumsy text messages. It’s been to my detriment.
Because the letter really is an artform. The world of literature abounds with examples of famous correspondents whose regular epistles became as, or more, famous as their books or other artistic pursuits. Novelists like Virginia Wolf and Henry James, poets such as Byron and Shelley, often rivalled their own fictional creations in their letters.
But part of the letter’s irreplaceable appeal is also its physicality. It has colour and shape.
It can be slipped in a pocket or between the leaves of a book. It’s an artifact that we know has been in another’s hand. That an effort was made to purchase a stamp; to walk to a letterbox or post office; to see it on its way with real intent.
So, I promise you this Ahmed Fahour. From this day on I propose to write and post one handwritten letter every week. And I invite you, dear reader, to do the same.
Not to buoy a flagging business, but to resurrect a dying art. To be alone with a sheet of paper and a pen. Just a few simple, heartfelt words to a friend or loved one. Folded with care – stained with a teacup ring – etched with toast crumbs – slipped in an envelope – addressed by your own shaky hand.
And who knows, there may come a time when the world of electronic communication just goes “pop”, and we humans have to start over again with our hands and hearts.
Eagerly awaiting the postie’s whistle – letter openers at the ready.