Famous Rejection Letter #1

I thought I would start a series of posts for this class about rejection letters that were received by famous and successful writers, in order to remind you that it's tough for everybody and rejection is part of the publishing game. You're going to need a pretty thick skin.

First up: Ernest Hemingway

Those of you who have heard me rant about how much I hate The Sun Also Rises (but have learned more from the study of that novel than from any of EH's others) will understand why I felt a little twinge of sympathy and a simultaneous ping of happiness reading this. For many reasons, I suppose.

So, here it is:

75 Wiley Street
New York, N.Y.
U.S.A.

June 14th, 1925.

Dear Mr. Hemingway:

Thank you for sending us your manuscript, The Sun Also Rises. I regret to inform you that we will not be offering you publication at this time.

If I may be frank, Mr. Hemingway -- you certainly are in your prose -- I found your efforts to be both tedious and offensive. You really are a man's man, aren't you? I wouldn't be surprised to hear that you had penned this entire story locked up at the club, ink in one hand, brandy in the other. Your bombastic, dipsomaniac, where-to-now characters had me reaching for my own glass of brandy -- something to liven up 250 pages of men who are constantly stopping to sleep off the drink. What Peacock & Peacock is looking for, in a manuscript, is innovation and heart. I'm afraid that what you have produced here does not fit that description.

A great story, Mr. Hemingway, is built on a foundation of great characters. I had trouble telling yours apart. Remind me, which is the broken-hearted bachelor who travels aimlessly across Europe? Ah, yes! They all do! As I understand it, Jake Barnes is intended to be your hero. A hero, Mr. Hemingway, is a person the reader can care about, root for. Jake Barnes is too detached, too ineffective; I doubt he'd have the energy to turn the page and find out what happened to himself. I take exception, also, to your portrayal of Mike. There is nothing less appealing than a character who sits blithely by while his wife sleeps with half of the continent. I have not yet said anything about Brett, your only prominent female character. As a woman, was I intended to identify with this flighty girl who takes in men the way the others take in after-supper coffees? Let me tell you, Mr. Hemingway, I did not. Your languid characters deserve each other, really, each one is more hollow than the next.

Of course, I doubt it's possible to create a three-dimensional character with such two-dimensional language. Have you never heard of crafted prose? Style? Complexity of diction? It's hard to believe an entire novel's worth of pages could be filled up with the sort of short, stunted sentences you employ here. Let me be specific: at the start of the novel, you sum up a key character, Robert Cohn, with just five short words, "I was his tennis friend." This tells us nothing. Later, when Jake is looking out on the Seine -- the beautiful, historic, poetic Seine -- you write, the river looked nice. Nice? The river looked nice? I dare say my young son could do better!

In short, your efforts have saddened me, Mr. Hemingway. I was hopeful that by 1925, the brutes would have stopped sending me their offerings. We at Peacock & Peacock, are looking to publish novels that will inspire. God knows, it's what people need at this time. Certainly, what is not needed are treatises about bullfights and underemployed men who drink too much.

Sincerely,
Mrs Moberley Luger
Editor-in-Chief


Ouch. I bet he needed a drink after that. The good news is that rejections are rarely so harsh these days, and even though it was pretty mean, he still went on to publish that novel and build a career on it. So he got the last laugh.

What do you think? Leave a comment below.