I’ve been procrastinating on reading this, my very last Salinger. It has been far too long.

Truth be told, I simply didn’t have the heart to be done with his remarkable books. The Glass Family is an enigma, so complex and utterly intriguing.

The first novella is a masterpiece of wit and brilliance, precisely meeting all my expectations. It draws you in with its charm and cleverness.

On the other hand, the second one is a meandering stream of consciousness. However, it offers profound insights into the brothers Seymour and Buddy.

As for me, I’m a little hungover at the moment, but that doesn’t stop me from delving into the world that Salinger has created.

Despite my slight discomfort, I find myself completely engrossed in these stories, eager to uncover every last detail and nuance.

It’s a bittersweet experience, knowing that this is the end of my journey with Salinger’s works, but also grateful for the wonderful literary adventure he has taken me on.

I can only hope that there will be other authors out there who can capture my imagination in the same way.

Until then, I’ll cherish these final moments with the Glass Family and continue to be inspired by Salinger’s unique writing style.

It almost made me cry multiple times. I would find myself in cafes, and for reasons that were almost completely unexplainable, the emotions would just well up inside me.

The second story, Seymour: An Introduction, was truly something. At times, it was such an intellectual overload that if I wanted to vaguely retain anything, I simply could not read past 10 pm.

However, despite its complexity, it was also poignant and inspiring. The Glass family, as I read about them, felt so incredibly real in my mind. There were moments when I would completely forget that it was all just fiction. It was as if they were real people with their own hopes, dreams, and struggles.

I would rate the first part with 5 stars. However, the second part didn't quite meet my expectations.

The never-ending stream of consciousness that appears to lead nowhere, the constant use of'meta-text' which is always very self-deprecating, and the long descriptions of mundane events (along with the not-thorough-enough descriptions of the actual 'juicy' parts) made it a difficult read for me.

After reading "Franny", "Zooey" and "Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters", I fell in love with the Glass family, especially with Seymour as seen through the eyes of his siblings. But when it came to actually reading about him through Buddy's account in "Seymour, an Introduction", all my admiration slowly withered away and died a painful death as I turned each page.

It was a disappointment to see how the portrayal of Seymour in this particular work didn't live up to the image I had formed from the previous stories.

The writing style and the way the story was presented seemed to overshadow the essence of the character and made it hard for me to connect with him on the same level as before.

Overall, while the first part showed promise, the second part left me feeling a bit let down.

I love Salinger. You know why I have written it so many times that I must have bored you. In his last book, I feel that he really approached perfection (and then backed away). And both novellas concern the eldest brother of the Glass family, Seymour (and, to a lesser extent, almost secretly reveal things about Buddy as well). In the first novella, Seymour is absent from his own wedding and because of the mess that is created, four people will find themselves, along with Buddy, discussing and trying to figure out what went wrong. Only Buddy doesn't discuss, he only observes because he knows that no one is going to understand his brother. He escapes, hides, and feels a kinship with the fourth member of the group, a happy-go-lucky nitwit old man. Perhaps because that man is not going to judge or comment even the slightest bit on his brother. The fact that he chooses a nitwit is not accidental. Perhaps, in an obvious way, Salinger once again highlights the problematic relationships and the lack of essential communication.

The problem intensifies in the second novella of stream of consciousness where everything seems spontaneous and genuine and at the same time so carefully placed. Buddy tries to create, to describe the portrait of his deceased brother but the words seem few. At the same time, we learn things about himself as well as we see things from a comparative perspective. And although he tries to escape from this, his own brother in an old letter tells him that the individuality of each one begins where the close connection they have between them starts. It is so sweet and delicate to see Buddy trying to describe his beloved brother whom he admired so much. At other times, it becomes bittersweet, full of humor and irony towards everything (especially the literary circles, psychoanalysis, Zen philosophy, etc.). The chaos that prevails in Buddy's mind and soul is much more revealing than perhaps a neatly drawn portrait full of order. Because it would seem artificial and not genuine and sincere. And what we are left with are fragmented little wonders that concern their lives. At the core of the children's wonders, there are no books, studies, talents, or anything else but the special relationship and the love that binds them. It is perhaps the most precious story about brotherly love and comradeship (spiritual or otherwise) that I have read.

This is my second reading (over 50 years later) of this brilliant work by Salinger.

Two stories about the Glass family are presented, which have the remarkable ability to make the reader feel as if he knows the family on an extremely intimate level.

I am truly unaware of any other writer who can convey such a wealth of meaning and depth in such a concise manner as Salinger does.

His writing is a masterclass in brevity and impact.

Undoubtedly, he is one of the very best among the best writers of the 20th century.

His works continue to captivate readers even decades after their initial publication, leaving a lasting impression and inviting multiple readings to fully appreciate the nuances and subtleties within.

Salinger's unique style and his ability to bring the Glass family to life in such a vivid way make this work a true literary gem.

It is a testament to his extraordinary talent and his place in the pantheon of great writers.

