The Catcher in the Why
J. D. Salinger
1919 - 2010
As a writer, I feel it's my responsibility to know literary genius when I read it. But I don't.
A guy writes one novel and thirteen short stories, accepts Zen Buddhism as his personal savior, holes up in Cornish, New Hampshire, insists he wants to be left alone, but just when everyone is forgetting about him, he sues someone, calls the newspaper to get it on the front page, so that everyone starts talking about him again--and the critics call him genius.
What's genius is that pretend recluse thing. People used to knock on his door and chat with him. He'd talk to people all the time. There were not gates or dogs or security of any kind to keep away people. He'd talk to almost anyone without a journalism degree. And only a recluse genius Zen Buddhist writes one book and sells 250,000 copies a year without one visit on Oprah. I mean, really.
Jerome David Salinger died last week at 91 of natural causes. It would have to be; he didn't get out much to get hit by a car. His friends called him Jerry. Growing up he was called Sonny. Neither name evokes genius, but what do I know?
I read The Catcher in the Rye exactly one time: in high school--because I had to. I went to a Baptist parochial school, too. I guess they didn't figure out that Holden was seduced by his homosexual teacher or they would have banned the book. That's genius. To fool the Baptists about gay teachers. I recall liking it, but I don't remember having a clue that it was one of the best books ever written by an American writer. I liked it because it was about a teenager. It was all about self-conscious precociousness...or maybe precocious self-consciousness.
In the last couple decades, though, we've seen how Salinger's genius affected some of our more unstable sorts. Lennon's assassin, Mark David Chapman, and Ronald Reagan's would-be assassin, John Hinckley, were both Catcher fans. Bet that makes you look around in class now, doesn't it?
Since my daughters were small, I've often said to them on a sunny day at the park or beach, "Ah, it's a perfect day for bananafish!" It wasn't until later in life that my daughters finally asked me what the heck I meant by that. A Perfect Day for Bananafish was Salinger's first published short story. What Seymour Glass (lovely symbolic name) in the story means when he says it to the little girl at the hotel is that it's a good day to commit suicide. I didn't mean that when I said it to my kids. I just liked the way it sounded. My daughters were appalled that daddy would say something like that.
Now, that's genius. That a writer could form such a phrase that it could be misused by daddys for decades to make children think it was something glorious. Jeez. How'd he do it?
I have to say that I realize J. D. Salinger was probaby a great writer. But, really. How many one-movie geniuses are there? Know any one-painting geniuses? A one-thought, philosopher-genius? I can't think of any, but I suppose there could be...one.
I've read several biographical pieces on Salinger. They all tell exactly the same thing. I'm not kidding. Almost word for word. That's because Salinger didn't give interviews and didn't authorize either of the two biographies written about him. No photographs. The photograph I used at the top of this piece is used over and over and over, because it's one of the only photographs of Salinger. We have no insight into the man, except through one novel and thirteen short stories. And I guess that's the way he wanted it.
In 1974, he said to a New York Times correspondent, "I like to write. I love to write. But I write just for myself and my own pleasure." Literary masturbation. That's what he admitted to. And that's okay.
Rest in peace.
Wish I could take that ONE photo and live off it till I was 90. Great trick! Good trivia here. Thanks Tom.
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