Siempre he querido ser una Glass. Siempre he querido pertenecer a aquella familia de ficción creada por J.D. Salinger. Aunque los hermanos Glass sean niños prodigios egocéntricos, pedantes y repelentes, no puedo negar que siento una conexión con ellos.

Soy hija única de una familia trabajadora de clase baja, y la lectura siempre ha sido mi escape. Cuando empecé a leer en serio, me di cuenta de que compartía muchas cosas con los niños Glass. Quería tener hermanos mayores que me recomendaran lecturas y a quienes pudiera leer mis escritos en voz alta.

'Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters / Seymour: an Introduction' es el último libro publicado por Salinger hace más de cuarenta años. 'Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters' es un relato maravilloso que habla de Seymour sin que él aparezca. Y 'Seymour: an Introduction' es más duro de digerir, pero gana con relecturas.

A pesar de mis críticas, me encanta seguir enterándome de nuevas anécdotas sobre los hermanos Glass. Son una parte de mi vida y de mi familia, y aunque no pueda ser objetiva con sus historias, siempre las leeré con devoción.

Seymour:

I tried everything but I couldn't read the entrance. However, "Raise the Roof Beam, Carpenters" by Salinger is a real masterpiece.

This novel is filled with deep emotions and complex characters. The story takes us on a journey through the lives of the Glass family, exploring themes such as love, loss, and the search for meaning.

Salinger's writing style is unique and captivating. His use of language and his ability to create vivid images in the reader's mind make this book a joy to read.

"Raise the Roof Beam, Carpenters" is not just a story, it's an experience. It makes you think, feel, and question. It's a book that will stay with you long after you've turned the last page.

I find myself loudly cheering on the literary battlefield, and if you look closely, you can see me flailing my arms as well. I have my own "Davega" to share, a gift for the meek and serious among you. I'm addressing the seriously patient and long-suffering reader, not the submissive or spineless citizen. I'm a searcher like me, seeking the hard truth and all its surprises.

The credentialed shine, but with the misinformation of the ages, which is tough on a guy like me. Yet, they shine, and I recognize that, although it leaves a bad taste in my mouth to admit it. Don't worry, you can dismiss me too, as I have no official credentials either.

A couple of days ago, I started reading J.D. Salinger's collected masterpiece "Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters" and "Seymour: An Introduction" for the second time. The first time I read it, I was much younger, had never been to NYC, and was still quite dumb about most things. Certainly, I'm wiser now, thirty years later, having made my share of mistakes, visited NYC over twenty times, and knowing the city well. I realize I made an error in my previous assessment of this book. It's a fine piece of writing by Salinger, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Both of them.

Sometimes, it's so hard to see. For example, I now use reading glasses, or the words would be a constant blur. But I understand Salinger better than when I was young. Yes, "The Catcher in the Rye" was somewhat of a bible and treatise for me back then. It was easy to attach oneself to a book like that. But the best of them, "Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters" and "Seymour: An Introduction," are not for the young, though they're always encouraged to read them and get what they can from the experience. And that's where Seymour's quote, "They may shine with the misinformation of the ages, but they shine," comes from. It's difficult to accept that Seymour thought them "pieces of Holy Ground," but he did, and that's what made him Seymour.

I'm not surprised that many readers didn't like the second piece, "Seymour: An Introduction." The most common thread was the comment that "Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters" was more of a story, "a pleasure to read," with a beginning, middle, and end. The further negative comment that "Seymour: An Introduction" was composed as "stream of consciousness" I find particularly wrong. Buddy, the narrator, even explains to the reader that his writing here is more like a diary, written over several sittings, each taking thirty cups of coffee or more. The comments call the book "haphazard, disorganized, a bore." For the record, I don't find "Seymour: An Introduction" a "rambling or diffuse read" at all. Anyone not wanting to learn more about writing, or even afraid of measuring up to poetry in particular, would be well-advised to stay away from reading it. Early on in my latest reading of this second book, I was enamored with Buddy's claim of a lack of original American poets, a claim contemporary writers still make, like the rising fame of the dead guy, Roberto Bolaño. Buddy remarked that a clever professor might describe "a poem of Seymour's being to the haiku what a double Martini is to the usual Martini." He also hoped it wouldn't be himself who said such a thing, though he admitted he was being garrulous and would be justly accused of it. Buddy warns the reader at every turn what they're in for if they continue to the bottom of the page. Buddy isn't the most gracious or humble of writers. He even thinks his reader might be dumb, and by the looks of the comments, I believe he's mostly correct in his assumption. But again, as Seymour said, "They may shine with the misinformation of the ages, but they shine."

