Hot off the presses (and how long will it be until that particular phrase is defunct?):
J.D. Salinger died yesterday at age 91. Story here.
For over 50 years, an important part of teenage-hood has been reading, and emphasizing, with Catcher in the Rye. Although there have been a lot of supposed successors to the novel, I still haven't found one that matches up, despite the somewhat dated nature of the book.
Of course, the 64,000 dollar question (another phrase that is becoming more dated every time I use it) remains: was Salinger writing during all those years ? Is there a secret novel--or novels--waiting for his executors? Or was his removal to New Hampshire just to be left alone?
I sometimes wonder whether writers, whether novelists or scholars, write better if they are hidden away in solitude, or if writing within all the messy details of life produces better work. Certainly my writing is done among the latter; but would it improve if I pulled a Salinger every summer?
Anyway, raise high the roof beam, J.D.--Mr. Salinger, we'll miss you.
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