Lamenting the late, great letter
First letters were replaced by emails. Then came the soul-crushing, interaction-cheapening social media storm. Now ChatGPT is writing them!
There is something poignant about the last time for things. With this in mind, and amid news that ChatGPT is writing letters, I have rummaged through old files and uncovered the last time I produced one myself. It was in the form of an email, and so the date and time have been preserved: May 29th, 2007, at 1:08 AM in London, where I then lived. It coincides with my arrival to Facebook; perhaps not a coincidence.
For readers under 40, I’ll clarify that a “letter” was a personal note for maintaining social contact that was not trivial in length. In the Before Times it was sent by mail, which involved pieces of paper being folded, an “envelope,” and generally a “stamp” representing payment for people and airplanes delivering it to the recipient.
Though by the mid-1990s they were increasingly sent my email, in my book, obviously, that still counts. But business emails are not letters for our purposes, and texts and social media interactions are most definitely disqualified. Indeed, though social media has helped people stay in touch, on balance, not only because of the killing of letters, it may qualify as a scourge (which actually reads like an understatement).
Does anyone still produce letters? When will the last letter be written (by a human)? Will future generations even know that they existed?
My old letters, I now realize, served a dual purpose: beyond maintaining friendships they amounted to a diary. When I had something to say, I would choose a volunteer to receive it and start composing. With some care, as I might do these days for an article on Substack. I would print out two copies, not thinking much back then about the planet or the trees. Before the emails, one was sent off while the other was furtively added to a binder; after, a single printout was required.
Because of the nature of emails I also began to send them to multiple recipients at once. With hindsight, I know this shift was the start the decline — the innocent-seeming harbinger of a society-distorting, interaction-cheapening digital typhoon.
I noticed the multiple-addressee policy sometimes caused offence, yielding snarky and even hostile replies. I see the long-gone upside of that now: People at least actually wanted their own letters! That seems quaint today, when some would rather stick needles in their eyes than have to read something longer than a Tweet.
The binders still exist, though the pre-laser printer ink is fading. They form a record of my memories: the different societies I lived in as a foreign correspondent, the birth of my first daughter and the amazing thoughts and feelings that begat, little philosophies and grand designs. I consult these documents still, sometimes — late at night, when no one else can see.
In the 2000s, the letters gradually peter out to their whimpering end. I can hardly bear to look at the last one, which actually described an absurd encounter with the Queen and her sodden consort. It is a little like remembering a loved one who has left out mortal coil. I loved those letters though. I enjoyed writing them and even more so receiving replies, from those who bothered, until reciprocity died out as well.
The world is a paradox, here in 2023. It may literally actually be the best of times and the worst of times. So I sat down to figure out the dispiriting death of letters. Here’s what I came up with:
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