"Seymour: An Introduction" is written as Buddy says, in several sittings of thirty cups of coffee each. Does the coffee, the several sittings like writing a diary, this "somewhat pustulous disquisition on my brother's poetry" make the Glass family, as a whole, seem mentally ill? I don't think so. The reader would be best served to mature and enjoy life's experiences for some years, then come back to the novella at a time in life when there are few demands on them but their own impending death-wish, slung not so casually over their shoulder and waiting somewhat patiently for its end. Of course, a better understanding of what good writing is, what demanding and taxing poetry can do for your damaged head, and the instincts to know that Buddy isn't bullshitting you on the page but rather being the further teacher you always wanted to hold close and unleash.

The layout of the book is easy to follow, especially as Buddy explains everything to the dumb reader. It's possibly his affront on the reader's ability that the negative reviewer finds distasteful. It's often said that truth hurts. I simply find the book a delightful read. "Seymour: An Introduction" meant nothing to me the first time I read it so many years ago. I credit my new understanding of the material to having been a student of Gordon Lish's from 1995 through 1997. Much of the same teachings by Buddy can be found in a ten-hour-straight Lish event. The same principles of "writing for history and not recreation, or because it is fun to do" persist in Lish's class and also on these pages of "Seymour: An Introduction."

One of my favorite segments in the book was Buddy telling about his father Les Glass asking Seymour, as an adult, if he remembered Joe Jackson giving him a ride on the handlebars of his famous shiny nickel-plated trick bicycle. Seymour's answer to his dad was that he wasn't sure he had ever gotten off Joe Jackson's beautiful bicycle. And I guess that's my own "Davega" I'm offering to you.

For the serious complainers who say that "Seymour: An Introduction" doesn't let us get to Seymour first hand, I suggest reading "A Perfect Day for Bananafish" collected in "Nine Stories." It's a beautiful introduction for getting to know Seymour a little bit first-hand. I always recommend the reading of "Bananafish" to the people I love before they make their personal plunge into any of the Glass family memoirs.

https://rogueliterarysociety.com/f/sa...

I'm always with Salinger. I don't know what's wrong with him. Whatever it is, it controls people. I haven't found another correct and similar example of this space and writing style in America (maybe Paul Auster is only in some opinions).

Seymour is a very charming personality. He is intelligent. In fact, he is a genius. The genius has various definitions. But the definition that includes most of the common definitions is that the genius is first of all a creator, and secondly, a perceiver of truth at a deep level. That is, his will and mind are at the extreme level, provided that we understand the will as a manifestation of creativity and the mind as a manifestation of understanding. The genius understands things in daily life that we don't understand. Also, he is constantly in a state of creation. Even when the genius looks at things, he is in a state of creation. While we are mostly passive.

In my opinion, a genius like Seymour Glass is also an extraordinary prophet.

Seymour's interest in poetry is very interesting. Heidegger classifies all arts under poetry. Poetry is the revealer of being, the manifestation of being. When Seymour pays attention to Japanese haikus and such short poems, he is engaged in a kind of exploration! Seymour's suicide after talking to a girl on the beach is completely incomprehensible. Seymour understands something that we don't understand. It can't be said that Seymour's suicide is a completely empty or absurd act. It has meaning. Seymour, who is a genius and has extraordinary understanding and will, commits suicide. Suicide is a way of being. Maybe it is one of the ways of being that fewer people choose. I don't want to interpret Seymour's suicide as an emotional or sentimental act. Unless our meaning of emotion and sentiment is existential, not ontological or insignificant in a certain sense.

