Mr. Keillor,
I am a recent college graduate and have been a tinnitus sufferer for the last 15 months. I, too, have found only the sound of cicadas to be a comforting masking. My T has turned my world upside down, so I'm encouraged and thankful for how you manage to continually bring joy and laughter to all of us. I love listening to your show.

Sincerely,
Jayne S.

That eternal ringing in the ears can be an irritation, Jayne, but maybe it's some sort of spur, too, to do things that engage us to the point of not noticing tinnitus. As you know, there is no cure for this sort of nerve damage—I tried acupuncture and herbal medicine, no luck—so one simply must live with it. I never notice it during a show or rehearsal so there's one more reason to keep doing. It's bothersome to a writer but it can be masked with music, particularly vocal music. That Faure Requiem I have heard so many times, it's a wonder the words don't creep into the Lake Wobegon stories, a little boy soprano singing "Pie Jesu" in Our Lady of Perpetual Responsibility Church. As always when one's world is turned upside down, it doesn't hurt to talk to a therapist, but I recommend perseverance and reality-avoidance. And if you find a cure, be sure to let me know.

Dear Mr. Keillor:
Having just finished my second year of medical school, I was stuffing my brain for the national board exams when, abruptly, my brain reached capacity and no more would fit. I was perplexed. How was I going to learn fungal infections? What about metabolic disorders? But while listening to your show, the thought came that, though I didn't major in English, I might try putting the material into poetry to make it more memorable. I penned a few dozen, such as:

Oh, Blastomycosis have you.
Away lung, skin, bone lesions!
Oh Blasto I long to see you.
Big and broad-based budding yeast,
East of the wide Miss'ippi.

And also:

Alkapton! My Captain!
Homogentisate oxidase I lack.
The tyrosine is building up,
My urine's turning black!

Well, I took the exam this week, and it went pretty great. Thanks for the weekly muse from Lake Wobegon.

Sincerely,
Ashley
Hershey, PA

You did great on the exam thanks to your innate intelligence, Ashley, and the poetry was only a diversion. That's the line of work I am in, diverting people, and you are heading for the line of work that actually changes people's lives, so we hope it attracts more intelligence than what is required to write. I'm lucky to have a great doctor who I can talk to and who seems to have plenty of time and who is ever ready to do precautionary things that make sense. I am a 65-year-old guy with a 10-year-old daughter so he has got his work cut out for him. He wants me to be around for her wedding.

I was appalled and became disoriented upon hearing you say that Faulkner wrote The Great American Novel. Which would that be? Aside from the fact that we all know Fitzgerald wrote The Great American Novel, I'm not aware that any of Faulkner's dirges have ever even been nominated for the position. I could forgive your naming Twain, or even Toni Morrison, but Faulkner!

Not only might I not listen again to your show, I've begun to doubt now that I've actually ever enjoyed any of them previously. Where you really an English major?

My only hope is that the good people of St. Paul (home of Fitzgerald, of course) will pummel you with new and used copies of The Great Gatsby until you come to your senses.

Walter B.
Austin, TX

This is the finest angry letter I've read in months and it sets a high standard for us all. I've read it over and over with great pleasure. I especially like the "and became disoriented" and the "begun to
doubt....that I've ever enjoyed any of them previously" which are truly original and raise the thing from the usual carping criticism to something like epistolary art.

As for The Great Gatsby, it has its moments, especially in the narrative of Nick Carraway, but the main guy Gatsby is an empty suit and his play for Daisy is rather shallow and adolescent. Dreiser did it so much better in Sister Carrie and An American Tragedy. Gatsby is still popular in high schools, for good reason, but we did a marathon reading of it here for FSF's centenary and it was sort of embarrassing. Ulysses it ain't. We're proud of him here but we're not deluded. (Gatsby is a slim book and so being pummeld with copies of it is like being pelted with marshmallows.)

Faulkner is such a master and I'd have to think hard about which one is the GAN—maybe Absalom, Absalom—maybe As I Lay Dying. I will try to re-read them this year and report back. Meanwhile, thanks for the letter. It made my day and my day is not so easy to make.

Post to the Host:
On a recent show you talked about Midsummer Day but you got two holidays (Sista April and Midsommar) mixed up.

