I can’t stop thinking about J.D. Salinger. It may be trite to say, but I love J.D. Salinger. Trite, because really everybody loves the books of J.D. Salinger. Except maybe my redheaded stepmother who I think never read a book in her life. Actually, now that I think about it, I’m sure my other stepmother never read him either because her reading choices never ventured beyond Sidney Sheldon.
I discovered J.D. Salinger when I stole “Catcher In The Rye” from my big sister and read it. I tried to hand in a book report on it in seventh grade and it was rejected because it was on a list of unsuitable books or something. It was Westchester after all. They told my mother I was reading unsuitable books, but really she could care less.
So one Sunday when I was making the usual stop after church with father no. 2 to pick up the Sunday paper at Lippy’s, the candy/toy/comic book/book store, I checked under S and found more books by this Salinger guy. I saved my allowance and eventually got to buy all three.
I took them with me when I had to go to Massachusetts to visit the first father and his second wife, the redheaded stepmother. It was horrible there. The only saving grace was that they had a dog who I spent all my time with. Laddy. Laddy, the bright light of the long summer with the evil stepmother.
The stepmother who hated me.
And the first father, who tried to make up for everything by buying me things which we had to hide in the trunk of his car until I left because evil stepmother would be furious if she knew. The first father, who was tragically handsome but could never get the family thing right. He really wanted a wife and kids and a dog he really did, he just didn’t know how to do it. His mother was a divorced chorus girl who went back on the road and left her boys with various uncaring unkind relatives. So he didn’t know how the family thing was supposed to work or something I guess.
I will never forget the long boring summer in the town of one-story houses. The baking heat with not a tree in sight. Flat. Hot.
The stepmother who couldn’t clean or cook. She specialized in flirting with other people’s husbands. And watching T.V. The minute the father put the key in the ignition to head off for work, the kids were thrown in the backyard and the shades went down and the television was switched on. The house smelled weird, which really depressed me.
So it was into this landscape that I brought J.D. Salinger. I remember sitting outside reading one of his books and feeling the deepest resonating joy. He picked out the stuff of life that was funny and sad-making at the same time. I had escaped the land of the stepmother in my mind. I could think different, be different and rise above the finks. I was learning, like Lydgate in “Middlemarch” by George Eliot, “… that books were stuff, and that life was stupid.”
My whole persona at the time was influenced by Salinger. When a beau told me that when I talked I sounded like “New Yorker” magazine I was thrilled.
I hope there is a closet full of manuscripts in his house and they all get published. Because I MEAN REALLY it has been AGES since I stopped hunting for more of his books under S at Lippy’s. I kept checking for a long time until somebody tipped me off that no more of them were ever gonna come. Ever. Which was sad-making and all. So I salute you my literary Big Daddy. And hope everything gets published because the phony reviewers can’t bother you now.
its amazing …….
yes it does realy
the cranky actres should get chance for there future
Keep thinking that OK? Maybe the universe will hear/
I was also bereft to hear of the passing of J.D. Salinger. I remember reading “The Catcher in the Rye” in High School and loving it (It was actually assigned reading and I went to a Catholic school!) I recently went to the library and checked the book out from the “Young Adults” section and re-read it. Honestly, I enjoyed it even more this time around. Maybe because I am reading it with more life experience. I’ve actually been to New York City and can now picture in my mind the exact locations where Holden visits. I can also understand Holden’s internal emotional struggles with greater sympathy. J.D. was indeed a great writer.
I also had a “step-monster” as I called her. She passed over 15 years ago. Perhaps, I can now look back on her emotional struggles with greater sympathy too.
Well said – thank you. Cranky
Catcher is indeed a great book. However, to ease your pain might I suggest that you read Vile Bodies by Evelyn Waugh. Therein lies much sad-making and blind-making and great humour (I am English, forgive the strange spelling) and pathos. Also try A Handful of Dust. Let me know how you get on.
Best wishes,
CY
CY – I am going straight to amazon RIGHT NOW and ordering them – have a feeling I’m going to love those books. Thanks.
Heather Milligan sounds like J.D. wrote her dialogue. !!
I have Franny * Zooey in the bosom of my heart.
And regarding your family, it’s like a Barry Levinson film for some reason. Yes, I too come from a dysfunctional family and no father in the horizon at all but guess what, I JUST discovered I have an actual brother who was born in L.A. and now lives in Dallas, son of my father (who we thought had been killed shortly after dumping my mom). Life is strange.
That’s amazing.
Oh, Cranky. This is awesome. I feel the same way. (http://themanintheyellowhat.wordpress.com/2010/01/28/goodbye-zooey/) The tone and references of this entry, is a very touching, and appropriate sounding, tribute to the great writer. (And your evil stepmother….all too familiar.) The world needs more Salinger, don’t you think?
Yes it really really does.
Christ on a crutch Cranky! That red haired stepmother with the TV and the flirting – who couldn’t cook – what a god damn phony she was! And that tragically handsome first father – with the god damn divorced chorus girl mother – who bought you stuff you had to hide in the trunk of the god damn car! Jesus, Cranky! What a hot shot he thought he was! He’s just like the rest of them. Now, this could mean lots of things or it could mean nothing, but if you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll want to know is that you probably bought all of those god damn Sad Sack comic books at Lippys because you were secretly hoping Sarge and the General would ship that lousy red head Stepmother off to god damn phony boot camp so you could have some god damn peace!
Mr. Connie will see you now.
“Nine Stories” is today vastly underrated, and overshadowed by Holden (who is, after all, a wonderful soul). In his story collection Salinger showed writers as well as readers that they needn’t be long to be good, nor short out of necessity. There are even shorter tales within the tales, which, along with Carson McCullers’ stories, showed everyone how a short-short story might be possible. And here we are, still. One almost wishes another Salinger, but unlike Salinger, would come along and bring the longer shorty back into vogue.
TOG