Certainly Seymour is not from a certain aspect. In my opinion, Seymour does not initially understand the meaning of his own existence, nor does he understand existence in general. Seymour's suicide is a heroic act resulting from the understanding of human loneliness, both in terms of creativity and understanding. Why does Seymour shoot himself in the head after talking to a girl on the beach? Finally, we must answer this question. Was it extreme sadness? But sadness that is caused by another reason. Empty? I don't think so. Of course, emptiness or nothingness can be seen in Seymour, especially since he is constantly seeking meaning, seeking poetry until the Far East. So what? What does Seymour's suicide mean? A collection of stories from Salinger's side?

Seymour's quote from Kierkegaard at the beginning of this monologue shows that Seymour is a philosopher. So we must give a philosophical answer to this monologue and the fate of its author. But what answer?

Salinger's latest published work is said to be Raise the Roof Beams, Carpenters and Seymour an Introduction. It consists of two long stories that center around two members of the Glass family, which has always been at the center of the author's works. The first one is about what Buddy experiences when he comes to New York for Seymour's wedding; it's an easy-to-read, well-translated typical Salinger story. The second story is more closed and fragmented. The author seems to be settling accounts with the readers and what he has written. I can't say that I fully understood it. I didn't like its translation. I will read the second part again in the original language.

I would say don't start reading the author's works with this book.

Here is a rewritten and expanded version of the text:

Give me a story that just makes me unreasonably vigilant. A story that has the power to keep me up till five in the morning, and there is no other rational explanation for it. It's as if all the stars in the sky have aligned in a way that makes me feel on edge. Maybe it's the mystery within the story, the unknowns that lurk around every corner. Or perhaps it's the way the words are crafted, sending shivers down my spine and making my heart race. Whatever the reason, this story has a hold on me that I can't seem to break free from. It keeps me awake, my mind constantly churning with thoughts and possibilities.

Last week, at the dinner table, my mother asked me what I would do after coming back from the army. Would I like to teach again at the same college? Or did I even want to teach again at all? Maybe I wanted to go back to the radio and do a kind of "interpretation" work?

I replied that in my opinion, war never really ends. But if there is peace again, surely I would like to be a dead cat...

... I told Morel that it has come to my mind in stories that once a professor was asked what the most valuable thing in the world is, and the professor answered a dead cat, because no one can put a price on it!

Satire and the storytelling of Cervantes were extremely endearing.

Cervantes, through his masterful works, brought a unique charm to the literary world. His use of satire allowed him to poke fun at various aspects of society, revealing its flaws and follies in a humorous yet thought-provoking way.

The stories he told were not only entertaining but also had a deeper meaning. They explored human nature, love, honor, and many other themes.

Readers were captivated by the vivid characters and the engaging plots. Cervantes' writing style was both engaging and accessible, making his works widely popular.

Even today, his stories continue to be read and enjoyed by people of all ages. His contributions to literature are truly remarkable and have left a lasting impact on the literary landscape.

Anyone who read my review of Salinger's "Nine Stories" knows I love this man's work to death. I've read and enjoyed "Catcher in the Rye" and "Franny and Zooey" a whole hell of a lot too. I picked this up with a heart filled with admiration and optimism.

Well that optimism was dashed upon the rocks of Salinger's self-indulgence and apparent disregard for his readers. This book compiles two short stories first published in the New Yorker and are the final two entries in Salinger's Glass family saga. "Raise High the Roofbeams, Carpenters" focuses on Buddy Glass and his trip to his brother Seymour's wedding. "Seymour: an Introduction" again finds Buddy downstage center and is his way of coming to terms with his brother's memory through literature.

