I don’t know which is more discouraging, literature or chickens.

White’s quip sets two kinds of labor side by side: the solitary, uncertain work of writing (“literature”) and the stubbornly practical work of keeping chickens. Both can be dispiriting in similar ways—each demands daily attention, offers no guaranteed payoff, and is vulnerable to forces outside one’s control (taste, luck, illness, predators, weather). The humor comes from the incongruity of pairing high art with barnyard husbandry, a contrast White often used to deflate pretension while acknowledging real frustration. The line also suggests a rural-writer’s sensibility: creative ambition and homestead chores compete for energy, and both can feel like uphill battles.