Beethoven and Lord Byron Need Carrie Bradshaw to Live On

On November 25th St. Martins Press will release a book that has already been published--from my quick count--at least five times. This isn't the sixth printing of one book, but rather the sixth different book with a seemingly varied title but the exact same core material. The sixth time is a charm though, because this version will most likely out sell all the others combined. This one has the Carrie Bradshaw seal of approval.

The book is Love Letters of Great Men--Carrie and Big's bedtime book. After seeing the movie, hoards of people rushed to buy the book only to find that it didn't exist. Except it did--just not with that exact title. Don't get me wrong, I loved Sex and the City: The Movie, and I especially loved that letters of old made a crucial cameo. What bothers me is how everyone reacted as if a book filled with love letters written by poets, composers, and kings is a great and novel idea. Great, yes. Novel, no. If I march over to my bookshelf right now I can pick up The Book of Love: Writers and Their Love Letters (1996) or The 50 Greatest Love Letters of All Time (2005). Based on these two tomes I can tell you exactly which letters will appear in Love Letters of Great Men.

There will be at least one if not two letters from Oscar Wilde--one to his wife Constance and another to his gay lover, Lord Alfred Douglas. Then there's John Keats to Fanny Brawne. Robert Browning to Elizabeth Barrett. Napoleon to Josephine. Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn (even though that one didn't work out so well). Lord Byron to any number of women (he was the original player). Mark Twain to his wife Olivia. Mozart to Constanze. Henry Miller to Anais Nin. If the editor is feeling more modern she'll include some of Ronald Regan's missives to Nancy. And no one would dare to put together a collection of love letters without Beethoven's Immortal Beloved trilogy nestled in there somewhere.

On the one hand, I'm thrilled that Sex and the City has brought historical love letters back into the public discourse. On the other hand, I'm highly irritated that Carrie Bradshaw is getting credit for something many of us have know about and studied for years. Ah well. I imagine plenty of clothing designers have donated blood, sweat, tears, and bone marrow to crafting their collections, and they must grind their teeth to the gums as they watch people who have never once spent the night alone with fabric and a pair of scissors--such as Sean Combs, Jennifer Lopez, and the Olsen Twins--make millions off clothing lines. Then there's the talented singer/songwriters who have to stand in the shadows of pop sensations who neither write nor actually sing their songs. There has always been a gap between artistic talent and commercial success, and this appears to be the letter lover's version. Alas I could put all this behind me quickly, if someone would invite me to edit Carrie Bradshaw's Love Letters of Great Women. I'd sell out. I would reference the already existing versions of the book and call it a day.

Comments

[cyranorox]

Have you read any of Byron's letters? He is funny, charming, clever, deep, brilliant - one or two can be worth the price of the book. Then go out and buy a volume of them.