A Brief Correspondence with Cordelia Crench
Teresa Lardo & Renee Beauregard Lute
November 6
Dear Ms. Crench,
I really love your books. So far I have only read Plain Jane and the Terrible Incident and When Bees are a Weapon of Genocide, and I thought they were both very interesting! My mother encouraged me to send a letter and tell you that I am a fan. She likes to read, too, and she likes that I read. My father does not like that I read. Last summer, he burned some of my books in our backyard in a huge fire. My mother burned her hand trying to dig some of them out. After that she said, "If he [Sam—that’s me] can't have his books then you can't have your beer," and then he pretty much left my books alone.
I'm in the seventh grade at Mary Immaculate Middle School in Crumpen, Ohio, and I get very good grades. I had a dog from when I was six until last year, but he got let out during hunting season and never came back. My father called him a mutt but my mother said he was a purebred sheepdog German shepherd corgi mix. His name was Sniff, and I have enclosed a picture of him.
I hope that my letter is not a nuisance, and I hope that you write back soon!
Sincerely,
Sam Quick
--
November 14
Dear Sam Quick,
Thank you for your letter and for the picture of your dog. It's been a long time since I've seen a cur sniffing at his own testes, so it's nice to have that moment immortalized in photograph.
When I was a little girl, I had a cat who never came back. I called her Rose, and she would sit wherever I put her down and not shake off the hats I'd put over her head. I've never met a cat (or a person) so obedient and willing to be such a reliable playmate. My parents took my sisters and me to see our grandmother for a day, and when we came home, I could not find Rose. She didn't show up the next day, or the day after that, or the next week, or ever. For years I hoped that she would turn up, come back to me, or at least that she was still alive somewhere with another little girl to love her.
I am glad, though, that young men like you are enjoying my stories, even if you are still holding your mother's hand in the grocery shop. Do not make her take all your scars for you. I don't recommend shoving your hand into a bonfire, but a boy ought to spend a little more time with his father and a little less time cleaving to the mother. And get a lock for your door if you don't want Plain Jane and the Terrible Incident used for kindling.
Cordelia Crench
--
November 22
Dear Ms. Crench,
May I call you Cordelia? My mother says it's better to ask, just to be sure. I'm glad that you liked the picture of Sniff. You can keep it, because I have another picture of him on my bedside table. Your cat sounds like she was funny. I've never had a cat. Once my mother brought home a turtle and said that she found it in the road, and that a truck was going to smash it if she didn't pick it up. She let me feed him a piece of lettuce, and I named him Mitchell, but then my father came home and said she'd better put it back outside or he'd smash it himself. My mother was so mad, and she didn't talk to my father for the whole night after that.
I don't hold my mother's hand in the grocery shop -- I hardly ever hold her hand anymore, because (as I mentioned in my earlier letter) I am in the seventh grade at Mary Immaculate Middle School in Crumpen, Ohio. I do like to spend time with my mother, though, and I do not like to spend time with my father. There are many reasons for this, but one is that he set my books on fire in our backyard, another is that he made my mother get rid of Mitchell, and a third is that he called Sniff a mutt. Do you have a father?
Do you remember the part in Plain Jane and the Terrible Incident where the girl runs away from home? And her evil uncle Jasper finds her because she wrote a letter home to her sick aunt and the post office put that mark on the envelope that told Jasper which city she was in? I am wondering about that part because it makes me think that maybe you ran away from home, once. Did you? And did you get found because of the mark on the envelope? Why didn't the girl just telephone her aunt? Can they find out where you are because of the telephone, too? I am just wondering.
Anyway, I have to go because it is already ten o'clock, and even though I am in the seventh grade (and do not hold my mother's hand at the grocery shop), I do have a bedtime, and I get in trouble if my lights are on past ten.