We do light bonfires—yes—but that is on April 30. We also then have fireworks and sing welcoming the spring after a long, dark winter. I grew up in Sundsvall, Sweden, a town 250 miles south of the Arctic Circle. In the wintertime we had to cover up our rose bushes and other plants with pine tree branches to protect them from the cold and snow. When spring arrived we disposed of these branches and other junk with a bonfire. My mother one year set fire to an old bug-infested couch. The flying/popping springs were better than fireworks! Midsummer is celebrated on the longest day of the year, approx. June 20. We dress the May pole (midsommar stangen) with wild flowers and after raising the pole we dance around it and sing traditional Swedish songs. I have lived in the US since 1971 and miss these two holidays tremendously. Last year I visited my daughter in San Francisco and we attended a Swedish midsummer fest more Swedish than a midsummer in Sweden. It was in Sveadal close to Morgan Hill - a small Swedish community that has celebrated midsummer for 114 years!!!!

Sincerely,
Charlotte H.

Midsummer is not part of my tradition, Charlotte, as you probably could tell from what I said—I grew up American fundamentalist and we never danced around a Maypole though we did make bonfires on occasion but usually to incinerate things, not for celebration. We believed we would be joyful in heaven and so we were cautious about earthly amusements, thinking them inferior. The Midsummer I witnessed was in Denmark, not Sweden, and it was celebrated as St. Hans Day (Sankt Hans). On the radio I was recalling a party at Ole and Hanne's farm near Svendborg on the island of Fyn, at which we ate a late dinner at long tables in the garden (Greenland shrimp, lamb, small potatoes, salad, and aebleskiver) and then trooped down to a hill overlooking the sea and young men lit an enormous pile of brush and debris. In the center of the pile, mounted on a pole, was an effigy of a witch. Everyone cheered when she caught fire. We stood around the bonfire and sang songs to St. John and to anything and anybody else and as the fire burned down, men took turns running and jumping over it. Across the water, on the coast of an island opposite, you could see bonfires burning. I think I may have, in my story, referred to that as the coast of Sweden, but of course it wasn't. And good for you that you caught this inaccuracy. It proves that some people actually listen closely to the radio and that we should take pains to say what we mean. I never had heard of a little Swedish community in the Bay Area, but three cheers for Sveadal. Hip hip HURRA hip hip HURRA hip hip HURRA.

Dear Mr. G.K.,
Six years after graduating with my bachelors in English, after a tragic and damaging student teaching experience I am working very hard to overcome and finally leave behind me, I am considering a return for my Masters in English, focusing a a lot of energy in Creative Writing, a favorite pass-time since 2nd grade. What advice might you give to someone who is just not sure if he is ready to go back for more, or wondering if this is, indeed, the right path to take (especially after student teaching depleted my spirits and my dreams of teaching I'd had for so long)?

All the very best,
Andy

Skip the MFA in creative writing, Andy. It's a scam run by English departments to fatten their coffers and doesn't do you much good except as a social club (you can find better ones elsewhere). You're apt to find star faculty who never teach and a whole lot of semi-published writers doing the teaching and the prevailing culture is one of mutual flattery. You waste two years hearing people tell you how wonderful you are and then you graduate and find out that nobody wants to read your stuff. If you want to write, sit down for a few weeks with the most gripping book you've ever read and analyze it to a fine hair—how it's organized, the structure, the time sequence, the characterizations—and then set out and write something similar. Don't turn up your nose at genre fiction—which MFA programs tend to do. Learn how to write a workmanlike novel. And if it doesn't get accepted for publication, no problem—go on and write another one. You're young, you have plenty of time. I wish I had done this when I was your age instead of drifting along on my own whims. Writing is a craft and you need to learn the craft before you can think about yourself as an artist. MFA programs start out by spraying genius aroma on you and that does nobody any good at all. It's a classic pyramid scheme. Don't go there unless there's a teacher whose feet you long to sit at and even so, don't inhale too deeply. And learn to spell "pastime".

Dear Mr. Keillor,
I guess after some 25 years as a loyal listener (and of course, consumer of your books and disks) one is bound to hear material on a PHC airing that would feel very un Lake Wobegon.

