I like to think I am becoming a connoisseur of rejection letters, having had my application for admission to a doctoral program declined by various prestigious doctoral programs in English this year. I have sipped rejection at its finest and I have swished and spat it at its worst.
The most atrocious rejection letter I received this year was stylistically flawless, exhibiting magnificent tact and decorum: Its sender assured me that my rejection was a "difficult decision" made necessary by the "few available slots" for incoming students. The writer then concluded by praising the "many fine candidates" who were interested in joining the program.
Its form, however, left quite a bit to be desired. The otherwise polite letter was rather impolitely sent to the e-mail in boxes of approximately 300 rejected candidates. Nor was it distributed through the use of the discreet "blind carbon copy" function. Instead, the sender simply copied and pasted the e-mail addresses of all 300 applicants into the "cc" box -- thereby making public all of our names.
We had all supplied the respected East Coast university with our professional e-mail addresses, which usually contain all or part of a user's real name. In doing so, we had inadvertently facilitated the public display of our rejection. The day after I received this department-sponsored spam, I got an e-mail message from a colleague confirming her rejection from the same program. Her message began, "I bet you can guess where I got your e-mail address."
The experience left me (and several hundred other people) feeling angry. Some applicants used the rejection letter's little black book to create a de facto listserv of rage, which they used to vent their emotions.
While I was similarly peeved, I also wondered why this rejection had hurt more than the other five I had received earlier. I decided that my displeasure was due, in part, to its late mailing date. This particular letter bumbled into my in box on the afternoon of May 5, a solid month too late to affect me. By that point, I had already accepted a temporary teaching position, as well as the idea of taking a year off from graduate study.
The fact that it was an e-mail message instead of a physical, shreddable letter also riled me, though not as much as you might think. The e-mail rejection letter has achieved a sort of vogue in the past few years, forcing me and my colleagues to come to terms with it. Eminent English programs such as Duke University's have ceased mailing paper letters. Instead, they allow applicants to view their decision letters online as PDF files (complete with official letterhead).
While that approach merely trades impersonal, thin letters for impersonal, thin electronic ones, other doctoral programs use a more personalized approach in their e-mail rejection letters, which can be vastly less grating. The University of Texas now sends brief, individualized electronic rejections to applicants promising that they will soon receive an official letter from the graduate school. So you get the best of both rejection formats: the pat-on-the-back e-mail message from the department, as well as the austere sensibility of a formal letter.
The speed and surety of e-mail rejection letters is admirable. They are seldom lost in the hustle and bustle of Internet mail delivery -- unlike physical rejections, which seem to disappear in mail trucks with alarming frequency. If, by dint of superhuman qualifications, an applicant has other graduate schools from which to choose, fast e-mail rejections may help him or her make a decision sooner.
A quick e-mail message can also prevent awkward campus visits by unknowingly rejected applicants. One of my colleagues received a painful but helpful message in that vein. He was planning to make a long, expensive drive to visit his first choice, but the department head was merciful enough to send my friend a note tactfully explaining that he needn't bother.
E-mail rejections enable graduate programs to be personable, efficient, and quick in their dismissals. Unfortunately, as my recent experience suggests, there is a dark side to the new medium.
Used poorly, e-mail can make the rejection process look downright seedy. First, the very speed that blesses the technology also curses it. When academics use e-mail, they seem to free themselves from the concern for language that helps define their work environment. They sacrifice accuracy for rapidity. One of my e-mail rejection letters began, "Dear Appliciant."
Second, e-mail is inherently inferior to paper mail. The physical rejection letter has become something of a badge of honor. It can be tacked to a corkboard, torn to shreds, or shown to friends. The rejection e-mail conveys little or no authority or prestige, even when you print it out. It arrives in the same place one receives all-capped advertisements for inexpensive Viagra.
Finally, e-mail rejection risks depicting the selection process as a processing plant. One imagines herds of academic cattle being corralled into a "carbon copy" pen and then converted into spam. E-mail can easily cheapen the process by suggesting that programs would rather not waste postage on throwaway candidates.
Yet those candidates have paid upwards of $100 each to be considered for admission. The disparity between student expenditure and program response draws unfortunate attention to the fiscal side of the matter.
What can graduate programs wishing to use e-mail rejections do to avoid those pitfalls? For starters, they can simply be aware of their impending uphill battle against crassness. If such programs decide that the risks of seeming unprofessional are too great, they might, like the University of Texas, choose to use e-mail rejection as a secondary measure only.
Programs that decide the benefits of e-mail rejection outweigh its potential harm should take into account a few rules of etiquette:
-
An e-mailed rejection should arrive at a reasonable date; it must validate its existence by virtue of its speed. A late e-mail adds unnecessary insult to necessary injury.
-
E-mail rejections should also be at least as personalized and professional as print letters. Program directors would do well to remember that candidates are individuals as well as "appliciants."
-
Finally, programs must remember to use the "blind carbon copy" function when sending out mass rejections. Print letters do not contain lists of rejected candidates, so why should their electronic cousins?
We all know that e-mail is a medium with the potential to revolutionize, if not replace, print rejection letters. But it's a medium with some inherent flaws that threaten to taint the selection process in its entirety. I hope graduate programs take those flaws into account in the coming months, for this is one rejection connoisseur who looks forward to sniffing some improved bouquets next spring.