Sincerely,
Sam Quick
--
December 1
Dear Sam Quick,
1. Uncle Jasper is not "evil." He's just a dentist.
2. I did not run away from home as a girl.
3. I did not "get found" because of the mark on an envelope. I worked in a mailroom.
4. She has her speech impediment. She does not like phones.
5. Yes. You are never safe from your dad.
A successful running away requires planning and a total segregation from your previous life. You must become a different person, and you truly are a different person - you are the person tearing themselves in two: past you and future you. There can be no communication between these two lives if you don't intend to return. You are now an orphan, no sisters, no spouse, no next-door neighbor, no old bloodhound in the dirt beneath a maple tree. The girl in Terrible Incident is sloppy. She doesn't fully want to be free.
I again propose that you, as the young man-child you seem to be, spend more time with your father. This will not cure him of a destructive instinct, but it may cure you of your impending fate as a teenage boy still floating around in a sea of amniotic fluid. The fog of mothering that helmets your life will make monsters out of villains, and if you don't step away, rational faith will starve within you. You will not always have a champion for your causes, and you must learn to see through your own eyes.
And no, you may not call me Cordelia.
Cordelia Crench
--
December 8
Dear Ms. Crench,
Thank you for your advice. My mother has taught me that when someone gives you something -- even if it is something you do not like -- you should say thank you. My mother is the one who teaches me most useful things. My father (who, I should mention, you haven't met before) teaches me very un-useful things, like how to cut open a fish (violent) and how to change the oil in our old car (filthy) and how to swear (rude). As I mentioned in earlier letters, I enjoy reading. I do not enjoy cutting open fish. My father does not enjoy reading. (You will remember the fire in our backyard, in which he burned up my books.) How am I supposed to spend time with someone like that? Have you ever spent time with someone like that? If so, you would understand exactly what the problem is.
On the subject of running away, is it really necessary to act like an orphan? It seems to me that a runaway might get very lonely once in awhile, and he or she might like to phone his or her mother. Should that be done from pay phones? Can a pay phone call be traced?
Also, I remember Uncle Jasper as having been very loud and mean. I think dentists can be villains, especially when they're loud and mean. Don't you?
Do you live in a very big house, Ms. Crench? I ask this because you are a very famous author, and I assume that means you are very rich. Have you ever had children? Do you like children?
Sincerely,
Sam Quick
--
December 17
Dear Sam Quick,
My house is small to discourage the presence of children.
I do not dislike children, but the youngest seem never to tire of anything while I quickly tire of them. The slightly older ones, around your age, are the people I keep in mind when I work on a story. I remember too well keeping my head down in my own youth, and a lot of my effort in works like When Bees are a Weapon of Genocide goes toward not underestimating the adolescent brain. It would be wonderful now if adolescents would stop underestimating the adolescent brain.
Dentists and loud Jaspers can act as villains, yes, but that does not mean that they are "evil." Jasper acts in accordance with his own values - discipline, caution, thrift - and his "meanness" stems from the difference between his primary values and those of the protagonist. It is not so simple as "the girl is good and her uncle is bad."
Yes, a runaway can get lonely and want to reach out to someone from their past. You can use a pay phone to call your mother to come pick you up and take you back home. It will probably be easier just to tell her where you are instead of waiting for someone to map the location of the phone number. If a runaway wants to stay in touch with their past life, they shouldn't run away in the first place.
I argue that cutting open fish, changing oil, and even swearing are all useful endeavors. In fish-cutting and oil-changing, your father is trying to teach you independence. You don't need to know how to do these things because you can pay others to do them for you - or you could never eat fish and travel the world on a space-hopper - but knowing how to do such practical, messy tasks frees you from depending on these other people, who might overcharge you or do lazy work. Swearing, though, is just a lot of fun.
