чудовий день для рибки-бананки
одна з речей, за які я люблю життя, — можливість притягувати за вуха інтерпретації “рибки-бананки”. з моїх років 15 не проходить і тижня, щоб я не згадувала оповідання про птср американського солдата після другої світової в умовах їхнього тодішнього економічного буму

Spotless short stories. Perfectly constructed, not even a single extra word. And they fit perfectly together.

چقدر داستان ها روون و دوست داشتنی بودن

قبلا ناتور دشت رو خونده بودم و حالم از شخصیت هولدن بهم خورده بود و با خودم عهد کرده بودم دیگه دنبال کتاب هایی از این نویسنده نرم که اصولا جو گیرها توی وبلاگ هاشون با آب و تاب میگن عالیه ! هرچند دوباره تحت تاثیر جو این کتاب رو شروع کردم و اوایلش به خودم میگفتم که باز وقتت با یه کتاب نامناسب حروم شد ؛ اما با خوندن چندتا داستان دیگه تازه دستم اومد سلینجر سبکش چطوریه و یک حالت سوییچ بین کودکی و بزرگسالی سر تا سر داستان هاش به چشم میخورد حالا یا به صورت محسوس یا نا محسوس . داستان های "تقدیم به ازمه با عشق و نکبت" و "دلتنگی های نقاش خیابان چهل و هشتم" و "تدی" ! خصوصا داستان "تدی" مورد علاقه ی من بود ... خود داستان تدی به اندازه کافی ارزش تک خونده شدن رو داره و مفاهیمش و گنجوندن بزرگی یک روح در یک کودک ده ساله توسط سلینجر برام خیلی جالب بود و نظرم در مورد این نویسنده حالا کمی بهتره ، امیدوارم اگر باز کتابی ازش به دستم رسید این نظر تقریبا مثبتم پس رفت نکنه بلکه از طرفدارهاش هم بشم ، البته امیدوارم ...

A collection I have been delving into for a couple of weeks. At first, it was just seeing how the stories affected me as I let them be. 3 of the 9 stories, on first reading them, made me shut the book and walk away: A Perfect Day for Bananafish, For Esmé—with Love and Squalor, and Teddy. As of now, I am reading some secondary texts about these, so I may come back and add to this. I will, however, say this: I had not read any of it before. No spoilers. Nothing. I didn’t know what any of this was about. So, in a way, I get why Salinger refused to allow his material to be adapted. I get the cover designs. It’s nice to sit down with nothing but the text and be shot in the face with what it has to offer.

3,5 ⭐️

I’m going back through Salinger’s works again. The stories that stand out to me this time are "Teddy" and "For Esmé - with Love and Squalor," which have always been my favorites. The other stories are good too, but they just didn’t leave as strong impression on me.

Il mio personale parere è che questa raccolta acquisti un reale valore solo se rapportata alla biografia dell'autore.

Un giorno ideale per i pescibanana 3★
Lo zio Wiggily nel Connecticut 4★
Alla vigilia della guerra contro gli Esquimesi 2★
L'uomo ghignante 2★
Giù al dinghy 3★
Per Esmé: con amore e squallore 4★ (il titolo mi piace più del racconto)
Bella bocca e occhi miei verdi 4★
Il periodo blu di De Daumier-Smith 2★
Teddy 2★ (in realtà qui c'è un dialogo interessante, ma il racconto risulta molto noioso e ridondante, ho fatto uno sforzo non indifferente per trascinarmi verso la fine).