Although I wanted to read the book, I only half-read it because I have the ability to read any Salinger book without interruption. I liked the story. Although I wanted to give it two and a half stars instead of three stars, well, it couldn't be helped.

The translation of the book was very bad. Several times, especially in the first fifty pages, it made me want to stop reading halfway. The use of words that are not common in people's daily conversations, unlike Salinger's writing style which is not overly pretentious, and which the author himself refers to in the preface of the book, is one of the shortcomings of the translation.

Raise High the Roofbeam is among the top 3 Salinger works in my reading experience. However, Seymour: an Introduction always represents a significant decline from that peak. These two works constantly make me wonder on which side of the coin the majority of Salinger's unpublished fiction lies. Was it more like Seymour and Hapworth or more of the truly empathetic fiction with his unique and ironic voice, similar to Raise High the Roofbeam and Zooey?

The combination of different points of view in Roofbeam was a remarkable development for Salinger. The transitions between the frame story, the memory story, and Seymour's diary entries are extremely smooth. The letter from Boo Boo, the Taoist story Seymour reads to Franny, and Seymour's writings create distinct voices from Buddy Glass and the voices in the dialogue, which is a real accomplishment. The "Salinger voice" indeed seems to be the one he attributes to Buddy, and it is refined to a perfect level here.

Thematically, Roofbeam is one of the finest works about brothers or siblings that I have ever read. It is astonishing to realize how much of human relationships Salinger captured through his imagination rather than relying on the prevalent tendency towards autobiographical fiction.

https://youtu.be/ac3hnysv9f4?si=HJCxI...

October 2009

So, basically, I find myself waiting for Salinger to die.

I don't mean this in a malicious way. Truly. I hold no ill will towards the man. I would wish him a long and pleasant life as a hermit, filled with good health and free from the company of stupid humans. However, he's already had a long life. The old man is ninety and slowly making his way to ninety-one. He hasn't published in decades. No one has seen him in years. He doesn't even yell at those darn kids to get off his lawn because then people would know where he lives. Heck, he might have another ten years in him. Or he could die tomorrow, in which case this whole review would be really tasteless. So, let me be clear: I don't want Salinger to die. I'm just waiting for it to happen.

But I digress. The thing is, I never read Salinger before this year. Although I went through my own Angsty Teenager Phase back in high school, I somehow missed reading The Catcher in the Rye. I always confused it with Field of Dreams for some reason, but whatever. I got to it over the summer, as a little diversion before picking up Nine Stories. Catcher was boring and disappointing, but the stories in Nine Stories were pretty good. I didn't have high expectations for Franny and Zooey or this one, but I figured they'd be quick reads. And anyway, there didn't seem to be much point in only reading half of Salinger's published work when he's only written four books. And that, right there, is proof that I read Salinger for all the wrong reasons. I only picked up Nine Stories out of genuine interest in and curiosity for Salinger's work. The others I read (re: suffered through) out of curiosity about Salinger himself. Here's this mad old recluse who hasn't published anything in thirty years. I wonder what makes him so great? Man, Holden Caulfield is a whiny little shit. I bet his other stuff is complete crap too. Hey, I was right. No wonder he's in hiding. &etc. If I had read these books purely out of interest in the stories, instead of a perverse fascination with Old Man J. D., perhaps I would've appreciated them more. Perhaps.

This brings me back to Salinger's eventual death. Why do I bring this up? Simple: in my curiosity about Salinger and my interest in his reclusive, hermit-like, hasn't-published-anything-since-the-Sixties existence, the reason I'm thinking about his completely natural and far-future demise is this: all of Salinger's other stories will get published. Simple as that. As soon as the old man goes up to that big field of rye in the sky, his family will descend like vultures on his cell/cave/underground bunker, tear through every safe, and publish every scrap of work the man has written but not published since 1965. And the paranoid in me, the conspiracy theorist, believes that J. D. Salinger really does have a dozen or so safes full of sequels to The Catcher in the Rye, as well as the complete family history of the Glass Family (with a thousand songs of praise to the near-messianic Seymour), and a host of other, unrelated stories.

Of course, this is the part of me that also suspects Harper Lee of having written a dozen other novels, locked away, never to be published with To Kill a Mockingbird, but I'm probably right - about Salinger, at least. Besides, a quick visit to the Wikipedia page shows he has about two dozen uncollected and/or unpublished stories floating around in forgotten literary journals and anthologies that will probably never see the light of bookstores ever until Salinger croaks.

And let's face it: it would be interesting to see them. It would be nice to see The Stories of J. D. Salinger, or Salinger: The Collected Works, 1940 to 1965 and 1966 to 20--, or even The Further Adventures of Holden Caulfield (ghost stories, boarding school mysteries, boarding school erotica, and so on) published, reviewed, read, etc. I probably wouldn't read any of it, but it would look nice. And that, to me, seems to be the distinguishing characteristic of Salinger's books: that they look nice in their slim, bare, austere covers. The stories inside may be mostly mediocre and somewhat overrated (to me), but at least the books look nice on a shelf. And a handsomely bound edition of The Complete Works of J. D. Salinger would probably look nice too.

