Phonies

Regarding Salinger, I liked John Hodgman’s quip the best.  It went along the lines of, “I prefer to think that Salinger has simply gone even further into seclusion.”  But I couldn’t resist the humor in this, courtesty of The Onion:

Bunch of Phonies Mourn J.D. Salinger

CORNISH, NH—In this big dramatic production that didn’t do anyone any good (and was pretty embarrassing, really, if you think about it), thousands upon thousands of phonies across the country mourned the death of author J.D. Salinger, who was 91 years old for crying out loud. “He had a real impact on the literary world and on millions of readers,” said hot-shot English professor David Clarke, who is just like the rest of them, and even works at one of those crumby schools that rich people send their kids to so they don’t have to look at them for four years. “There will never be another voice like his.” Which is exactly the lousy kind of goddamn thing that people say, because really it could mean lots of things, or nothing at all even, and it’s just a perfect example of why you should never tell anybody anything.

The Catcher in the Rye was one of those rare books that I hated not for the book itself but for its many devotees.  I’m at work and don’t have the book on hand, so I’ll skip the in depth analysis.  I think the main thing was that the book always seemed far more nuanced than most people understood.  In particular it always seemed clear to me that the author loathes his protagonist.  Holden is not someone we should be identifying with.  He is himself the biggest phony in the book.

Anyway, it’s been awhile since I read it.  I should stop.

I never read Franny and Zooey, and that was the book of Salingers that I always meant to read but never did.  Perhaps I’ll pick it up this week.

There’s a lot of speculation right now about whether or not Salinger wrote more novels and whether they’ll be published.  I’m curious too, but I can’t help but wonder if it will diminish his reputation.  Sometimes an author gets one or two right and then procedes to write nothing but drivel.  We can’t hold it against the author for trying to make a living, but we as fans sometimes would be better to leave it alone.  This reminds me of the Kafka journals that were recently published and outed him as a big time pervert (honestly, should that have been surprising?).

Anyway, lunch is done.  Must get back to work.