Элоиза Венглер – внешне успешная женщина, удачно вышедшая замуж, живущая в богатом особняке. Ей не нужно работать, у нее есть прислуга, поэтому домом она тоже не занимается. Она мается бездельем. Ее жизнь пуста, и она пытается заполнить ее встречами с подругой по колледжу, выпивкой и … воспоминаниями о прежних развеселых днях и своей любви к Уолту, который погиб на войне. Она эгоцентрична, равнодушна к своей дочери Рамоне, она безучастна к просьбе служанке позволить ее мужу переночевать в ее комнатенке. В общем, в ней нет ничего, что вызывало бы хоть какую-то симпатию. Напротив, наши симпатии и сожаление вызывает ее дочка, которая живет в воображаемом мире и под расспросами матери, которые та задает для смеха, рассказывает Мэри Джейн о своем невидимом друге Джимми. Это покинутый, одинокий ребенок, ненужный своей матери, не имеющий друзей и придумавший себе воображаемый мир. Но… оказалось, что этот воображаемый мир – проекция мира ее матери. Ведь Элоиза в своем безделии и ничегонеделании живет воспоминаниями о Уолте – это тоже воображаемый друг. На это наталкивает то, что Рамона заявляет, что Джимми умер, попав под машину и теперь у нее новый невидимый друг – Микки. Элоиза прекрасно осознает, как она выглядит в глазах людей, и в финале она умоляющим голосом спрашивает подругу: «Ведь я же была хорошая?». Когда она стала «плохой» – тогда, когда потеряла любовь? И как жить человеку, который потерял свою любовь? Сможет ли она стать снова «хорошей»? Зависит ли то, что человек становится хорошим, когда любит или когда счастлив? Вот такие вопросы ставит перед нами Сэлинджер.

"Девять рассказов" - это сборник, куда входит и рассказ "Лапа-растяпа".
Мои обзоры по другим рассказам и повестям можно посмотреть по ссылкам:
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

«Poi accadde una cosa assolutamente orrenda. Mi trovai come trascinato a pensare che qualunque cosa facessi per diventare un uomo capace di amministrare la sua vita con distacco, con buon senso o con eleganza, sarei sempre stato tutt’al più un visitatore in un giardino di orinali e pappagalli smaltati, con una cieca divinità di legno ritta in un angolo, vestita d’un cinto armato».

Sono felice, persino orgogliosa di aver salutato il 2015 e inaugurato il 2016 in compagnia di un tipetto come Salinger. Feci la sua conoscenza nell’agosto del 2011: il romanzo era Il giovane Holden, mostro sacrissimo, e mi piacque molto. Da allora, ho preso a dividere le persone che incontro in due macro-categorie: quelle che amano Il giovane Holden (facciamo amicizia?) e quelle a cui non è piaciuto (shò). So che si tratta di un pregiudizio letterario bello e buono, ma statisticamente ho rilevato che tendo a instaurare rapporti d’amicizia con Holden-persone, mentre mi sento a disagio con non-Holden-persone. Se credete che il mio criterio per farsi buoni amici possa funzionare, siete liberi di adottarlo.

Nell’aprile del 2013 lessi Franny e Zooey. Mi piacque ancor di più e mi diede le risposte che cercavo in un periodo psicologicamente complicato. Dovessi attraversare un’altra crisi “mistica”, sarà il primo libro da cui tornerò.

Ora che ho letto i Nove racconti, penso che sia legittimo annoverare Salinger tra i miei scrittori preferiti (alias miti letterari irraggiungibili e luminosi) e credo anche che trarrò la più grande soddisfazione da qualsiasi altro libro, racconto o lista della spesa da lui compilati.

Il modo in cui Salinger scrive è questo:
lui prende la penna e, come un pittore, appoggia prima un segno, poi l’altro. È una tecnica vagamente impressionista, senza disegno, un tocco di colore accostato al precedente. Pian piano si forma una figura riconoscibile. Pian piano la figura è inserita in uno spazio riconoscibile. Pian piano è diventata una realtà, un oggetto solido, con tutti i dettagli al suo posto, e colori vividissimi. Puoi domandarti il suo significato, ma l’impressione è che quel quadro rappresenti solo se stesso, in modo quasi sfacciato, enigmatico. Come la Colazione dei Canottieri di Renoir, la cui composizione ossessiona l’Uomo di Vetro nel Favoloso mondo di Amélie.

Il modo in cui Salinger scrive è questo:
essendo disperatamente umano. Non negando quel fondo di dolore che è caratteristico di ogni umana esperienza: l’esperienza della morte, l’esperienza della guerra, l’esperienza della crescita, l’esperienza dei rapporti interpersonali. Per Esmé: con amore e squallore: fa piangere, non leggetelo in treno. Salinger e Dostoevskij premono i piedini sullo stesso pedale misticamente sensibile della mia mente.

