Social Proof
What people are saying about The Literary Salon with Thaddeus Thomas.
“That example you gave, Cole driving the horse along the fence, where the writing slows and soaks up the moment like it is some kind of rite. No one had ever explained sentence length to me like that before.”
A DM from
:Hey, I prefer to fanboy you in private. You have plenty of eyes on you already. I just wanted to say I really appreciate everything you do for writers here. Your takes on Cormac McCarthy especially hit home for me. I have a complicated relationship with McCarthy’s work. He is not all that well known in Portugal, where I live, and the person who first introduced me to his writing ended up being tied to a painful chapter in my life. Even now I feel a shake when I see his books on the shelf. The poisoned fruit, I guess. Strangely enough, I have come to feel it was all worth it. A lot of people teach McCarthy to new writers but all they seem to talk about is who the hell is the judge and the whole devil theory, when sometimes it could just be a literary device. A way for the writing to say strange things. When the real weight is in the words on the page. Why he did this or that. Then I came across one of your early posts. You mentioned how sentence length can anchor you inside a moment. That example you gave, Cole driving the horse along the fence, where the writing slows and soaks up the moment like it is some kind of rite. No one had ever explained sentence length to me like that before. Every time you post something along those lines I end up going back to revise a story of mine. Your explanations are sharp, funny, humble. Also, I like your fiction. Both for what you say and what you leave unsaid. I read a lot of well-written stuff on Substack but it feels like every sentence is built like a stained-glass window. All feeling, no hierarchy, no contrast. Should the chapter or the book be the window? After a while it is like getting waterboarded. Anyway, do not feel weird about me reaching out. I just wanted to say thanks for the work you put out. And I will be updating my subscription as soon as I can.
Reference: The Secret of Style: Part II
“Now I am actually having fun writing and revising.”
When I asked if I could credit him for his comment, Nuno replied:
You can credit me. Do not thank me. This was big for me. How you show that the reader understands a story, whether it is there on the page or hidden beneath that flat line of prose. I know I am fanboying again, but your series on writing kind of shook up my writing. I probably would not be writing at all if not for it. It is a lot easier to write with a bigger philosophy in mind, something beyond just picking words. Like hitting those big emotions, building rituals, hiding symbols. It has helped me with word choice, sentence length, and even sparked new images and ideas to break through blocks. Is that not what show, do not tell is really about? The image in your mind before it ever reaches the page. Just type as is. I was completely off on this before, always focusing on the details first instead of the big picture. Now I am actually having fun writing and revising, at least to the best of my abilities. It feels like I am finally learning. Thank you for that.
“What’s beautiful is that he’s using the same analytical tools I was taught in school—but wielding them in a way that actually sparks wonder.”
The following references The Failure of Analyzing Cormac McCarthy, part of my series on All the Pretty Horses.
The text:
This post began as a reply to Thaddeus Thomas’s reply to a comment I left on his piece The Failure of Analyzing Cormac McCarthy. I found the title ironic, because it marked the first time I’d read a literary analysis of a book I’d recently finished and felt, for once, that I hadn’t been failed.
I’ve always loved literature—I was one of those kids who gleefully did the assigned reading in high school. And yet, every time we analyzed a text in class, I felt a strange kind of disappointment. We covered historical context, the literary movement, the academic framework, the formal features—and don’t get me wrong, I had excellent teachers. Professors Lisman and Lăzărescu were true leaders in their field. My dear friend and classmate, Dem Mihăescu, is probably the best Romanian poet of our generation. But still, something felt missing.
Now, reading Mr. Thomas’s analysis (whether one calls it a failure or a triumph), I realize the problem may have been in the premises. As alexander gradus put it recently: we were taught to pass exams—reading literature as homework. But what Mr. Thomas does is something altogether different. He doesn’t provide answers. He asks questions—questions that stirred me, made me want to reread All the Pretty Horses just to catch myself off guard.
And what’s beautiful is that he’s using the same analytical tools I was taught in school—but wielding them in a way that actually sparks wonder. To put it succinctly: he’s speaking my language, but asking entirely new questions.
A wonderful series that I can’t recommend enough—for lovers of McCarthy and for anyone curious about what real engagement with literature can look like.
“From the get-go, Thaddeus stood out. What was different about him was that he was earnest, and I am very pleased that my opinion has only improved.
“Thaddeus genuinely cares about literature. He's serious about his own work, and he's serious about promoting the work of others.”
“I got out a pad and pen and took notes, adding my own thought for later reference.”
“Man, the Literary Salon is THE stack to be subscribed to if you’re a fiction writer.”
“I’ve been looking for a source that digs into style at the sentence level. Thaddeus’s page is the best I’ve come across so far.”
