Sendak's Letter

I have been enjoying some postings on Twitter this week, of inscriptions and dedications inside books. Some have been quite surreal, funny, sad.

I remembered seeing one in a book at a book dealers in town, it was a letter from Maurice Sendak to the writer Philip Oakes. I recalled the typical Sendakness of it, and hoped it had not been sold.

But there it was. Pasted into the Works of Sendak, an airmail letter, full of friendly familiarity.
I love the wording. Do we write such letters to each other now, in the age of email, twitter and texts? I think I will try to resolve this year to send at least one paper letter a week. Nothing to do with my 'trade' as a Copperplate calligrapher, but just to know there is something a bit better on a friend's mat than a flyer, or bill. Or tax reminder. Or maybe not always a friend, maybe just a random lovely piece of paper to someone who would not expect it.

This is the transcription of the letter:

'Dear Philip,

The article is awfully good - thanks so much for sending it on. I look like a perfect maniac in the photograph - or at least a perfect wild thing - something else to resign myself to. How do I like being home? Hate it! New York is a blasted, filthy, stagnating cesspool - or, as our mayor calls it, a 'Summer festival' city.
Best I work, & that keeps me busy & cool in front of the air conditioner. Was I in England? I must have dreamt it all. But dream or not - I shall come again & I shall take you up on your invitation - & we shall visit dear [an illegible name].

With best wishes to you,

Maurice'