Neal Stephenson: Recluse

Some years ago, I began to receive e-mail from strangers, almost all of them perfectly reasonable and well-mannered sorts, who wanted to get in touch with me for one reason or another. I was unable to respond to all of this e-mail without its having a detrimental effect on my work, and so I posted a Web page explaining that I did not have time to answer all of my e-mail. To my astonishment, this actually increased the amount of e-mail that I received. All of it began with some variation on the phrase ``I have read your Web page explaining why you don't answer unsolicited e-mail, but I think you'll make an exception in my case because...'' Consequently, I had to post another web page reiterating what the first one had said, somewhat more forcefully. 

Not long after, I saw myself referred to somewhere as "reclusive."

Now, since I live in a crowded neighborhood in a populous city and socialize with people every day, and frequently take part in parties, dinners, etc., I found it very strange that I should be characterized in this way. I do like to have a fair bit of time to myself each day, so that I can get work done. But outside of that, I am quite sociable. If anything, I am one of the least reclusive persons I know. Clearly, the person who had tagged me as ``reclusive'' was responding to my Web page in which I explained why I could not respond to unsolicited e-mail. 

For a while it was difficult for me to understand how this could be confused with reclusivity. Then I had a sort of epiphany, as follows. I walked into a friend's house where a television set happened to be on. It was tuned to one of the all-news channels such as CNN, MSNBC, or FOX (there is no point in my specifying which network exactly). This occurred during the build-up to George W. Bush's invasion of Iraq. Beyond that story, of course, much else was going on: a nuclear standoff in North Korea, global climate change, the hunt for Osama bin Laden, and countless other stories that ought to be covered by the all-news channels but are ignored. The particular news item that filled the screen when I entered the room was that today was the fifty-third birthday of Richard Dean Anderson.

For those of you who are reading this in the distant future, I should explain that there once was a broadcast medium called television, and on it appeared serialized dramas called TV shows, and one of those shows was called MacGyver; by this point (early 2003) it had been defunct for some years, however Richard Dean Anderson had been its lead actor, and the fact of his reaching 53 years of age was deemed worthy of a few moments' screen time by this particular all-news channel.

This is not to be read as criticism of Mr. Anderson. If he saw this news item on the TV, he was probably as taken aback as I was. Rather, it is to make a point about how our culture assigns priorities to current events. A society in which news about an impending war is interrupted to announce the birthday of an actor, will categorize as reclusive a man, of a normal level of sociability, who posts a Web page explaining why he does not have sufficient time to answer all of his unsolicited e-mail.