I know I have suggested that you spend more time with your father and cease cleaving to your mother, and you are against this. But understand me: I do not suggest that you bring your books or live animals to him to destroy. What I hope you will do, to help yourself and your family, is to have conversations with your father about what he likes. I know you're young, but as I said, I do not want to underestimate an adolescent's mind, and you must break out of the bias of your own viewpoint. Let him teach you automobile repair, for instance, and ask him where he learned it, why he likes it or thinks it's important, and learn about him. I know he has burned some of your books, and this is abhorrent to you. But we all do revolting things, in someone's eyes. Between a son who reads and a father who torches, there is quite a lot of ground to cover toward understanding each other.
I wonder if your father did any reading when he was growing up.
Cordelia Crench
--
February 20
Dear Ms. Crench,
I'm sorry that I haven't written in awhile. I guess I don't have a lot to say, except that my mother does not live with us anymore. My father said she might come back, and she might not. Now my father cooks dinner, and he makes beans and franks too often. I told him that, and he said "this isn't a restaurant," so I didn't say anything else about it. I still don't like cutting open fish or changing oil or swearing.
Maybe Uncle Jasper wasn't such a bad villain. I will have to read the book again to see. Are you ever going to write another one?
I asked my father what he likes, just like you said. He told me that he likes hunting and sitting outside. I don't like hunting, but I guess sitting outside isn't so bad. I asked if he used to read when he was my age, and he said that he used to read the newspaper to my grandpa. I asked him some more questions and he said that boys my age should flap their gums a little less, but he didn't say it with a mean face.
I guess you probably think I'm planning to run away from home. I thought about it, but I've decided not to, for now. My father says that running away from your family is the coward's way.
Sincerely,
Sam Quick
--
May 3
Dear Sam,
I'm sorry to tell you that Ms. Crench has died. I'm her sister Trudy and I found your letter on her kitchen counter. Apparently she started to write a reply, which I'll include when I mail this off.
And please don't run away from home. I don't know if my sister was giving you tips or something, but please don't. She vanished after her husband came back from Korea, and I didn't know if she was even still alive until three years ago when I saw her on television talking about the "bees" book.
Regards,
Trudy
--
Dear Sam Quick,
Running away is only cowardly if you hope to be welcomed back.
Dear Ms. Crench,
I really love your books. So far I have only read Plain Jane and the Terrible Incident and When Bees are a Weapon of Genocide, and I thought they were both very interesting! My mother encouraged me to send a letter and tell you that I am a fan. She likes to read, too, and she likes that I read. My father does not like that I read. Last summer, he burned some of my books in our backyard in a huge fire. My mother burned her hand trying to dig some of them out. After that she said, "If he [Sam—that’s me] can't have his books then you can't have your beer," and then he pretty much left my books alone.
I'm in the seventh grade at Mary Immaculate Middle School in Crumpen, Ohio, and I get very good grades. I had a dog from when I was six until last year, but he got let out during hunting season and never came back. My father called him a mutt but my mother said he was a purebred sheepdog German shepherd corgi mix. His name was Sniff, and I have enclosed a picture of him.
I hope that my letter is not a nuisance, and I hope that you write back soon!
Sincerely,
Sam Quick
--
November 14
Dear Sam Quick,
Thank you for your letter and for the picture of your dog. It's been a long time since I've seen a cur sniffing at his own testes, so it's nice to have that moment immortalized in photograph.
When I was a little girl, I had a cat who never came back. I called her Rose, and she would sit wherever I put her down and not shake off the hats I'd put over her head. I've never met a cat (or a person) so obedient and willing to be such a reliable playmate. My parents took my sisters and me to see our grandmother for a day, and when we came home, I could not find Rose. She didn't show up the next day, or the day after that, or the next week, or ever. For years I hoped that she would turn up, come back to me, or at least that she was still alive somewhere with another little girl to love her.
I am glad, though, that young men like you are enjoying my stories, even if you are still holding your mother's hand in the grocery shop. Do not make her take all your scars for you. I don't recommend shoving your hand into a bonfire, but a boy ought to spend a little more time with his father and a little less time cleaving to the mother. And get a lock for your door if you don't want Plain Jane and the Terrible Incident used for kindling.