Il modo in cui Salinger scrive è questo:
perciò che gli eredi si sbrighino a tirare fuori i suoi manoscritti inediti, per Dio!

It has been a long time since I read Nine Stories. For once I don't care about getting older. This wasn't about that. So I started rereading Nine Stories in my car on my work lunch breaks. Getting through the day necessities stuff. I really needed an old friend. I was at a loss in a bad depths of despair kinda way that I cannot put in a meaningful way that will mean shit to anyone else. I remembered Nine Stories was good to me. I'm in no mood for anything more than that. Friends.

This probably won't make any sense to people who don't struggle with stupidity. There's a sick cloud feeling in my head that I get when I try to understand math, or something like that that requires logical thought. I never read instructions, either. I've been feeling this sick, cloudy feeling of anxious stupidity for no math related reasons. Just in general. It really sucks.

So Salinger is my breath of fresh air from that feeling. I find I don't want to read anything but short stories right now.

And other feelings... (I have a feeling I've mentioned this elsewhere on goodreads. Oh well.) When I was a kid (four?) I read this Peanuts comic strip. Charlie Brown was struggling to explain his mixed up feelings of being sad, happy, angry, all those free-range emotions, all at one time. I quoted that to my family to try to explain how I was feeling. They laughed their asses off. I slunk off to mood all by myself. It's really not about getting older. I'm still doing that. I've never found a better way than Charlie to explain that stuff. All of my moods are Peanuts broods... Anyway. Those feelings led to my reread. I needed them all. (You already wrote a review intro, Mariel. I can have more than one! Picking books is serious business! All at once!)

I remembered four of the nine stories well, the rest not at all. Shit. This throws new light on the ethics of my memory and reviewing books I read a long time ago. It's not a comfortable feeling. (Not that I won't still do it.) I'll include my old thoughts if I remember any.

A Perfect Day for Bananafish:
Confession: I totally got into J.D. Salinger because of Robert Smith of The Cure. (According to youtube, there is a band named Bananafishbones.) Bananafishbones - The Cure
I did remember this story. Of course I did.

Old Mariel thoughts: This Muriel girl sucks. (I'm interested in all literary Mariels, Muriels, d other avariations on that theme. I draw the line at Mary. Mary-Ellens need not apply either. Who has the time?)

I don't remember my old thoughts well enough. Did I relate to Seymour more? I think I relate to him more now just because I remember that old me had a massive inferiority complex when it came to precocious kids. Not that I enjoy the company of three year old girls (I've spent enough time in the company of ones related to me). Now? She wasn't all that precocious. Seymour is the permanently precocious.

My ex once told me that kids stared at me because they sensed that I was one of them. I don't like him for saying that.

I know too well the feeling of talking to people who respond as Seymour and Buddy do to their young girl friends. I get exactly those kinds of responses. It actually feels really lonely.

This wasn't what was in my head while I was rereading in my car. What is special about the precocious? The ability to surprise. It isn't lack of artifice, or knowing rules. That simply isn't true. (The little girl reminded me of mind games that older girls would play on a boyfriend with her jealousy of the younger girl he was friends with.)

It isn't good, the preoccupation with what other people notice. I don't want to think about relating to Seymour being offended when he thought the girl in the car was looking at his feet.

I've said it all before about this thing about strangers. The great things about kids is that they are all strangers. There's something about talking to strangers who don't know all other threads to heap onto everything else to the point they can't listen to the point of what you're feeling.

Maybe I don't really want to talk about suicide on goodreads. It has been in my life. There's a part of my brain that splits: 1. The person who dies. It's not up to me. Why would anyone want to go on living if they CAN'T go on living? 2. The people left behind. I've almost been them. I don't want to be them. That stuff I wrote earlier about threads... It's too much. This time... I was only feeling Seymour side. It's that kinda story.

I didn't feel less lonely reading this one. I'm not sure what I felt except... I don't know. There's a time when leading someone else to look at bananafish isn't enough, when raising yourself isn't enough. Potential for what, anyway?

Ruh roh, Raggy. If they are all this long this is gonna be a long ass review...

