I'm not quite sure what to make of this. The dialogue and characters were intriguing but I didn't feel that I quite 'got' it.

There is something so beautiful and touching about Franny’s willingness to humor Lane. This is a genius alum of It’s a Wise Child, after all. And there is something hysterical about Lane telling Franny that he will be reading her his shitty little Yale essay about Flaubert. Salinger writing the textbook “mansplaining” story – fantastic.

Zooey’s character hit a little too close to home, and I suspect that’s why I am giving this one a 5-star rating. That’s about all I will say about that for now, but I may come back and flesh this one out too.

A reread. I adore the Glasses to pieces and distraction, they show me that we can love people even when their conviction are not ours. Also, Bessie Glass is goddam heroic.
===

What great about Franny and Zooey was how despite being published on 1960s, it read as fresh as today. The questions raised by them were just as valid and significant in this era as back then, probably more. In this digital world filled to the burst with clatter of billions voices, it was so terribly loud, one could go deaf from it. Whatever one wanted to say, no matter how different or unique one's words were, someone else under the sun had said it, still everyone felt the urge to add their voice to the beehive for fear of being left out or having their selves disappeared into the void if they didn't, despite the fact what they said didn't add anything new.

n  "I'm just sick of ego, ego, ego. My own and everybody's else. I'm sick of everybody that wants to get somewhere, do something distinguished and all, be somebody interesting. It's disgusting."n

Ego was important, no, it was vital, because that's how one survived. With technology and social medias connecting people to the corners of the world, we were overloaded with information, exposed to lifes and personalities, values and ideals, opinions, one was more aware than ever how insignificant, how common, how not special one was, how no matter the number of steps one climbed, there was someone better, smarter, richer, more interesting, more loved, etc. And that was terrifying, survival of one's identity took precedence, it was control in chaos.

The really sad but funny thing was, despite the fact that in a way, the world was much better than before, because of equality, human right, identity and gender movement, freedom of opinion and speech, the recognition of diverse cultures, races, all that, people were still insisting of putting each other into boxes, labels, names. When you feel something, think something is something, you have to validate your emotions, you have to pick sides, you have to state clearly whether you are friends or enemies. People attack each other so much over opinions or even when you are thinking, questioning, in the process of finding answers. One could not be anything nowadays without fear, the pressure to conform to values held by society is as crazy, unrelenting as ever, the freedom apparently doesn't free us.

n  "It's everybody, I mean. Everything everybody does is so — I don't know — not wrong, or even mean, or even stupid necessarily. But just so tiny and meaningless and — sad-making. And the worst part is, if you go bohemian or something crazy like that, you're conforming just as much only in a different way."n

To talk was easy, words had becoming cheap, you couldn't be sure people meant what they said when they said something, time was so fast, the goals were all one can see, it's becomeing rare for people to stop and think, really think. So to want to ponder, to ask the questions that Franny and Zooey asked? That took courage, that's why I loved them, because they were fearless. As Bertrand Russell said,
'Men fear thought as they fear nothing else on earth -- more than ruin, more even than death. Thought is subversive and revolutionary, destructive and terrible, thought is merciless to privilege, established institutions, and comfortable habits; thought is anarchic and lawless, indifferent to authority, careless of the well-tried wisdom of the ages. Thought looks into the pit of hell and is not afraid ... Thought is great and swift and free, the light of the world, and the chief glory of man.' But think, one must.

I wasn't satisfied with the answer in the end, I got the concept, but I don't think it's the answer I am looking for, anyway that was beside the point. What truly important was the questions. And Salinger had phrased them in such enraptured prose and original, idiosyncratic voice that made an absolutely relatable, interesting read. Franny and Zooey Glass were difficult, they were different, they were individuals and they were real. n  "You don't know how to talk to people you don't like. Don't love, really. You can't live in the world with such strong likes and dislikes."n I would choose them any day over the superfical, plasticky, artificial sameness that was almost everywhere.

n  "An artist's only concern is to shoot for some kind of perfection, and on his own terms, not anyone else's."n

I am a huge JD Salinger fan, and I'm one of those people who's read "Catcher in the Rye" like 200 times, several times a year since I was about twelve. I buy into every cliche said about it: it changed my life, it made me want to write, it validated my own teen angst, Salinger captures teen-speak amazingly well, Holden Caulfield is vulnerable and wise, a kid-hero, etc. I have such an emotional attachment to the book that I find it hard to tolerate much criticism of it. Case in point: I recently came across an article written by Jonathan Yardley in 2004 for the Washington Post entitled "J.D. Salinger's Holden Caulfield, Aging Gracelessly". One of the best quotes from the piece:

"Rereading 'The Catcher in the Rye' after all those years was almost literally a painful experience: The combination of Salinger's execrable prose and Caulfield's jejune narcissism produced effects comparable to mainlining castor oil."

Ouch. Double ouch because I had to look up "jejune".

This article prompted me to delve deeper into the Salinger canon, and I resurfaced holding "Franny & Zooey". Yardley may have prompted me to question my devotion, but this book cemented what I already knew: JD Salinger is a wonderful writer and his characters are the written equivalent of crack. You just can't get enough.

