In his first letter in the collection, he wished the white mice that had infested his family home were not as smelly as they were; if they were not, he would quite like them. In one of the last letters he ever wrote, he encourages a friend to get up enough courage to see the dentist. Between the two, Orwell (Eric Arthur Blair) wrote to friends, family, fans and acquaintances. His letters to T. S. Eliot, Stephen Spender, Arthur Koestler, Cyril Connelly, and Henry Miller come from Burma, England, Spain and around the world, and their contents are fascinating. In them he advises, cajoles, and makes frank comments about his own work and life. He is always witty, regardless of how serious he is about the topic; he is always forthcoming with the motivations behind his work. Davison, the editor of twenty volumes of Orwell's Complete Works, makes the point that a surprising number of people who received letters from him kept them, so we are fully aware of the stages and places of his life, from pupil to teacher to writer, to Spain, the BBC, through World War II, Jura, Hairmyres, and finally to University College Hospital where he died in 1950 of a lung aneurism. Liveright Publishing is an imprint of W. W. Norton. Annotation ©2013 Book News, Inc., Portland, OR (booknews.com) Read Less