John McPhee’s Literary Will

McPhee has included the following text in the publishing contract for each of his books since 1994. He says it applies to all his work.

It is my wish that future editors respect my thoughts about various matters like inches versus centimetres and miles versus kilometres and the choice in which altitude is expressed and personal habits of punctuation and so forth. In the case of the units of measure, I have used both (but mainly the English system) because we are living in a time of transition, and, in the United States at the moment, both apply. Sometimes, to express that fact indirectly—and for rhythm, and for other considerations—I have used metric measurements in one part of a sentence and English measurements in another. But never do I say something like “seventeen miles (27.359 kilometres)” because that is oafish, and I hope and pray that no sentence of mine is ever “improved” in such manner by a well-meaning editor who doctors my texts so that the two forms of measurement are presented in linear translation. Equally, I would spin in my grave if such an editor were to change an English measurement to a metric measurement, ruining whatever flow and rhythm the sentence in its original form managed to achieve. If something is in inches, feet, miles, leave it just as is, even after the entire country has embraced the metric system and miles have gone the way of leagues and rods. In general, please follow to the letter—and to the last absent or present punctuation mark—the Farrar, Straus & Giroux editions of my books. If you do, you will not dismantle various idiosyncrasies of style and punctuation that I chose to employ or create. If a comma is not there, please do not insert it. If commas are not there in adjectival strings, it was my intention that commas not be there. If you come upon an exxecutive, preserve him. He worked for Exxon. If, in “In Suspect Terrain,” you come upon the words “new and far between,” the words I intended were “new and far between.” If William Penn’s daughter wants a “rod and real,” stet “real.” If someone is “called to an office and chewed,” do not add “out.” In that instance, I preferred to leave it out. If a rule is probed, as in “the exception that probes the rule,” stet “probes.” If something is described as “avalanchine,” I did not intend to say “avalanching.” If the text says “porpentine,” please do not change it to “porcupine.” Where “The Founding Fish” refers to Reds Grange, Reds plural is what I meant. In “La Place de la Concorde Suisse,” foreign words are not italicized—and are not to be italicized. The same applies to “Tabula Rasa.” In the title piece of “Giving Good Weight,” the rationale with respect to italics was more complex. Please carefully follow the original text in FSG editions. In “Annals of the Former World” and its component books, if updating is done in the light of advances in scientific research please cover such matters in footnotes. Please also handle in footnotes and not in textual alterations anything to do with money, including but not limited to pounds, guineas, shillings, halfpennies, farthings, francs, pesetas, lire, dollars, Deutschmarks, yen, and euros. Titles are never to be altered. And please never title a collection of my work “The Best of . . . .” Such titles are false in nature and demean work that is not included. In my various books, photographs, drawings, charts, maps, and the like have been used sparingly or not at all. That was intentional. I wanted the pictures to be done in words. I don’t mean to lay down a rigid guideline here, but please consider respectfully the editions of my lifetime and use them generally as models. They are fairly but not wholly consistent. For example, more than two dozen maps were made specifically for “Annals of the Former World” by Raven Maps & Images, of Medford, Oregon. In “The Ransom of Russian Art,” the reproductions of dissidents’ paintings are integral components of the book and their locations within it are not random. Notes underlying this literary will and other items that may have occurred to me after this date are in my computer in a Kedit file called Litwill.FSG. My books have been proofread with exceptional care by proofreaders at FSG, by proofreaders at The New Yorker magazine, by myself, and by others. In more than a million words, there are probably fewer than ten typographical errors. Please do not fix one unless textual evidence allows you to be absolutely positive that you have found one of those ten. I warmly thank you for your attention to these words.

Before the judgment of history

John Lukacs:

“Although he was an aristocrat by birth, Churchill was widely believed to be not really a gentleman at all. On the contrary, he was often described as a highly gifted, but undeniable, ‘cad.’” He was “widely distrusted as a man of unstable temperament, unsound judgment, and rhetorical (and also alcoholic) excess….For most of his career, there hung around him an unsavoury air of disreputability and unseemliness, as a particularly wayward, rootless and anachronistic product of a decaying and increasingly discredited aristocratic order. Before 1940, it was not easy for him to be taken seriously as the man of destiny he believed himself to be, when so many people in the know regarded him as little better than an ungentlemanly, almost déclassé, adventurer.” During the interwar years he remained “a shameless cadger and incorrigible scrounger.” “[His] friends were almost invariably drawn from [a] raffish world.” “By the mid-1930s… [he] had become almost a parody of the paranoid aristocrat: intransigent, embittered, apocalyptic, a reactionary of the deepest dye.’” These generalizations by David Cannadine have the mark of a heavy pen; they are somewhat exaggerated, but they are not without substance. Perhaps more balanced, but not essentially different, are the summary sentences by Andrew Roberts. “The national saviour image of Winston Churchill in 1940 is so deeply ingrained into the British psyche as to make any criticism of his conduct during that year sound almost blasphemous. At the outset of that annus mirabilis, however, he was not considered the splendid personification of British glory he was to become later on. Rather he was seen by many in society and in the Conservative Party as a political turncoat, a dangerous adventurer.” At best he was a “delightful rogue who lacked political judgment,” at worst “unscrupulous, unreliable, and unattractively ambitious.” Churchill’s wit and oratorical ability were not enough to overcome severe doubts about his judgment.” Besides, some of his enemies often referred to him as a “half-breed” (his mother having been American, and a woman with more than one past) or a “mongrel.”

