A Scholarly Love Letter
Your Thursday Love Letter 19th February 2026

Become a member of Scholar Square, our online digital community where we put our ethos into practice - and get access to all editions of The Scholarly Letter for free.

Was this newsletter forwarded to you? Sign up to receive weekly letters rooted in curiosity and connection.
 
Know someone who will enjoy The Scholarly Letter? Forward it to them.

All previous editions of The Letter are available on our website.

Online Thumbnail Credits: The Kiss (1897) by Edvard Munch. Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Hi Scholar,

We don’t usually do thematic editions at The Scholarly Letter. But this February, far removed from the usual noise of Valentine’s day, The Critic found herself in an unexpectedly romantic disposition. In turn, this led her to experiment with a genre she had never attempted before: a love letter.

A Scholarly Love Letter

— Written by The Critic

That one afternoon, when you and I sat down together with a cup of coffee, unsure whether we would even be able to make it past the thirty-minute mark, was perhaps how it all started. There had always been a longing to find that one thing which would hold me down, steadily and calmly. But you came to me without warning: bringing with you a sense of un/ease, un/familiarity, and most of all, delight. 

I had planned every excuse possible to get out of this as soon as possible – the algorithmic drip feed of dopamine, the sedative comfort of a pint at the pub, the mindlessness of a seven seasons-long TV series. And yet, when we met for the first time in all real senses, after having previously flirted with you through summaries and discussions online, the hold that everything else had on me weakened. 

As this was happening, I’d hardly paid any attention to ‘you’: who or what you were, what form you had, what constituted you. I could only identify what was happening to me. I didn’t feel the need to check the time or to distract myself. Turning page after page, occasionally stuttering and stammering – unable always to clearly apprehend the complexity you presented – my body was suspended in a state of pleasure, teeming with possibilities. 

In this sense, you were not my subject, only I yours. 

Just over two hours later, the surrounding world coming back into focus once more, I resurfaced from this reverie. We broke off. But looking around me now, as I continued on with my day, there was an undeniable feeling that somehow, something had altered. It was as though I’d put on a pair of rose-tinted glasses. The world around me had been injected with a dose of strange unfamiliarity into it. Far from intimidating me, it intrigued me; it was inviting. Strangely, this unfamiliarity felt familiar, as though it was something I had known and longed for all along.  

Following this encounter, I began to chase this pleasure with intention. Day after day, I took myself to quiet corners here and there, put all that demanded my attention aside, and committed myself to you. And as you exerted your force upon me, I found myself free-falling down into holes I hardly knew existed. Far from being afraid of finding myself in dark unknowns, I found it thrilling. Losing myself in this meditative trance you set me in, there was a sense that I was straying too far. But by this point I was overcome by an intensity so strong that I refused to reign myself back. 

Some might call it obsession, an infatuation. I would have called it, and even do so now, a fervent devotion. I was afflicted by a strong desire to master you. In my mind, this was only a natural response to the intensity of your hold over me. 

But there came a point when this passion with which I was pursuing you took on a troubling shade. My pursuit had become, as I have already said, a quest to gain mastery over you, to come out on top of you. I was becoming less concerned with the wonders and delights you presented, and instead more intent on bending you to my own gains. The same practice, once a virtue, had now transformed into a vice: a pursuit so selfish that the quest became a plundering rather than a pasturing.  

In this sense, you were now my object, something to be taken, extracted, and pillaged. 

This Essay is a Premium Letter