(Posted by Mark)
cor•re•spond•ing adj. 1. similar in character, form or function; able to be matched, joined or interlocked; 2. dealing with written communication; having this responsibility; having an honorary association with a group, esp. at a distance (from the group’s headquarters).
What an arid description; I’m not sure that I’ll continue reading this dictionary (I have a sneaking suspicion that the zebra did it in Zurich with the zucchini). The science of corresponding is about much more than a simple match – most matches I know (other than the ‘strike well away from the body’ kind) are complex and intricate things, demanding subtle interpretation and an appreciation of nuance. Readers who have actually met me are allowed to begin laughing with derision at the previous sentence … 3, 2, 1, now.
People
“Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match, find me a find, catch me a catch.” Well, quite. Often a third party interceder is the best way of securing some form of romantic relations between two people who are apparently unable to manufacture such unions by themselves. In other words, some of us need a meddling interloper to come in, rearrange our lives a little bit, serve up a potential partner on a plate (not literally) and then nudge us towards the happy ever after ending. Others of us prefer to take the bull by the horns (again not literally) and make our own matches. It’s not so much the process whereby people correspond to each other in a relationship that interests me as much as the way that friends view couples; especially if/when their loyalty conflicts with their honest opinion.
Recently, I met the new boyfriend of a good friend. I chatted with new bloke Peregrine and my friend Drusilla (names changed to protect everyone) for a little while before we all circulated and I saw him occasionally during the evening. The next day, a mutual friend Constance (name again changed etc) asked me what I thought of him. Aware that Constance and Drusilla were friends, I ummed and aahed for a little bit, offering up the usual platitudes, “He seemed very pleasant”, “I liked his shirt”, “A nice speaking voice”, etc, etc. Constance then asked me the same question again, having realised that I was attempting to sidestep it. I fell back on the slightly pathetic but nevertheless heartfelt “She seems happy”.
Friends are simultaneously the best and worst people to ask about your relationship, or to have commenting on someone else’s. They are the best because they will be able to recognise similarities, correspondences, reasons why you are with somebody which you might not even realise yourself; they can see personality points in the other person which you find endearing and confirm your own opinions, they can provide examples of things your partner has said or done which you didn’t know but which reinforces your thoughts about them. All good positive, life-affirming stuff.
Your friends are also the worst people because they will, assuming you have good friends, be honest with you and there are times when it’s a lot more convenient to fool yourself that the current relationship is perfect for you when it patently isn’t. Such denial, though undoubtedly convenient (and I feel sure that most people have fallen prey to it at some point or another), might be acceptable to you but, to your friends who have either to listen to you try and put a brave face on things or watch as you construct and maintain your façade, denial is not an option. The brutality or care with which they take you aside and chat to you is, of course, entirely up to them, provided it graduates beyond the “What is she wearing?” stage.
This is a question which could never be asked of Drusilla herself, who is always beautifully well co-ordinated. She is very much aware of corresponding one item of clothing to another; colour, shape, texture and shade all interwoven together to splendid effect. Mixing and matching one’s wardrobe may often be the subject of as much gossip as the matches one makes with partners. I will confess immediately that I am hopeless with fashion and clothes. I know what I should be wearing, but somehow it never quite works; whereas my father could wear virtually anything and make it look stylish, I am keenly aware that I make an Agnès B pullover look like secondhand M&S: I’m just more Lada than Prada.
Letters
There’s a world of difference between sending or receiving a letter/email commencing “Dear Sir” and any form of correspondence starting “Oi, Sparky”. The conventions we follow when communicating through the written word are intriguing, as they explain a lot about us before we have even started the real purpose of the message. The former example indicates to me that my bank are wondering about my overdraft (again), whereas the latter signals that my friend Alex has got back into contact with me and is wondering whether I’m going to his birthday bash this year. Especially in the case of the bank letter, there’s often no need to read further.
What else do letters tell us? Quite a lot, though there is often ambiguity in the meaning. A long letter may mean that the correspondent leads life in the social fast lane with a hectic evening calendar, and thus has plenty of rip-roaring tales to relate, or simply that they are a less-than-frequent writer, saving up several days’/weeks’/months’ worth of news before sending a message of epic length. A scrawled and poorly spelled missive may demonstrate that the sender prizes the content over the style or they may simply not have taken very much care over the letter, regarding it as a duty rather than a pleasure to compose. An email with plenty of acronyms and abbreviations may refer to a shared familiarity with the concepts within the body or it may show that the writer has tried to get their chore completed as quickly as is possible. To confirm or deny these varying interpretations, the recipient will read the content and apply their own prejudices and foreknowledge of the sender (not necessarily in that order).
Regardless of the content of the epistle, there is still something exciting about receiving an email or a letter from someone close. It means they are thinking about you, and however much of an egotist you may or may not be, it’s somehow exciting and affirming to receive a message, however correctly spelled, detailed or frequent the messages are. Often at the beginning of a relationship, there is a certain sense of nervousness about the sending and receiving of text messages, emails, postcards or letters. There is perhaps a certain freedom in the written word which is constricted when speaking to them, either directly or by phone. Apposite sentences constructed from the perfect word choices may express your feelings or your thoughts in a more elegant, direct or poetic way than a stumbling half-conversation conducted over a crackly mobile phone line.
And then there are the decisions. How much can I write without giving too much away? Will this message be kept for posterity or will it be deleted immediately and never considered again? Will the other person realise what I am hinting at? For all that written correspondence can manage, a subtle undertone and feeling is probably the hardest to achieve. Sincerity and sarcasm alike are finely balanced on the page whereas they are evident in a person’s voice and demeanour. It’s a lot more difficult in writing than in speaking to get the perfect juxtaposition between what you want to write and how you want the other person to read it. But therein lies more the art than the science of corresponding.
troubled diva 