There are some who turn letters into as congenial a form as any other prose, whether as freewheeling as Byron or as careful and local as Cowper; some, however, are more likely to remain on the reference shelf, consulted rather than a companion.
Although this volume has been neatly edited, with the footnotes at the bottom of the page rather than falling victim to the recent habit of the "a life in letters" format, it would be rash to claim the epistolary heights for MacNeice.
As with the dull second volume of T. S. Eliot's Letters, many of these are concerned with editorial work: in MacNeice's case, at the BBC.
Now and then a phrase leaps from pages, such as the declaration that reading Yeats's Vision is enough to send anybody to a sanatorium, but the abiding tone errs towards the formal.
A wartime letter notes that he would neither wish his letters to his father to be published nor an early novel to be reprinted. Those letters are here. Will the novel become available to those not in reach of a copyright library?
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