[NOTE: Early in its existence, McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern, Dave Eggers & Co.’s always visually inventive and oft-outstanding humor/literary magazine, made the astounding offer, especially in retrospect, of a lifetime subscription for a meager one hundred dollars (yes, that’s $100! total! for life! for a book-sized magazine with a retail price of $16-24 a pop!). I jumped at the offer, which has turned out to be without a doubt my only sound financial investment ever. Many a time, I’ve looked back fondly on that decision (twenty-some issues later) as my one big lottery win, and, yes, my slightly intimate connection to a great publication. And then, last week, I got the above letter (for a readable-sized version, click here and then you can also click on the image to further enlarge it) in the mail, in effect, asking me to relinquish my windfall. This has raised my Man-hackles, to say the least, and so I have responded thusly]:
Dear McSweeney’s Persons, especially those who thought it was a good idea to send out a letter suggesting that those of us who were lucky/savvy enough to sign on for hundred-dollar lifetime subscriptions a long time ago should now fork out additional dough:
It is with no small regret that I am, with this missive, likely about to forgo any chance of ever being published in or otherwise collaborating with your fine publication.
I find myself compelled to write you angrily regarding the letter and "Proposal" you recently sent to lifetime subscribers thanking us for helping you through your “infancy” but now inquiring whether we might be willing to “move on,” that is, to begin paying you for a “normal yearly” subscription, now that you’re a full-grown and thriving professional magazine. In short, I respond: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?
I don’t know how my fellow McSweLotto winners feel, but I have proudly cherished the fact that I helped put you through the litmag equivalent of law school, and that I got in, til death do us part, at around issue three for a hundred bucks (a c-note that I could scarcely afford at the time, I might add, but it seemed important to you, so I wrote the check and ate ramen for a few more weeks). I have remained a loyal reader and supporter (I have since purchased several other McSweeneysian products for which I was more than happy to pay full price).
The letter initially poses as an address-update request, but quickly shifts gears, becoming akin to one of those phone calls from a friend you haven’t heard from in years and thought you never would again, who’s calling out of the blue just to say hi, he’s missed you, man, and then about two minutes in tells you he was just, er, well, he’s finally finished that novel he’s been working on forever, you remember, the one about 18th Century Greenland, and yeah it feels really great to be done and all but oh hey, are you still friends with that agent friend of yours, ‘cause he’s having a heck of a time getting anyone to read the dang thing, and how’s your work going, geez it’s been a while.
If any literary magazine needn’t be asking extra cash of or emotionally blackmailing its readers, it’s McSweeney’s (Okay, maybe Poetry is doing a teensy bit better financially, but you take my point) [NOTE: It has been brought to my attention since writing this post that the McSweeney’s empire has taken a big financial hit recently. See one of my follow-up posts, below for a link about that.] That jokey but manipulative “move on” bit and the disingenuous, guilt-tripping “it’s totally up to you” whether we take your “offer” (oh, and the quaint use of the word "Proposal" in lieu of "Divorce Petition")? What were you thinking? And the bonuses for us to start forking up the yearly fee – especially the staff-autographed “Certificate of Lifelong Grattitude” – I can’t help but find insulting, yucky, treating us as if we’re your screaming fans, akin to, say, Justin Timberlake’s, not your readers, perhaps even peers in the struggle, a stance that McSweeney’s has always taken and one that that until now I’ve thought was at least semi-genuine.
Did anyone at the shame-the-lifetime-subscribers meeting suggest that maybe you should make a point of telling those lifers who decided to keep the greatest deal they’d ever gotten that you’re proud of us for having the confidence in and love of McSweeney’s so early on and would be more than happy to keep sending us our subscription? No, you said that you really want to “move on” but that “it’s totally up you you,” as in, sure, babe, whatever, it’s totally up to you where we go out to dinner tonight, but like, you totally picked that place last time that was wicked overpriced and used egg noodles in their pad thai, but it’s totally up to you, no, really.
So, thank you for offering not to divorce me even though you really want to now that you’re big. And, thus, yes I’ll take the second choice you offer: “You’ll have to pry my Lifetime Subscription from my cold, dead hands.” And yes, my address is current, thank you so very much for your concern. From now on, though, sadly, I won’t be watching the mail for that next issue quite as eagerly and I’ll be reading with a tinge of bitterness (and a hint of guilt, as you and the 826es do do great work with much of the money you earn) what I used to look forward to eagerly and unqualifiedly.
Disappointedly yours,
Jamie Berger
