Dickinson and Higginson ended up correspondents when she sent him a letter following a piece of advice to young writers he published in The Atlantic. It's hard to imagine, in a day when print space is so precious, that the magazine would devote column inches to a similar piece today. And we also live in a time when, though we produce an enormous number of words, prose style seems less important than ever. The number of writers who have made their names on a distinctive prose style, like Ta-Nehisi Coates, is really very small. I feel some real longing for the days when writing skill, rather than subject material, be it partisan, policy-oriented, or cultural, was what made an author, when being a generalist was encouraged rather than a limitation.
I'm sure that's romantic and even a bit silly, but I also think it's the product of concentration. Dickinson found that power in a room where she essentially confined herself, Higginson in the social conflicts of his day. Wineapple's book is a reminder that I ought to seek more of it, that even as a writer about our vast and fast-changing popular culture, I might benefit more from stepping back, and away from the maelstrom, even just for a couple of hours a week.