Alec Wilder was a man of many contradictions. One of the most prolific American composers, he created hundreds of songs, chamber pieces, and multi-movement solo works, but frequently gave the original manuscripts to friends, often losing track of their existence. In fact, he composed only for friends and angrily refused offers of commissions. He gave away the books he so loved that always hung from the pockets of his rumpled tweed jackets. Wilder was intensely private, yet so profoundly literate that his thoughts were as moving and evocative in conversation as they were in his writings. He detested the American media machine and seemed to derail intentionally several projects that would have brought wide recognition, yet he craved validation of his compositions and even his musicianship. Wilder claimed to be a coward in life, but he had enormously strong convictions about music, art, and society, and he did not hesitate to proclaim them loudly and vociferously. He was often lonely, yet he had a personality that, by many accounts, could fill a room. He possessed a charm that he claimed served as a smokescreen for what he termed his “terror.” New York's legendary Algonquin Hotel was his home base for half a century while he traveled the country on the trains that he adored. He was a nomad and a loner, yet his warmth and dedication created a circle of friends, each of whom was made to feel as though he or she was Wilder's closest confidant. A group of his friends who remain committed to his memory now meet annually in New York City for a concert of his many-faceted music, now officially calling themselves The Friends of Alec Wilder.

Wilder's friends and associates formed the basis for Letters I Never Mailed. Rather than publish an autobiography in standard narrative form, Wilder created more than two hundred letters, literally addressing the story of his life to the people who lived it with him. Because most are identified only by their first name, it is a challenge to determine the addressees of Wilder's letters. For this reason, the book's subtitle, Clues to A Life, is particularly appropriate. Perhaps this phrase indicated Wilder's attempts at self-discovery, but his letters indeed create a biographical puzzle for the reader to solve.