Read The Careful Use of Compliments for Free Online
Authors: Alexander McCall Smith
whether she wished simply to be with Charlie; but another part of her, the responsible part, felt she should deal with the pile of correspondence that she had started to tackle the previous day but that she had abandoned in favour of the auctioneerâs catalogue. There were two horses in the soul, she thought, as Socrates had said in Phaedrus âthe one, unruly, governed by passions, pulling in the direction of self-indulgence; the other, restrained, dutiful, governed by a sense of shame. And Auden had felt the same, she thought; he was a dualist who knew the struggle between the dark and the light sides of the self, the struggle that all of us know to a greater or lesser extent.
She sighed. âWork,â she said. She had never sighed over the prospect of work before; but now there was Charlie.
As Grace took Charlie from the room, Isabel sat down at her pile of mail. It had grown that morning by five letters, pushed through the letter box by the postman on his morning round, all of them concerned with Review affairs. She disposed of the top two quickly. One was a request for a further supply of offprints of her article by an author who had lost her carefully husbanded supply which the Review gave on publication. The offprints had been mislaid in the course of a move following the breakup of a relationship. Isabel had stumbled over this. Why was it necessary for her to be told that the move had been prompted by this? Was it an attempt to engage her sympathy so that the offprints would be given free, or was it an excuse for the loss itselfâa life thrown into disarray by the bad behaviour of another? Isabel looked up at the ceiling and pondered this; if one was to err, then it was better to err on the side of generosity. The offprints would be free, and she wrote a note to that effect. The second letter asked why a book review of Virtues in a Time of Trial had not yet appeared; that, too, was easily dealt with. The reviewer had died, of old age as it happened, before writing the review. A new reviewer had been approached and the review would appear in due course.
Ten minutes: that was all it took to read and reply to these letters. At this rate, Isabel thought, she would be finished in an hour, possibly even earlier. But then came an innocent-looking envelope, addressed in handwriting, and postmarked London.
She slit open the envelope and began to read the letter. The letterhead, once exposed, told her who the sender wasâthe oddly named Professor Lettuce, professor of moral philosophy at one of the smaller universities in London, and chairman of the Review âs editorial board. In general, Robert Lettuce played a small role in the affairs of the Review, being content to allow Isabel to run everything. She reported to him and the board from time to time and he, in due course, reported to the Review âs owners, a small academic publishing firm. This firm published textbooks in veterinary science and biology; the Review of Applied Ethics came into its possession almost by accident when it bought the building occupied by the private trust that owned the Review. In the trusteesâ relief at selling a building that had been a drain on finances, the Review had been thrown into the sale as a gesture of goodwill. The new owners were lukewarm about their ownership and had occasionally mentioned their willingness to sell the Review, should a suitable purchaser be found. But no purchaser had ever expressed more than a passing interest in a concern that made very little profit, if any at all. So there had been no change in ownership.
She read halfway through the letter, put it down for a few moments, and then picked it up to read the remainder.
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Dear Isabel,
As you know, Iâve enjoyed working with you over the last five years. [Heâs going to resign, she thought as she read this.] We have had very few disagreements, and I must say that I have always been very impressed with your editing of
She sighed. âWork,â she said. She had never sighed over the prospect of work before; but now there was Charlie.
As Grace took Charlie from the room, Isabel sat down at her pile of mail. It had grown that morning by five letters, pushed through the letter box by the postman on his morning round, all of them concerned with Review affairs. She disposed of the top two quickly. One was a request for a further supply of offprints of her article by an author who had lost her carefully husbanded supply which the Review gave on publication. The offprints had been mislaid in the course of a move following the breakup of a relationship. Isabel had stumbled over this. Why was it necessary for her to be told that the move had been prompted by this? Was it an attempt to engage her sympathy so that the offprints would be given free, or was it an excuse for the loss itselfâa life thrown into disarray by the bad behaviour of another? Isabel looked up at the ceiling and pondered this; if one was to err, then it was better to err on the side of generosity. The offprints would be free, and she wrote a note to that effect. The second letter asked why a book review of Virtues in a Time of Trial had not yet appeared; that, too, was easily dealt with. The reviewer had died, of old age as it happened, before writing the review. A new reviewer had been approached and the review would appear in due course.
Ten minutes: that was all it took to read and reply to these letters. At this rate, Isabel thought, she would be finished in an hour, possibly even earlier. But then came an innocent-looking envelope, addressed in handwriting, and postmarked London.
She slit open the envelope and began to read the letter. The letterhead, once exposed, told her who the sender wasâthe oddly named Professor Lettuce, professor of moral philosophy at one of the smaller universities in London, and chairman of the Review âs editorial board. In general, Robert Lettuce played a small role in the affairs of the Review, being content to allow Isabel to run everything. She reported to him and the board from time to time and he, in due course, reported to the Review âs owners, a small academic publishing firm. This firm published textbooks in veterinary science and biology; the Review of Applied Ethics came into its possession almost by accident when it bought the building occupied by the private trust that owned the Review. In the trusteesâ relief at selling a building that had been a drain on finances, the Review had been thrown into the sale as a gesture of goodwill. The new owners were lukewarm about their ownership and had occasionally mentioned their willingness to sell the Review, should a suitable purchaser be found. But no purchaser had ever expressed more than a passing interest in a concern that made very little profit, if any at all. So there had been no change in ownership.
She read halfway through the letter, put it down for a few moments, and then picked it up to read the remainder.
Â
Dear Isabel,
As you know, Iâve enjoyed working with you over the last five years. [Heâs going to resign, she thought as she read this.] We have had very few disagreements, and I must say that I have always been very impressed with your editing of