Am I Alone in Thinking...

Philip Keightley

...is the title of a new book apparently. Listening to R4 on my way to work this morning, the little lightweight piece at the end of the news before Desert Island Discs included an interview with the letters editor of the Daily Telegraph, Iain Hollingshead, who was effectively there to publish a new book called, unsurprisingly, "Am I alone in thinking?" Now, lightweight, news filler it may have been, but very interesting it was too. The book itself is a collection of shall we say the more eccentric letters written to the DT for publication; the title reflecting the caricature soap box opening statement of the vast majority of letters, bemoaning the fact that we can no longer leave our collective doors unlocked, the lack of serviceable public phone boxes and today's MP's aversion to wearing suitable neck attire.

Much like listening to R4 itself, the Daily Telegraph letters page in itself is a study in how things used to be. It's like being regaled with war stories over a packet of Werther's Originals on the knee of an Alzheimer's drunk Grandparent - somewhat outdated, but not overly offensive and for those of a certain age, wholly nostalgic. Of course, for today's digitally savvy, time-short youthful generation, it is positively archaic - overly laborious, tweed, old hat, urine stained and imbued with the faint smell of cabbage, no doubt. But you know what, aside from the stomach churning and overtly obstreperous mastication there's a useful message trying to force its way between those decaying enamels and tree-bark lips and it's a message as old as the hills. Indeed, it's a message about time itself.

Ok, so I'm over-hamming things, but genuinely, this lightweight piece drew a heavyweight comparison between old and new, between old school print and new school digital. Iain Hollingshead explained that the Daily Telegraph receives over 700 of the aforementioned letters every day and yet only have space to publish 20, which as my astutely arithmetically able colleague Abbie would hasten to add, leaves 680 pieces of sublimely esoteric comment every day to be collected and published in a Telegraph branded Christmas toilet tome, no doubt to off-set the loss of advertising revenue.

You see, the reason these letters are so interesting, apart from the apoplectic bile positively jumping from the page is that they are passionately, lovingly and delicately crafted. Whether or not you agree with the content (and more often than not, I'm sure the reader is alone in their view), like watching Geppetto at work, the beauty is in the craft and love that brings the story to life. At a time when the very future of the printed newspaper is at stake, a celebration of this craft could not be more timely or appropriate. As a committed Guardian reader, it is against my natural instinct to celebrate anything Telegraph branded but on this occasion my thinly veiled conservatism (with a small ‘c') will out, not simply for love of the past but hopefully as a clarion call for the future.

You see, a very good point was raised in the interview on Radio 4, comparing the difficulty with getting a letter published in the print version of the Telegraph (or indeed, any quality newspaper) with the ease of leaving comments against every single article published online. In fact, the word ‘ease' is wholly inaccurate. It's not a question of ease. It's simply a matter of logging in and typing whatever you feel at the time. Which is great isn't it? Of course, this democratic, free speech ability to comment and post your opinions in the blink of an eye is the very embodiment of the Web 2.0 world. It's all about interaction man. Like yeah, whatever dude. Seriously, it is great. I really don't want to sound like an old school Telegraphian but I do think that today's Web 2.0 could learn something from the craft of yesteryear. The fact that you can write and publish your most considered, immediate, ill-thought out or vitriolic comments in the blink of an eye has merit, but so lacks the class, craft and execution of a penned letter. There is something to be learned here I think. We (and by that I mean our generation as well as the publishing industry) are on a precipice. It's quite possible that newspapers as we know them could be no more within a couple of years. I for one hope not, but if that is to be the case, I really hope the craft and skills of that era are not lost to the annals of time. I would hate to think that the ability to write something carefully crafted, considered, passionate and yet archaic would be lost or overrun by myriad bland, faceless, ill-considered, quantity-not-quality views of the masses; because that is where the money is. Art is art for art's sake, not simply because it is popular.

And should anyone like to point out, I am fully aware that this piece has not only been published in the blink of an eye, on a blog, without being spell checked and without even a wink towards craft, but it's Friday and I've been to the pub - so like, whatever.

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