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Ms. Castle was a student in my American Literature Survey a year ago. She is a serious-minded young woman whose analytical skills and arguments demonstrate a subtle acumen. More than once, in class, I saw her politely demolish another student’s interpretation of a work of literature by asking a series of seemingly innocent but progressively incisive questions. Perhaps oddly, I remember thinking of Ms. Castle as a highly articulate snake: sliding gracefully into an argument, speaking in lucid, sibilant phrases (she endows the letter S with the faintest suggestion of a whistle), and then striking to inject the requisite venom.

Ms. Castle wrote a final, exquisite essay on Willa Cather’s The Professor’s House—probably a lost tome as far as you policy wonks are concerned — on which she received a well-deserved A.

I recommend her to you very highly. She is excellent. She will not fit into any of your miniature boxes. I will now insert this letter in an envelope, maintaining a paper copy for safekeeping in a drawer by my desk, after which I will take a short stroll to the picturesque blue mailbox on the corner, opening its creaking rectangular metal mouth and dropping the envelope within.

Trusting the U.S. Postal Service to deliver this missive to you in a timely fashion, I am

J. Fitger

Professor and Upholder of the Ancient Flame

Payne University

October 5, 2009

Eleanor Acton, Director

Bentham Literary Residency Program

P.O. Box 1572

Bentham, ME 04976

Dear Eleanor,

Congratulations on the dictatorship (haha!) directorship! Well done! Who would have guessed, twenty-some years ago when we were living on pizza crust and challenging the poets to recitation games* in the student lounge, that you’d be in charge of Bentham and I’d be sending you my best and my brightest? In any case, kudos. Toiling for decades through the murk of the corporate world and then the nonprofits must not have been easy, but I’m sure you’ve garnered some valuable expertise.

I’m appealing to you directly to recommend in emphatic terms an advisee and student, Darren Browles. I’m aware that your committees are beavering through mountains of applications for the January residencies, and while winter seems distant at this time of year (as I type this letter, shirtless undergrads are frolicking on the quad), I assume that decisions will be made under pressure, and soon. Hence this additional recommendation on behalf of Mr. Browles, who shuffled into my office this morning, dejected, to tell me he will be taking a leave of absence this spring for financial reasons. He should have had a teaching assistantship, but our graduate program has been put on the chopping block, all funds to be diverted to the technical fields.

Eleanor: If Bentham could offer Browles a residency not only for the January term but through spring, I’m confident he can finish his manuscript, Accountant in a Bordello, and then his degree. As a prose stylist, Browles is a high-wire performer — but if he loses momentum … We’ve both been there, Eleanor: I have a desk half full of projects that, lacking time and attention, have succumbed to these small, pitiful deaths; and I’m sure your slender volume of stories (Janet bought two copies the week it came out) would have been followed by a novel, had your schedule allowed. The bottom line: I’m making a personal appeal, for the sake of our years together in the Seminar, that you arrange to float Browles financially at Bentham through winter and spring.

Anticipating a positive reply,

Jay

P.S.: I’m aware that you and Janet reestablished a correspondence during the period of our marriage’s dissolution and I hope any vitriol she might have expressed won’t compromise my professional relationship with you. (In case you’re waiting for me to acknowledge that I behaved like an ass, I hereby admit it; but Janet has forgiven me: we see each other twice a year on what was our wedding anniversary, in August, and on the date when we signed our divorce agreement, February 3.) There’s no changing the past; we can only stumble haphazardly forward. I appreciate any particular attention you can devote to Darren Browles.

* They usually beat us, of course, but we were reading several novels a week, while their coursework fit comfortably on a single folded sheet of loose-leaf in a pants pocket. Ah, the strenuous life of the poet: he snips a few adjectives from the daily paper, tapes them in a spiral to his office door, and calls the workweek done.

October 8, 2009

Philip Hinckler, Dean

College of Arts and Sciences

1 MacNeil Hall

Dear Dean Hinckler,

I write in support of my colleague, Assistant Professor Lance West, regarding his nomination for the university’s Campiello Undergraduate Advising and Service Award. West is a solid junior scholar; more apropos of the current occasion, he has served for three of his four short years at Payne in administration, directing the undergraduate writing center and the much contested/maligned composition program. (No reasonable person outside a university would believe the teaching of composition to be controversial, but of course it is.) Professor West has an open-door policy and a rapport — one is almost tempted to call it a flair — with the incoming freshmen. He has worked hard, he has done what was asked of him, and — in the wake of the deliberate gutting of the liberal arts, English in particular, in favor of the technological sciences — he has held together the tattered scraps of the literature and writing programs, which the faceless gremlins in your office have condemned to indigence and ruin.

Furthermore, West is not yet jaded or cynical; a former Eagle Scout, he maintains a “team spirit” approach to the institution. Before construction forced us to seal ourselves into our offices like agoraphobic strangers in a cut-rate motel, I could frequently hear, across the hall and three doors down, in West’s office, the contented chatter of freshmen being persuaded that clarity of expression might be achievable as well as worthwhile.

Only by rewarding West and others of his happy ilk, and perhaps by killing off senior faculty, myself included, will it be possible for that elusive and almost mythical beast — collegiality — to prevail. (You may have thought that plunging us into receivership and imposing an outsider as our chair would serve to unite us, but Boti is sadly out of his element; he wanders the halls, bewildered, with a soiled bandanna affixed to his face* like a madman descending into a dream.)

Other LORs cascading onto your desk like autumn leaves may suggest that the Campiello Award, associated with a modest financial settlement and a plaque on which the administration does its best to spell the awardee’s name correctly, should be given to a colleague more senior than West. This is shortsighted thinking. West is not yet entrenched, and because of the caliber of his scholarship and his regular presence at the requisite conferences, he is rapidly making a name for himself. If we don’t engage in an aggressive effort to retain him, other (more prestigious) institutions will poach. West is unprepossessing — but he is also a striver. Put a ladder in front of him and he will eagerly climb it. So much intellectual will and ambition! I confess: at this point of my career, that sort of enthusiasm fatigues me. The role that is left to me is to stand in the patronizing shadow of my younger and more aspiring colleagues and push. Up the chimney with you, and don’t get soot on your knickers along the way!