Like "Franny and Zooey" we are served up first a good story followed by a not so good story. However where "Zooey" was rambling and a tad unfocused it was at least a short story. "Seymour" on the other hand is a goddamned mess. It reads like the notes an author would take down before actually starting the job of composition. For every sentence of quality and clarity there seem to be pages upon pages of self-indulgent masturbation. This makes for an interminable and ultimately frustrating read.

It starts off promisingly though. "Raise High the Roofbeams..." is a delight. It is a comically poignant trip into the past. Buddy Glass, getting over a bout of pleurisy in the camp hospital, must get to New York and be the only family member at his brother Seymour's wedding. What follows is typical Seymour, not to mention Salinger. As usual, the characters are so well observed and vividly presented we can practically smell them. There is the usual masterful blending of the serious and the comic. Salinger doesn't so much write a story as create a world that he allows us to visit for a spell.

The greatest reward, of course, is getting to spend a few more moments with a member of the Glass family. In reading over all of Salinger's writing in the last few months, I've become almost as obsessed with reading about them as Salinger is writing about them. That's why I thought, despite warnings, that I could indeed read and enjoy "Seymour." However, its total disregard for its readers' enjoyment almost dispelled the warm glow I felt after reading "Raise High the Roofbeams...".

So unless you have absolutely nothing better to read or do and you are a completist, avoid "Seymour" like grim death.

A Simple and Sweet Story!

A part of the text:

The little fascist girl announced that she hates houses that look the same; of course, she meant the uniform urban houses. Zouyi said that on the contrary, these houses are very interesting. She said it's very interesting that a person mistakes his home. Then, unknowingly, he has dinner with the wrong people, sleeps in the wrong bed, and in the morning, when saying goodbye, he kisses everyone, thinking that they are his own family. She said that she even wishes that all the people in the world looked exactly the same. At that time, whenever a person saw someone, he would think that everyone was his wife, or his mother, or his father, and people would always put their arms around each other's waists wherever they went, and the scene would be "very strange".

This simple story presents an interesting and somewhat absurd idea. It makes us think about the importance of individuality and the value of diversity. While uniformity may seem appealing in some ways, it also takes away the uniqueness and charm of each person and place. We should appreciate and celebrate the differences that exist among us, rather than striving for sameness.

As I read more, I became increasingly afraid of what was to come. What next, especially when there are no more books about the Glass family? However, as the pages turned from my right hand to my left, I had an ever-growing feeling that I must start all over again - again \\n  Freni and Zui\\n, again \\n  For Esme\\n, again even \\n  The Catcher in the Rye\\n (because who knows where the magic lies?).

This is an adventure that my mind loves. This is a book because of which I want the flight to last longer, for my friend to be late for coffee for just one more minute, for my roommates not to talk to me just for this one more passage... This is a book in which I absolutely enjoyed!

***********************************************************

2. Reading

Message for Badija: The Moon is only bright because it reflects the sunshine.

As I read more, I have an increasing sense that Salinger might have envisioned Seymour as the Jesus of the twentieth century. We actually know nothing about Seymour from himself. We only have the thoughts and feelings he evoked in others, be it family, friends, or neither. We have his words, but as told by his brother, as he heard them, as he understood them (even though these are entries from Seymour's diary). This doesn't make reading difficult, understandably, it just seems interesting to me.

Even though I'm more intrigued than ever by Seymour (the character),

the second novella in this collection is truly the most annoying thing Salinger wrote.

It seems to lack the depth and charm that his other works possess.

The story meanders in a rather aimless fashion, leaving the reader feeling frustrated and unfulfilled.

Luckily, however, the first novella is perfect.

It captivates the reader from the very beginning with its engaging plot and well-developed characters.

The writing is细腻 and evocative, painting a vivid picture in the reader's mind.

It is a true masterpiece that showcases Salinger's talent as a writer.

Overall, while the second novella may be a disappointment, the first one more than makes up for it and makes this collection well worth reading.