Uncle Wiggily in Connecticut
Confession: I can't spell Connecticut without cheating.
I didn't have invisible friends. I made friends out of inanimate objects. I've never really and truly stopped doing that. To myself I describe it as my Tom Hanks in Castaway with Wilson the Volley Ball moments. I'll stop ever doing it when I don't feel like that. Castawayed.

I loved it when Jimmy gets killed and the little girl immediately replaces him with a new best friend. When a little kid I maimed my paper Care Bear doll (cut his leg off) and then couldn't stop crying over the loss of his leg (with vows of never hurting him again). I feel an affinity with Ramona. I'm sure she killed him for the tragedy of it all. (Or it really was the dog's fault.)

I had a depressing feeling off this one. Maybe I get this from other Salinger females, like their good times end when they pretend not to be young anymore? I loved it when the mom, Eloise, wants reassurement of her past from her college friend, Mary Jane. What is the fun in being a dinner party person, anyway? Cocktails, dinner parties: same difference.

Just Before the War with the Eskimos:
No confessions. (I'm not admitting to once writing a really bad story about an eskimo.)
I found reassuring so much the details like Selena coming back in a dress when she had been wearing shorts. (Even if it didn't annoy Ginnie as it normally would have.) I'd have been steamed. I hate waiting. I hate waiting soooo much. I hate it when people know you are waiting and run errands and shit. It gives me a sick and frustrated feeling. Anyway.

I hope Ginnie will appreciate others noticing the interesting details, and how they put them, in more worthier people than Selena, her brother or his friend. What a shame. Younger me probably felt sad that she crushed on a guy who liked her (probably) prettier and more socially at ease sister. I probably also noted that Eric spoke like someone Holden would find annoying (his "grand" and all). I've always wanted to save people in stories from uninteresting characters. "You can do better!"

P.s. The Eskimos will go after the French first. Maybe they don't wanna be named after a dessert cake any longer.

The Laughing Man:
Confession: Talk of athetlics of any kind usually make my eyes glaze over. I admit to having an "Oh fuck" moment. I'm a jerk.

I loved this story. I feel so much impatience with stories about beautiful people. It means fuck all to me to read the word beautiful. In this story the Chief and his Mary Hudson are beautiful like heroes of memory, and of stories. I feel embarrassed trying to describe this. I loved the Laughing Man stories that he told the kids.

You know what? I haven't done a list in ages.

Coolest bus drivers:
1. Chief
2. Bus-Driver Stu from The Adventures of Pete and Pete
3. Otto from The Simpsons

It occurs to me now that Bus-Driver Stu holding the kids hostage to his relationship problems might've been a nod to this story. Awesome. Pete and Pete makes me happy like almost nothing else does. It's like ideals like how The Laughing Man does beauty. Not definitions, just living as day to day without reading the rules first. I suck at describing this. If I were them I'd never forget those stories either.

Down at the Dinghy:
My confessions are embarrassing. I'm not gonna tell the story of when I tried to run away. It's not a nice story like this one.
I didn't remember this story despite once naming a bird I took care of after Boo Boo.
It must be great to have a mom like Boo Boo.

For Esme- with Love and Squalor:
I liked this story much more as an adult than I did as a teenager. I was too close in age to Esme, perhaps. I was probably jealous of Esme because she was so smart for her age (I may as well confess that smart kids make me feel really bad about being a dumb adult). No poise either. But that doesn't matter at all. Old me! It was so sweet the way the brother and sister were with each other. How Esme missed her father (she was likely jealous of her mama so I wasn't that unusual as a teen, I guess)... Anyway, it made me happy how happy Buddy is to have his letter. I'm glad that he wrote his story and engaged more than his brother did with his girl friends. Friendships should be more than something the other cannot understand.

Pretty Mouth and Green My Eyes:
I am losing steam with this one. I felt bad for Arthur... but I didn't want to spend time in their marriage problems. It makes me uncomfortable to hear about them. There's nothing I can do for them. You know?

I did read that PJ Harvey made a nod to this story title in her song Angelene. This is one of my all-time favorite Peejay songs. Thanks, wikipedia trivia!

De Daumier-Smith's Blue Period:
"The fact is always obvious much too late, but the most singular difference between happiness and joy is that happiness is a solid and joy a liquid."
I feel disconnected with much of this story, as with 'Pretty Mouth'. Blame my desperate impatientness for something... Maybe I want a life affirming day that beats any bananafish day, or anything. Something more sustaining. What the hell is gonna happen next?

