It’s probably been brought up on here previously, but I’m one of those weird Salinger people. Every year I reread 9 stories and Franny and Zooey. They seem pretty close to perfect to me.
So, the old man is dead.
I suppose I mourn on some level that the world just lost a genius. I suppose I’m saddened that he’s gone. But he’s been gone for a long time. Salinger killed Salinger when he went into cloister. Sure, he had a private life, and I hope that private life was wonderful. But we as readers didn’t know him as that. We, as readers, haven’t known the man for many years. He’s been hiding since before I was born, which is astonishing to me.
So, the old man is dead.
The story goes that he’s been writing all those years he’s hidden. The story goes that there are books upon books in some secret vault in his home. And if those stories ever see the light of day, then god bless the man we loved. God bless him for his strangeness and aloof nature. To me, the artist has a responsibility to create art. If that responsibility is dropped, then the artist deserves no respect. I hope that Salinger regains our respect for his years of taking a gift away from the world. I hope we have books and books to read from a truly gifted man. I Hope Salinger gets whatever peace is coming to him.