Letters, by John Keats


Recently I reviewed  The Death of the Moth and other essays by Virginia Woolf, a book that came out after her death, organized and directed by her husband. Most of the essays are critics or reviews that she did of other books and it  called my attention  that many of those books were about famous writers’ correspondence, and Woolf often discuss about their writing style, which made me think about my style. It was definitely helpful and inspiring. So when I saw this short compilation of Keats’ correspondence at a very good price I said “Why not?”.

I can’t say if this book is a direct translation of a specific compilation, or the Spanish editor just went for these letters. That’s probably told in the preliminary study but, well, I don’t remember. The letters are arranged in themes, so it’s not a chronological reading. The first letters were for his family and they were quite day-to-day, but the ones I found more interesting were the ones grouped under the “Nature” category, where he described the landscapes he visited, and the ones written to fellow poets, where he talks about his own writing work. The letters I wasn’t very keen of, for my surprise, were those he wrote for the girl he was in love with. He always sounded obsessive and possessive, in a way that, today, should be a wake-up call for an un-healthy relationship. But that’s probably just me, taking things out of context, as usual. Or a very sensitive poet (?).

I haven’t read any of Keats’ works before this, and I’m not sure if this made me want to read them now, but I definitely want to read more correspondence from him or other writers.