Teddy:
Teddy is right. It isn't so good that way, loving for the sake of loving. Sighs. But I do think too much. I wonder how Seymour would like talking to Teddy. He'd meditate and not give practiced answers, for sure. No pet nothing. Number two reasons this time. The little girl... Number one too. It's complicated.

It did help. I'll always need more. I think, though, that Salinger didn't owe anybody to publish anything. (I'll always need more. That's exhausting.) Not any more than Seymour did with what he put out. I guess it's not always a perfect day for bananafish. I'm so glad these were published, though. I needed them like Buddy. It's not all a smile. I've already said that lame-o stuff about my Peanuts emotions. That's the best I've got. I wish I had better. Number one and number two reasons.

n  n

Most of these stories make a statement (or two, or more) about how our past, and our interactions with each other, affect our lives. I had this feel that in some way, the stories represented our disconnections from one another, from reality, and from full knowledge; the slippery grasp we have of our perceptions, and our tendency to judge too quickly.

Salinger often gets this across through arresting dialogue among individuals, typically with at least one of the individuals in some way being "different" from your "normal" standards. Entering the inner world of a Salinger character is an experience everyone should have. His children are the best I’ve experienced; as are his hard-edged, outcast characters -- you know the type: they chain smoke, say “goddamn” a lot, and have a sharp, smartass tongue that bespeaks toughness. Yet it gets revealed that they’ve been hurt in some way in the past, and that they have a soft spot inside. Salinger shows this in some beautiful ways and eventually, by the end of the story, you see a special side to these people. Characters that at first seemed ridiculous and entertaining end up making you see something in them. Yes they’re faltered and off, but they’re also special, and you see that their reality may in fact be superior to yours.. at least in some ways.

Isn’t that true of children, in general? That they see the world in specifically different ways from us adults? And aren't some of these paradigms innocent, beautiful, and pure? Or maybe it's exactly because they don't have a paradigm, that this is the case. While we can't escape from all of our preconceived notions, they are free from them. Even some of Salinger’s non-children characters have this element to their personality.

A lot of the endings to these stories are phenomenal. They always contain a surprise, sometimes with room for broad interpretation; typically making you think and reflect. Yet there’s still a feeling of mystery; of not knowing the full story. Through these endings your interpretation of what you had read, changes; the way you saw the story shifts, often resulting in quick, new perceptions and “aha!” moments. And, if your experience is like mine, you then continue to reflect and question your perceptions of the story further.

I couldn’t quite give this five stars. Some of the stories, such as Just Before the War with the Eskimos and Down at the Dinghy didn’t flow enough for me, and ended up lacking in either coherence or emotional pull. (By the way, my star ratings per story are in the picture above, just to the left of each story listed. You can change Teddy from a 4.5 to a 5, too. It started as a 4; I thought about it more, and gave it a 4.5; then today, I thought about it even more and have decided that it’s a 5. That’s what some of these stories can do to you: They really get you thinking.)

The other Salinger I’ve read is The Catcher and the Rye, which I’ve read twice and enjoy, but come up short of loving. After reading this I can further see how Salinger has a following that loves him. His characters are unusual and intriguing, and his way of viewing the world is special and ingenious. This is a book you should get a hold of.

با ترجمه احمد گلشيري كتاب دو ستاره هم ندارد، فاجعه و عجيب. اسم كتاب من در آورديست، اسم چندتا داستان عوض شده، آقاي گلشيري نه آنقدر داستان ميفهمد نه مشروعيت دارد. ناشري كه هنوز اين كتاب را با اين وضعيت منتشر ميكند مسئول ايت. كتاب در اصل چيزي كم از شاهكار ندارد. چند داستانش مرجع و مأخذ اغلب كلاسهاي داستان نويسي است ديگر. اصلن سالينجر داستاني با اين نام احمقانه مزخرف ندارد. لحنها منتقل نشده.خلاصه اينقدر صريح نوشتم كه ياد توي خواننده بماند كه كتاب ميلنگد و سالينجر ميرقصد به واقع