Cordelia Crench
--
November 22
Dear Ms. Crench,
May I call you Cordelia? My mother says it's better to ask, just to be sure. I'm glad that you liked the picture of Sniff. You can keep it, because I have another picture of him on my bedside table. Your cat sounds like she was funny. I've never had a cat. Once my mother brought home a turtle and said that she found it in the road, and that a truck was going to smash it if she didn't pick it up. She let me feed him a piece of lettuce, and I named him Mitchell, but then my father came home and said she'd better put it back outside or he'd smash it himself. My mother was so mad, and she didn't talk to my father for the whole night after that.
I don't hold my mother's hand in the grocery shop -- I hardly ever hold her hand anymore, because (as I mentioned in my earlier letter) I am in the seventh grade at Mary Immaculate Middle School in Crumpen, Ohio. I do like to spend time with my mother, though, and I do not like to spend time with my father. There are many reasons for this, but one is that he set my books on fire in our backyard, another is that he made my mother get rid of Mitchell, and a third is that he called Sniff a mutt. Do you have a father?
Do you remember the part in Plain Jane and the Terrible Incident where the girl runs away from home? And her evil uncle Jasper finds her because she wrote a letter home to her sick aunt and the post office put that mark on the envelope that told Jasper which city she was in? I am wondering about that part because it makes me think that maybe you ran away from home, once. Did you? And did you get found because of the mark on the envelope? Why didn't the girl just telephone her aunt? Can they find out where you are because of the telephone, too? I am just wondering.
Anyway, I have to go because it is already ten o'clock, and even though I am in the seventh grade (and do not hold my mother's hand at the grocery shop), I do have a bedtime, and I get in trouble if my lights are on past ten.
Sincerely,
Sam Quick
--
December 1
Dear Sam Quick,
1. Uncle Jasper is not "evil." He's just a dentist.
2. I did not run away from home as a girl.
3. I did not "get found" because of the mark on an envelope. I worked in a mailroom.
4. She has her speech impediment. She does not like phones.
5. Yes. You are never safe from your dad.
A successful running away requires planning and a total segregation from your previous life. You must become a different person, and you truly are a different person - you are the person tearing themselves in two: past you and future you. There can be no communication between these two lives if you don't intend to return. You are now an orphan, no sisters, no spouse, no next-door neighbor, no old bloodhound in the dirt beneath a maple tree. The girl in Terrible Incident is sloppy. She doesn't fully want to be free.
I again propose that you, as the young man-child you seem to be, spend more time with your father. This will not cure him of a destructive instinct, but it may cure you of your impending fate as a teenage boy still floating around in a sea of amniotic fluid. The fog of mothering that helmets your life will make monsters out of villains, and if you don't step away, rational faith will starve within you. You will not always have a champion for your causes, and you must learn to see through your own eyes.
And no, you may not call me Cordelia.
Cordelia Crench
--
December 8
Dear Ms. Crench,
Thank you for your advice. My mother has taught me that when someone gives you something -- even if it is something you do not like -- you should say thank you. My mother is the one who teaches me most useful things. My father (who, I should mention, you haven't met before) teaches me very un-useful things, like how to cut open a fish (violent) and how to change the oil in our old car (filthy) and how to swear (rude). As I mentioned in earlier letters, I enjoy reading. I do not enjoy cutting open fish. My father does not enjoy reading. (You will remember the fire in our backyard, in which he burned up my books.) How am I supposed to spend time with someone like that? Have you ever spent time with someone like that? If so, you would understand exactly what the problem is.
On the subject of running away, is it really necessary to act like an orphan? It seems to me that a runaway might get very lonely once in awhile, and he or she might like to phone his or her mother. Should that be done from pay phones? Can a pay phone call be traced?
Also, I remember Uncle Jasper as having been very loud and mean. I think dentists can be villains, especially when they're loud and mean. Don't you?