Maybe it's especially that the past two days, like all gays, i've been suffering the too-frequent newscaster exaltation of Jesse Helms, but i could not believe my ears this eve when one of your Noir actors said, "You look like a fruitcake!"

Mr. Keillor, surely you know that is a degrading slur to countless numbers of your fans. This also puts you in the company of Focus on the Family's James Dobson, who just last week used the word 'fruitcake' referring to Obama's Bible.

As you know professionally, once a word has been broadcast, it's transferred to the universe, reinforcing a truth—or, sadly, ugly prejudice.

Over the years, I have written you thanks for your extraordinarily beautiful body of work and will continue to site you as a key reason for renewing my WNYC membership.

Never, ever could i have imagined that i'd need to write this note to you.

With great respect,

Jamie L.
New York

The character who says, "It makes you look like a fruitcake" is a Chicago street character, a tough guy, and the word is part of his idiom. But he doesn't mean he thinks Guy Noir is gay. He just means that he looks nutty. Where I come from, "fruitcake" doesn't have such a specific connotation. "Nuttier than a fruitcake" has been around forever, and the term can be applied in various ways, and not implying effeminacy or swishiness or anything of the sort. So I do not "know that it is a degrading slur to countless numbers" of PHC fans. I am not in that business. I don't keep track of Mr. Dobson or Jesse Helms, and I don't plan to. Sorry this caused you distress.

Post to the Host:
as a member of your generation i was deeply insulted and hurt by comments at the top of your July 5th show in which you apologized for our generation revolting and getting things 'wrong'.

oh yeah?

members of our generation helped create Earth Day, the environmental movement and the "green movement" back in the late 60s and early 70s. many of us said back then that alternative energy was the way to go and pollution was killing the planet.

members of our generation protested the war, which was senseless and pointless and hurt a lot of innocent young men and others. and here we are again in a war and today's generation can't be bothered to demonstrate. oh, that's right —we had the draft to worry about didn't we? compulsory service, guys like me graduating with a draft card at age 18, futures interrurpted members of our generation must have been pretty cool and pretty sharp because today's rock music and fashion is STILL stealing/borrowing from what we did back then.

our generation helped introduce something akin to rational tolerance and equality into america—no small feat. maybe you weren't getting chased by the cops gary, but many of us were.

you think our generation ruined the '68 democratic convention? interrupting the convention of a party that escalated vietnam and overreacted by cracking kids' heads?

you're embarrassed by your generation because a few lunkheads took too much dope and made some arrogant political statements? ok, so what, every generation has some of these.

if you feel bad for what happened in the 60s, fine. but do me a favor and don't apologize for ME, thank you very much. i'm not embarrassed by it at all. i no longer look cool and groovy in a pony tail, i never did wear bell bottoms or tie dye, but the 60s gave me hope i never lost, unlike the cynicism of other generations.

sorry you had such a bad time
A listener

The giveaway was the line about our mothers telling us we couldn't swim for an hour after eating or we'd get cramps and drown and our discovering that they were wrong and that turning us against authority: that was your cue that this was a joke. Sorry you missed it.

Dear Garrison,
My wife and I had the pleasure of attending your Tanglewood show this past weekend. Among the evening's many highlights was the hourlong set of music after the show, featuring popular hymns, ballads, and standards. Talk about giving an audience a bang for its buck! Do you regularly perform this much after a show? And do you ever feel like a musician trapped in a writer's body?

Elvis would be proud!

Rob

It's become a habit at Tanglewood for the lawn dwellers to come down into the shed after the show and clap until we come back onstage and it seems to me that what they want to do is sing songs together, not necessarily hear me perform, and so we lean around and sing all the songs we think everybody knows—Home on The Range, Can't Help Falling In Love, Bye Bye Love, Old Man River, America the Beautiful, I've Been Working On The Railroad, Abilene, Down In The Valley, Amazing Grace—until people have had enough. In most cities, people have had enough at the end of the show and they clap and go home, but at Tanglewood for some reason a good share of the crowd wants to hang around. Maybe there's not that much to do in the Berkshires. Maybe people are handing out their business cards. Maybe pickpockets are working the crowd. I don't know. But it's always fun. I don't think Elvis did that, though. He left the building rather promptly after his last song. But people knew his songs and would've been thrilled to sing with him. Ah well, some things you never learn if you die young.