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William Belcher and James Lee (editors), �J.D. Salinger and the Critics�

Started May 27 � Finished May 28, 2003; 184 pages. Posted 12 June 2003

Okay, sorry about the delay. This columnhad actually been hijacked and was at the mercy of technology while I waited for scans for the last entry. But, as I have ten books that I�ve finished recently, I figured I�d better write about things I�ve read in the meantime before I forgot what the hell these books were about.

Because if that happened, I�d have to read them all over again, and that�s simply not feasible.

As much as I like Salinger�s writing, I�m kind of glad he�s still hiding out in his house in total seclusion and not releasing anything. With this book, I have now finished reading every and all things (that I have or have seen) connected with Salinger. If only I could say that with Kerouac.

No, no, don�t bother to tell me about other things Salinger related. I�ll cross that road when it comes into the store. In the meantime, I�m done. Just like Salinger, come to think of it.

But jezum-crow! If you�re going to put together a book of literary criticism about Salinger�s work, wouldn�t you try and make sure that they didn�t all talk about the same fucking scene?!? I sure as hell would! I think I read the paragraph of Holden explaining to his sister about standing near the edge of that big crazy cliff 15 fucking times! Fifteen!

Finally, I reached the second half of the book, devoted to his other novels and short stories. Lo and behold, there are 15 mentions of the ending to �A Perfect Day for Bananafish.� Fifteen! Yes, he shoots himself! I know! I�ve read the fucking book! AHHHHHHHHH!!!

Oh wait, you people have read that story, right? If not, um... He shoots himself in the head at the end.

In between in all this repetition there are a few gems however, the best of which taking Holden�s speech patterns and breaking them down using the Chomsky model for linguistics to see if the book is an accurate representation of how a teenage boy of the late 1950s would speak. The author, one Donald P. Costello, says it is.

Fucking genius. And he probably got paid to do this kind of research.

What I can�t stop thinking about is that these literary criticism books are supposed to bring a new appreciation or understanding to the work. This book provided few insights and for the most part was painfully dry, lacking in both reason and humor. Worse, their points were disposable and forgettable.

The final result is that I want to go back and read Salinger again, but not to compare his work with the �experts� take on the matter � I just want to read and absorb the stories that I think are so good.


Rating: A good gift for the personal Stradlater in your life.

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