Do you live in a very big house, Ms. Crench? I ask this because you are a very famous author, and I assume that means you are very rich. Have you ever had children? Do you like children?
Sincerely,
Sam Quick
--
December 17
Dear Sam Quick,
My house is small to discourage the presence of children.
I do not dislike children, but the youngest seem never to tire of anything while I quickly tire of them. The slightly older ones, around your age, are the people I keep in mind when I work on a story. I remember too well keeping my head down in my own youth, and a lot of my effort in works like When Bees are a Weapon of Genocide goes toward not underestimating the adolescent brain. It would be wonderful now if adolescents would stop underestimating the adolescent brain.
Dentists and loud Jaspers can act as villains, yes, but that does not mean that they are "evil." Jasper acts in accordance with his own values - discipline, caution, thrift - and his "meanness" stems from the difference between his primary values and those of the protagonist. It is not so simple as "the girl is good and her uncle is bad."
Yes, a runaway can get lonely and want to reach out to someone from their past. You can use a pay phone to call your mother to come pick you up and take you back home. It will probably be easier just to tell her where you are instead of waiting for someone to map the location of the phone number. If a runaway wants to stay in touch with their past life, they shouldn't run away in the first place.
I argue that cutting open fish, changing oil, and even swearing are all useful endeavors. In fish-cutting and oil-changing, your father is trying to teach you independence. You don't need to know how to do these things because you can pay others to do them for you - or you could never eat fish and travel the world on a space-hopper - but knowing how to do such practical, messy tasks frees you from depending on these other people, who might overcharge you or do lazy work. Swearing, though, is just a lot of fun.
I know I have suggested that you spend more time with your father and cease cleaving to your mother, and you are against this. But understand me: I do not suggest that you bring your books or live animals to him to destroy. What I hope you will do, to help yourself and your family, is to have conversations with your father about what he likes. I know you're young, but as I said, I do not want to underestimate an adolescent's mind, and you must break out of the bias of your own viewpoint. Let him teach you automobile repair, for instance, and ask him where he learned it, why he likes it or thinks it's important, and learn about him. I know he has burned some of your books, and this is abhorrent to you. But we all do revolting things, in someone's eyes. Between a son who reads and a father who torches, there is quite a lot of ground to cover toward understanding each other.
I wonder if your father did any reading when he was growing up.
Cordelia Crench
--
February 20
Dear Ms. Crench,
I'm sorry that I haven't written in awhile. I guess I don't have a lot to say, except that my mother does not live with us anymore. My father said she might come back, and she might not. Now my father cooks dinner, and he makes beans and franks too often. I told him that, and he said "this isn't a restaurant," so I didn't say anything else about it. I still don't like cutting open fish or changing oil or swearing.
Maybe Uncle Jasper wasn't such a bad villain. I will have to read the book again to see. Are you ever going to write another one?
I asked my father what he likes, just like you said. He told me that he likes hunting and sitting outside. I don't like hunting, but I guess sitting outside isn't so bad. I asked if he used to read when he was my age, and he said that he used to read the newspaper to my grandpa. I asked him some more questions and he said that boys my age should flap their gums a little less, but he didn't say it with a mean face.
I guess you probably think I'm planning to run away from home. I thought about it, but I've decided not to, for now. My father says that running away from your family is the coward's way.
Sincerely,
Sam Quick
--
May 3
Dear Sam,
I'm sorry to tell you that Ms. Crench has died. I'm her sister Trudy and I found your letter on her kitchen counter. Apparently she started to write a reply, which I'll include when I mail this off.
And please don't run away from home. I don't know if my sister was giving you tips or something, but please don't. She vanished after her husband came back from Korea, and I didn't know if she was even still alive until three years ago when I saw her on television talking about the "bees" book.
Regards,
Trudy
--
Dear Sam Quick,
Running away is only cowardly if you hope to be welcomed back.