Winston Churchill with a Tommy gun

Martin Amis:

He is more to our taste than he ever was to theirs. Lincoln now commands a consensus of sober admiration and gratitude that was quite unavailable to him or to anybody else during America’s bloody adolescence. Changes in aesthetic fashion have even rehabilitated his physiognomy, and drastically. Old Abe was not a plug-ugly (a thug, a ruffian), but that’s how everyone thought he looked: plug ugly. ‘The ugliest man I ever put my eyes on,’ said one well-disposed observer, who could discern only a ‘plebeian vulgarity’ in his gaunt and haunted face. To us, nowadays, that face is a vision of forbidding authenticity.

Bark-hard, slanting and angular, Lincoln stands like Geronimo among his slackly epicene contemporaries; in comparison, supposed heart-throbs such as General McClellan and, indeed, John Wilkes Booth are no more than mustachioed doughboys. In 1854, Lincoln resembles a man of the frontier, but one sent there by Hollywood: Robert Ryan rather than Ronald Reagan. A later photograph, taken in February 1865, two months before Lee surrendered his sword to Grant at Appomattox, shows the mouth and the eyes still human and humorous, while the rest of the face has been entirely parched by war.

Lincoln (colorized)

Unposted comment on Washington Post Parenting chat, April 5, 2023

An anonymous reader writes:

My eight-year-old daughter is intellectually gifted and also socially adept. Most things come easily to her. However, when something doesn’t come easily, she becomes frustrated. An example would be piano, which she says she loves, but when it is hard, she sometimes melts down over not getting it or making a mistake. I try to emphasize that some things take practice and we all make mistakes, but it doesn’t land. Missteps and challenges are inevitable in life. How do I build resilience now so that she can overcome future challenges?

Meghan Leahy, pediatrician and columnist, responded:

If your child is gifted, that qualifies as a learning need for a reason. The sooner you read and learn about giftedness, the better. This list is a good start and if reading about your eight year old isn’t helping, I strongly recommend hiring a parent coach who specializes in giftedness.

It is not uncommon to see a wide gap between academic possibility and emotional bandwidth in gifted children. It is like their brains move so fast and the processing speeds can be so quick, the brain may struggle to handle any kind of frustration (not getting the piano piece right, right away). The explosion of this frustration results in understandable explanations and logic and lectures from you, but they aren’t landing in this intense brain. Other tactics are needed. Building resilience in intense gifted children is a long game, so please get the support you need so that you don’t burn out.

Although this isn’t a truly bad answer, it’s not a particularly helpful one, either. Dr. Leahy’s response seems like a kind way of saying “your kid is just too sensitive”—that the child’s tender brain can’t handle strong feelings. Nothing in this answer connects to the particular situation that the parent spells out—painful, blocking frustration when forced with a difficult task. And the “good start” list includes 15 heavy books, few of which are obviously applicable to the issue at hand.

I chimed in with the following comment, which wasn’t published, perhaps because the live chat had ended by the time I ran across it.

I’m not a pediatrician, but I would like to suggest something from the perspective of a former gifted child. A unique circumstance for gifted children is to be celebrated and praised, certainly at school but also often at home, for things that seemed ordinary and nearly effortless to them, such as getting an A on unchallenging homework, writing a story, creating a piece of art, or just being sparkling in conversation. At the same time, such children tend to have fewer opportunities than other children to be challenged and to work hard, and as a result, they have fewer opportunities to develop the emotional resources to handle struggle and perceived failure. They may avoid tasks that challenge them as a way of avoiding the negative emotions associated with those tasks. And as a further result of this, they experience praise and love coming their way only at times when they excel. They come to believe that praise and love will always only come to them when they live up to their prodigy reputation. This can have extreme repercussions later in life.

It may be that when your daughter melts down over a persistent challenge at the piano, it’s because she perceives it as a failure that punctures her sense of worth and jeopardizes her ability to be praised and loved. I can’t tell these parents what will work, but I can say what I wish I’d had: parents and trusted adults that took my successes as lightly as I took them myself, while consistently praising and encouraging me when I stretched myself or attempted things outside my comfort zone.

The Sublime

Whatever is fitted in any sort to excite pain and danger, that is to say whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror is a source of the sublime…it is productive of the strongest emotions which the mind is capable of feeling.

— Edmund Burke, A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and the Beautiful, 1757

[While for earlier writers] the sublime is really a superior form of the beautiful, for Burke the two ideas are opposed and mutually exclusive. Burke starts from Longinus’ view that the sublime produces a violent effect but takes it much further in maintaining that the degree of violence is a measure for the value of the emotion….as for Longinus, the passion aroused by the sublime is astonishment, but Burke defines more precisely the qualities which go to arouse it: terror, obscurity, power, vastness, infinity, difficulty, magnificence, and darkness.

— Anthony Blunt, The Art of William Blake

Hawk Roosting
Ted Hughes

I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed.
Inaction, no falsifying dream
Between my hooked head and hooked feet:
Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills and eat.

The convenience of the high trees!
The air’s buoyancy and the sun’s ray
Are of advantage to me;
And the earth’s face upward for my inspection.

My feet are locked upon the rough bark.
It took the whole of Creation
To produce my foot, my each feather:
Now I hold Creation in my foot

Or fly up, and revolve it all slowly –
I kill where I please because it is all mine.
There is no sophistry in my body:
My manners are tearing off heads –

The allotment of death.
For the one path of my flight is direct
Through the bones of the living.
No arguments assert my right:

The sun is behind me.
Nothing has changed since I began.
My eye has permitted no change.
I am going to keep things like this.

1960

Job’s Sons and Daughters Destroyed, William Blake, 1825