But to return to those emails. Several things are clear even from the few I quoted - and I do know that these are teenagers who never write formal letters with a pen on paper, but whose natural mode of communication is text and email. I have no objection to informal phrasing and a direct approach, I understand that they write and send in an instant, do not reread or spell- check. I hope I am not stuffy, but I do object to "Hi Sue". Nobody ever calls me "Sue" and it is impolite to shorten someone's first name automatically. If they sign "Joshua", I do not reply "Dear Josh". I don't require deference, just friendly politeness. But it is not their fault. They have not been taught. Nobody has said, "If you write to the author of a book you are studying, you should address them politely as ‘Dear Miss Hill'." Manners are not automatic, like breathing. Nor is grammar. I suppose I could correct the spelling and grammar errors, but if I did so, replying to their desperate emails would take me twice as long.

But what about attitude? That depends. I do not mind informality but rudeness and even abuse get short shrift. I do not ignore them, I reply in no uncertain terms and it is often pleasantly surprising to receive a charming apology, such as this one: "Dear Mrs Hill, I was dead out of order, I am really, really sorry. I hope you forgive me. I didn't mean to be rude and reading what I wrote I see now I was, only I was a bit stressed out, so please forgive me and I take back about saying your book was crap. I'm reeeellly sorry. Love from..."

I often tackle straightforward questions by suggesting where they might find out the answers for themselves and I often wonder how far they have simply not had some things explained to them clearly enough and how far they have been listening to their iPods at the time. I always correct any misinformation and, above all, I try to help them to see that the text stands alone and that their opinion of it has value, provided they have read it carefully and can explain why they find that something carries a particular meaning. I go on to explain that I may not have put that meaning there consciously, because so much of what a writer does is unconscious, but that nevertheless it is valid. This usually comes as a revelation and that is one of the tremendous advantages of studying a living author. I, that author, can give students permission to interpret my novel as they wish, encourage them to articulate their findings and validate the meanings they uncover for themselves in my text, even if those meanings are new to me. Those interpretations are often fresh and insightful and rarely as far-fetched and obscure as those of many an academic critic. If only I could have had such validation for my interpretations from Hardy and George Eliot and Donne.