I recently re-read CATCHER IN THE RYE, and was halfway through FRANNY AND ZOOEY when I closed the book and decided I couldn’t finish it. I was disappointed once and for all with J.D.S and went straight to expressing my frustrations:
“December 8, 2008--First and foremost, I want to state— specifically for this author— that I think the only healthy way to read most novels is to engage the text with expectations or, more assertively, intentions of having an internal conversation with the author about what’s being said. I think it’s dangerous to dive into the sink of an author’s mind, or soul, especially Salinger’s, as a dry sponge, seeking— and ultimately— sinking for guidance or identity. I’ve never believed you can learn anything of real value in life by having read it. I think we sometimes mistaken articulation for creation when it comes to literary revelations. I believe every person can find the same truths found in novels, films— or any art form— in their own lives and experiences, no matter how mundane or insignificant they seem. Bring your own story when you enter someone else’s, or else you might allow theirs to completely render your own, in which case, fairy-tale neuroticism or romantic nihilism becomes your reality. Just ask Mark David Chapman. Or try. (Twenty-eight years ago today, Marky sat on a sidewalk reading CATCHER IN THE RYE as Lennon bled to death at his feet.)
I believe Salinger, in the sense that I think the guy’s honest as hell. Not just as an author, but as a person. There is desperation in his writing that implies it isn’t a choice, but a necessity in his life to make something of what he sees, even if it’s verbatim to the thoughts in his head when he peers out of the window of his aching skull. I’m never convinced any of his characters— third or first person— are real, but rather hand puppets for his social and spiritual commentary. More so than any other fiction writer. Because of this, I trust that everything in his writing is there because he believes it, not because it’d make for a better story.
With that being said however, I must confess— I don’t believe IN Salinger. Witless as that statement might sound and I, insecurely hoping you are aware of the subjectivity of what I’m about to say, would like to try and expand— more so for myself— on why I generally feel inexplicably unsatisfied upon closing a Salinger book.
I think the problem lies in the unfortunate (yes, unfortunate) fact that I relate too much to Salinger, as a person. I relate to what he writes about, but not his actual writing. It feels too verbatim to himself as a person. Salinger, the recluse from New York City, writes about alienation in New York City, i.e. the world. There’s nothing wrong with writing about what you know, but as an author you have unlimited freedom to explore the different possibilities that might be illuminated from what you know, if that makes any sense. It seems like Salinger has nothing daring to say, other than how he feels. So, when you already feel just like him, his books say nothing— I’ve already said them to myself. As much as that sounds like an affectation, it’s how I feel.
The worst part for me is that he tells these stories through younger adults, where it’s justified to feel helplessly uncomfortable in life. It feels like a cop-out. Yes, it makes his books easily accessible, and relatable, which is why he has such a following. But what more can I say about Salinger other than “he gets how I feel”? Aren’t we looking for something more profound than just a confirmation of the lonely things that eat away at our minds?
Salinger was 32 when he wrote about 16 year old Holden Caulfield. He was 42 when he wrote about 20 year old Franny and 25 year old Zooey. Salinger was an adult, and still is. So what happens to all this angst and alienation when you grow older? Does it ever go away? And if it doesn’t, how does one continue to exist? I just wish he took on a full novel through older characters, and took on the responsibilities and challenges of a perspective that comes from age and experience. I mean, what happens to Holden ten years later? What happens to Franny and Zooey when they get to their thirties? How come no one ever finds any light in his dark and decaying worlds that supposedly represent this one? I think it’s easy, or easier, to illustrate internal and external conflicts. I think it’s brilliant to be able to suggest a solution. Unless, that is what he is suggesting— that there are none, in which case, I ask— what is there worth living for? Because that is what we’re all searching for in our lives. It’s a big reason why most of us read.
I understand not all books are meant to have a solution to anything. I believe if I asked Salinger today, he would tell me if it appears as though there is no clear optimism in his writing, it was a choice— not an inability. I would believe him whole heartedly. Please understand I am merely exploring my own preferences, and not conducting literary criticism. I definitely by no means would ever call Salinger a bad writer. The cautious reveal of Franny’s background relationship with Zooey and the rest of the Glass family, and their history in the “Zooey” part of the book was sensitive, justifiably creative, and most importantly, effective. I do not question his talent as a masterful story teller and would have loved to see him write more plays, which is what FRANNY AND ZOOEY is in my opinion.
Ultimately though, his characters and ideas exist in a vacuum and for me. They cease to exist when the pages are turned.
“If you’re a poet, you do something beautiful. I mean you’re supposed to leave something beautiful after you get off the page and everything.” – Franny
Ironically, I believe that, even though I personally can’t see Salinger as a ‘poet’. But that means nothing, except for what it means to me.”
And then I decided to actually finish FRANNY AND ZOOEY after being urged to do so by a friend I trust.
And I read:
“But I’ll tell you a terrible secret— Are you listening to me? There isn’t anyone out there who isn’t Seymour’s Fat Lady. That includes your Professor Tupper, buddy. And all his goddamn cousins by the dozens. There isn’t anyone anywhere that isn’t Seymour’s Fat Lady. Don’t you know that? Don’t you know that goddamn secret yet? And don’t you know— listen to me, now— don’t you know what that Fat Lady really is? . . . Ah, buddy. Ah buddy. It’s Christ Himself. Christ Himself, buddy.”
and went straight to my computer and had the impulse to delete everything I wrote the night before, because he did exactly what I wanted him to do: ‘leave something beautiful after you get off the page and everything.’ He gave a daring glimpse of hope. I felt foolish for being so impatient, and realized how ridiculous it is to even try to articulate opinions on something as ineffably complex as a novel. But what’s the harm— it’s all innocently stimulating. I wanted to explore some ideas as to why most of the people I've spoken to that regard this book as one of their favorites are female, but realized it was something academic and uninteresting, and decided to let the book rest peacefully away in my mind, and felt very content. I wish I could find Salinger hiding in the woods today, and have a conversation with him before he dies. I’m sure that’s the last thing he would want.
Well . . . but oh well.
p.s.
I find it terribly ironic that any of his books are taught in any sort of academic institution. I’ve always had a suspicious idea that CATCHER IN THE RYE is being taught in high schools so kids can be forced-fed their views on the “dangerous” novel by— for the most part— idiotic teachers, knowing hell and well that most of us at that age aren’t developed enough to think for ourselves. How can we possibly learn about rebellion and alienation in a classroom . . . at SCHOOL? If you research the history of the censorship of that book, it makes no sense for it to be now taught in almost every public, government funded school in the country unless the motive behind it was to control the ‘meaning’ of that book. Ironic, also, is the fact that Salinger himself shouts urgently in his writing to stay as far away as possible from the academic institutions that exist in this country.
No comments:
Post a Comment