Nicholas Sparks,

Not romance at all

I just read your interview on usatoday.com and was so overwhelmed that I had to respond. I guess there is no point in beating around the bush, so I’ll just come out and express my gratitude at your giving such an enlightening interview. Poking one’s head around in the literary world today can be so disheartening, and today I was very happy to learn that there is still someone out there with the wit, cordiality, and humility rivaling that of America’s greatest authors. As a novice writer, I often feel like I’m lost in the oceanic depths grasping at whatever happens to float by, but you’ve given me hope.

I must admit—with no small degree of embarrassment—that I have yet to read any of your novels. I generally avoid shopping for books at the grocery store, so I haven’t really been exposed to your work. If I had, I suppose your sense of humor wouldn’t have caught me off guard. It was such a subtle joke that I almost missed it. You set it up quite well.

First you explained the nature of your work:

What is the purpose of what I do? These are love stories. They went from (Greek tragedies), to Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, then Jane Austen did it, put a new human twist on it. Hemingway did it with A Farewell to Arms.

Here you’ve established your ambition to be a part of the highest echelon of literature, stretching from ancient Greece to modern times. I admit that it’s something I desire of my own work, so I completely understand where you’re coming from. I understand that craving for greatness. Here is where you tripped me up:

“Horrible,” [Sparks] says, looking at Blood Meridian. “This is probably the most pulpy, overwrought, melodramatic cowboy vs. Indians story ever written.”

Now I had to think about this for a minute or two. Why would Sparks express his interest in belonging on the shelves with the greatest of literary works yet slander Blood Meridian—a book that most modern literary critics agree to be one of the greatest novels of the last fifty years? Then you went on to say that Cormac McCarthy deserves your criticism. I admit I was shocked, but then I realized it was a shining example of irony. In a very witty way you’ve revealed that great books are impervious to criticism, thus implying that the multitude of literary critics who label your own work as melodramatic romance have no strength to their arguments. Greatness is greatness. You’ve illustrated that perfectly.

I also admire your humility. You go on to say about Hemingway:

A Farewell to Arms. Good stuff. That’s what I write.

Sparks with key business partner Miley Cyrus

Now what you said here was that your work is equivalent in cultural value to Hemingway’s. Hemingway is inarguably one of the prize possessions of the American literary canon, which makes your statement quite striking. I think what you meant to say was that Hemingway is an inspiration for you—that you want to write works on par with A Farewell to Arms. If you had actually meant that your novels rivaled those of Hemingway, I would have written you off as hopelessly arrogant. It’s important for writers to have a sense of humility, of modesty. I’m glad you realize that.

Again, Mr. Sparks, I can’t thank you enough for granting that interview. I realize how difficult it is to tear yourself away from writing—it takes a special talent to breathe new life into the same plot repeatedly, and I imagine you must be at it sixteen hours per day. You’ve given hope to all the young writers out there. We should all be so lucky to have even a fraction of the grace and poise you’ve so clearly shown. The next time I’m waiting to get my prescription filled at the pharmacy, I’ll be sure to check out the wall across from the magazine rack. You’ve published fifteen novels in the last fourteen years, so I must confess I’m a little intimidated. I guess I should start with one of the six that were made into date movies. Those seem to be the most promising.

In awe,
-Patrick Nathan