Edgar Allen Poe’s piece, “The Raven”, was on the brink of being titled “The Parrot” – this is a fine example of the process of write, cut, and rewrite

Try to picture a universe in which Edgar Allen Poe’s melancholy poem The Raven was instead named The Parrot. A concept that sends shivers down your spine akin to “midnight dreary”. Such a concept invokes the comedic chatter of “Who’s a pretty boy, then?”, over the iconic utterance of “Nevermore”. Strangely enough, this scenario almost came to pass, and it epitomises the myriad illuminating editorial decisions that ended up abandoned, such as those covered in the book Write Cut Rewrite.

Delve into the discarded drafts and annotations of a variety of famous authors in this sophisticated anthology, and discover their “murdered darlings”. Renowned writers such as Austen, Bennett, Chandler, Kafka, Imlah, Oswald, Pym, and the Shelleys all practised the art of chopping and changing text, creating alternate conclusions, undergoing censorship, appreciating savvy editorial inputs or reimagining their whole text.

Write Cut Rewrite is an absorbing compendium filled with fascinating scripts, provisional drafts and budding compositions waiting to reach their ultimate state, complemented by the astute commentary from the authors. The focus is primarily on modern manuscripts, defined in this instance as anything post-18th century, but worry not, because content from the digital era is well represented.

Venture a sneak peek at the scant remnants of Jane Austen’s manuscripts, the majority of which were unfortunately discarded post-publication, whereas the manuscripts of her male counterparts were treasured as mementoes of their prowess.

Spare a thought for the unfortunate individual faced with the labour-intensive task of transcribing Beckett’s migraine-triggering handwriting – his manuscript for Not I is just one of several showcased here. It is nonetheless compelling to investigate his discarded content from the preliminary formats, testament to his commitment to continuous editing and rewriting, mirroring Louise Bourgeois’ philosophy of “I do, I undo and I redo”.

Beckett often unleashed his creativity on the right page and saturated the left with random doodles, allowing his imagination to roam free – a possible essential escape for an author dedicated to refining words to make them sound rawer. Contrarily, Christina Rossetti’s poetic notebooks showcase her elegance, patterned in gorgeous cursive, but didn’t stop her from ruthlessly tearing away sections containing dismissed stanzas, echoing the emotional turmoil of poetry.

One better delves into the book to completely internalise the eccentric imaginativeness: James Joyce’s “notesnatching” method culminating in Finnegans Wake; brief views of the scant sheets retained by Jane Austen, as her drafts were largely discarded post-publication (it’s worth observing that male poets’ manuscripts from her time were conserved, hallowed as tokens of their prowess); John le Carré working diligently for half a year on the beginning of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy; and Wilfred Owen bravely striving towards “the old lie” in Dulce et decorum est. It presents a perfect justification for taking a respite from your writing desk.

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