But I digress, again - and I probably sound a bit pretentious there, thinking I can judge Salinger's existing work. I don't even like his work. I'm clearly a crude and unsophisticated little turd, so who am I to say anything about the man? What a phoney. But whatever. When Salinger dies, in 2024, at the ripe old age of 105, perhaps I'll have repented and learned to love his work like I clearly should. When that happens, I'll be the first to read Catcher in the Rye 2: Catch Harder.

Edit - 1/28/2010: Salinger died last night. I wrote this review three months ago. You can't prove anything!

I decided to read this book specifically for my “reading like Jennifer Lawrence” video.

I was really excited to share my thoughts and experiences with you all through this video.

So, if you're curious to know what I thought about the book and how my reading experience was similar or different to Jennifer Lawrence's, make sure to check out my video.

You can find it at the following link: https://youtu.be/H_n77KyBkOA.

I can't wait for you to watch it and let me know your thoughts in the comments section.

Happy reading and watching!

4.5 Stars rounded up

This book presents two novellas centered around Seymour Glass, as recounted by his younger brother Buddy.

The first novella, "Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters," serves as a prequel to Salinger's short story "A Perfect Day for Bananafish." It vividly描绘s Seymour Glass' wedding day through witty dialogue and rich, brilliant prose. What makes this story remarkable is that Seymour doesn't actually make a physical appearance in the tale. Instead, we come to know him through the words of other characters and the entries of his diary that Buddy reads.

The second novella has a distinct style. It combines expository and narrative writing, enhanced by a series of anecdotes. Buddy, now 40 years old, looks back and attempts to convey who his brother Seymour was as a child and a young man. Initially, I had a bit of difficulty getting into this piece. However, after the first 6 or 7 pages, I fell into Salinger's rhythm. Rather than a linearly written novella, Buddy tells us that this is a distribution of "mementos, amulets broken out of his wallet and passed around like ‘snapshots."

I highly recommend that you read Salinger's outstanding collection Nine Stories, or at least the short stories "A Perfect Day for Bananafish" and "Teddy" before delving into this book. This will enable you to have a better understanding of this work.

How do you summarise someone's life after they die?

Short answer: you can't.

Long answer: you can, but you'll be doing it for the rest of yours.

While reading this (novella? collection? essay? montage? lecture?), I constantly imagined Buddy sitting in his office, writing stories about his brother. He frantically searches the room, finding little moments hidden under desk drawers, between the pages of books, or under his chair. Each time he discovers a new one, he pairs it with the rest of his collection, tries to organize them into some semblance of order. But then he realizes there's one missing and throws them in the air in anger. They re-disperse, and he has to start over again.

I love Salinger, so naturally, I loved going on this journey with a man who wants to introduce his brother. However, he keeps running into the fact that no matter how talented a writer he is or how hard he tries, he can't even begin to describe the significance his older brother had in his life. He moves through anecdotes, his brother's philosophies and religious beliefs, his critical eye, his work as a poet, his fashion sense, his hands, his eyes, his nose, his earlobes, his rhetorical skills, his tone of voice, his brother's place in the eternal recurrence of the world, and his brother's right to be listed among the great eastern philosophers. Yet, with all of this, Buddy still can't begin to express how much of a being his brother was before he took his own life.

This entire book is simply a description of the void Seymour left in Buddy's life. As each page turns, you wish Buddy would describe him more, tell how he would talk to his little brother in a conversation, or how they would be in the same room together. You want to meet him, but you can't.

You can't because Seymour has been dead for over twenty years, and Buddy still can't put into words the emptiness his brother left behind.

**"Raising the Lintel: A Look into Salinger's Work"**

The lintel is raised, carpenters. The groom, similar to Ares, approaches, the tallest among all men. However, the difference from Sappho's 111th fragment is that here the groom doesn't arrive. Seymour, the brother of Salinger's alter ego, the writer Buddy Glass, leaves the bride at the altar, only to flee with her a few hours later, avoiding ceremony and celebrations. He, the brilliant and "off-center" older brother, is the protagonist of the two long stories in this volume. Along with a plethora of unforgettable characters (I had been waiting a lifetime to banally combine these two words), who are the cameos through which JDS sketches the ironic outline of post-World War II American society.

And it is also for this reason that "Raise the Lintel" etc. is the way to read a great Salinger when the identity card requires getting out of the sphere of influence of the young Holden. Because the most famous bearer of post-traumatic stress disorder in American literature in this book not only arranges the lintel of the stories but also the pillars, the frames, and every vertical element necessary to support them. And what is perceived as autobiographical in the events of the Glass family - the banter and the well-known character traits that were also those of JD - are the reflections that I personally like the most in his writing. The roughness that disguises itself as irony in catching the tics and the very normal details of oneself and others. In addition to a significant dose of obsessions and timidity (misanthropy?) that become his essential vice of form.

"Around the age of twenty, I went through a brief period during which I fought a strenuous, lost-from-the-start battle to become a sociable individual who loves company." Here is Jerome D. Salinger. I'm really glad it didn't work out for you.