JD Salinger (1919 – 2010)
When JG Ballard died last year, I’d only just discovered him (via Cronenberg). It was immediate, bizarre. I had very little to say about him, so I posted a series of links as a tribute. I think I’d only read Crash at the time.
I’ve read every one of Salinger‘s books, though, admittedly, that isn’t hard to do: there are only four and all are eminently readable. But I do not have anything to say about him at this point. This makes me wonder: how do journalists do it? The Guardian already has a bunch of things up on their site. Maybe they have half-written obituaries and appraisals of entire bodies of work already done for people they expect will die soon. How morbid.
I don’t mean for this to sound cold. I’m happy for Salinger, to be honest. To die at 91 of natural causes seems like quite a good thing.
I’m also very happy that he had four books published before he gave up on the world.
Thank you, JD!
Oh, this happiness is strong stuff. It’s marvellously liberating. I’m free, I feel, to tell you exactly what you must be longing to hear now. That is, if, as I know you do, you love best in this world those little things of pure spirit with a normal temperature of 125º, then it naturally follows that the creature you love next best is the person–the God-love or God-hater (almost never, apparently, anything in between), the saint or profligate, moralist or complete immoralist–who can write a poem that is a poem.
from Seymour — An introduction