Or Jerry. That was the "J" in J.D. Salinger. On a kick during a couple months of college, because I'd already read his books, I turned to a bunch of Salinger biographies. Pretty much all of them lacked any input from the reclusive author himself, but there were plenty of snippets of trivia. About his diet. About his love life. About his home in Cornish, N.H.
Reading about him, I remember thinking it made sense that he locked himself off from the world. I felt sympathetic, even as I mourned his decision not to publish any more books while he was alive. (I still carry a bit of a torch for Holden Caulfield.) Then in my commuting days I listened to Joyce Maynard's "At Home in the World," a memoir about Maynard's relationship with Salinger that began when she was a teenager. She was candid about the details, which were not at all flattering. I mourned again: maybe this misunderstood genius writer was just...human. Unlikably so, viewed from Maynard's perspective.
Salinger died today at the age of 91. I saw the news after I left campus, so I'm mostly reading online comments about his death. Snark abounds. Some people loved him. Some people hated him. The Onion nailed it, as always.
I'm surely sad he's gone and wish him a peaceful rest. And I'm eager to know if he really had 15 unpublished books in a wall safe. But in truth? I feel like J.D. Salinger left this world a long time ago.
I've always feel it strange when satire/parody news sources are more prone to moments of zeitgeist than are "legit" new sources (note: Onion, Jon Stewart, etc.), but I guess it makes complete sense at the same time.
ReplyDeleteI was bummed to hear of J.D., especially after Zinn. Tough week for writers..
-Christopher