"Franny & Zooey" is one of several books/short stories written about the Glass family. There are seven Glass kids, all of whom were, at various points, panelists on a radio quiz show with the best name ever: "It's A Wise Child".

"Franny & Zooey" focuses on the two youngest siblings, hence the title, who are both in the midst of emotional and existential breakdowns. Franny, away at college in Boston, has read a book called "The Way of the Pilgrim, which has instilled in her an obsession with the concept of "praying without ceasing". Suddenly, everything around her is meaningless, she can't study or eat or sleep, and returns to New York to recouperate. Zooey is a sometimes-working actor, determined to help his sister.

The book touches on familiar Salinger-esque themes, including relgious devotion/fanaticism, kids vs. adults, a potentially meaningless world, etc. This book explores religion in an engaging, relatable way. Franny's qustions are universal and Zooey's answers are valid.

Authorities on the Glass Family will appreciate the insight into the unit, particularly into eldest brothers Seymour (who at that point has already committed suicide) and Buddy, who narrates the story. Zooey blames them for using himself and Franny as philosphical guinea pigs, pumping them full from the time they were toddlers with vast and varied dogma simply to see what would stick.

All of that said, I think the most important thing about this book, and all of Salinger's books, is its pure, joyful readability. "Franney & Zooey" contains passages that are absolutely HILARIOUS, specifically the extensive conversation between Zooey and his nagging mother, Bessie, that takes place in the bathroom. I was laughing out loud throughout.

He's been called the voice of several generations, but Salinger's ability to maintain belly-laugh-worthy humor while touching on such dark themes might be the most notable (and most underappreciated) thing about him.

It’s us. We’re freaks, that’s all. We’re the Tattooed Lady, and we’re never going to have a minute’s peace, the rest of our lives, till everybody else is tattooed, too.

I wish I could rate the two sections separately -- Franny was an easy 5/5, one of the best things I've ever read, whereas Zooey was 3.5/5. Overall, though, there are SO many outrageous, hilarious, and brilliant moments, presented by Salinger with an air of fond mockery.

"I do like him. I'm sick of just liking people. I wish to God I could meet someone I could respect"

قبل اینکه وارد دانشگاه بشم سعی می کردم تا می تونم از این " تلنباری دانش" دوری کنم و هر چه بیشتر برم به سمت معرفت و حکمت علم. در نظر داشتم کارم و هدفم رو همیشه با درنظر گرفتن " اون خانم چاقه" طرح ریزی کنم.
اما بعد اینکه وارد دانشگاه شدم انقدر بحرانای مختلفی رو تجربه کردم که همه چیز یادم رفت. شاید نوعی ارتداد بود یا نمیدونم، اما دیگه اون دغدغه سابق رو نداشتم. شایدم علتش این بود که این بحران ها بطور مستقیم مربوط می شدن به همین طرز تفکر که نوعی تفکر مذهبیه و نتونستم خوب حلشون کنم و همیشه تو تعلیق موندم و انگار هستم. درنتیجه همیشه فکر می کردم فرار کردن بهترین گزینه ست. این بخش از دیالوگ زویی خیلی دقیق توصیف می کنه:
« تو به حرف های یه مشت دانشجوی خرفت و ببو گوش می‌دی، و نتیجه می‌گیری که همه‌ش حرف خودخواهی و منم منم کردنه، و تنها کار زیرکانه و درستی که یه دختر می‌تونه بکنه اینه که دراز بکشه، سرشو بتراشه، ذکرِ مسیح سربگیره و به خدا التماس کنه یه تجربه عارفانه کوچولو واسش نازل کنه تا خوشبخت شه.»
«رفیق، کوتاه بیای روت خاک و کثافت می شینه. من می دونم چی دارم می گم. تو این دنیای خارق العاده کثافت، فرصت کنی عطسه کنی شانس آوردی.»
«تنها کاری که الان می تونی بکنی، تنها کار مذهبی که می تونی بکنی اینه که بازی کنی. اگه می خوای برای خدا بازی کن.»
«تنها دلمشغولی هنرمند اینه که کارشو به کمال برسونه، کمال با تعریف خودش نه با تعریف یه نفر دیگه.»

« Accidenti, » disse, « ce ne sono di cose belle al mondo. E quando dico belle intendo belle. Siamo degli idioti a svicolare sempre dalle cose. Sempre, sempre, sempre lì ad annotare tutti gli accidenti che capitano al nostro piccolo e schifoso io ».

Capitano, talvolta, degli incidenti straordinari. Tu sei lì con la guardia abbassata, a carezzare il tuo piccolo e schifoso io, e d’un tratto le parole giuste ti cascano tra capo e collo come una secchiata d’acqua fredda (o meglio, come un confortante tè caldo quando sei raffreddata). La risposta che cercavi da settimane… ti basta allungare la mano per prenderla. E tutto avviene con una tale disinvoltura, una tale generosità da questo disinteressato signor Salinger che non puoi fare a meno di rivolgergli un sorriso dolcissimo, tra le lacrime che già t’ha fatto scendere.
Ho raccolto questo libro con me durante un viaggio in autobus. La copertina, sul retro, non svela nulla della trama. L’ho scelto dalla pila dei non-letti unicamente perché sembrava abbastanza leggero da tenere in borsa. Eppure, per qualche buffa coincidenza, non avrei potuto leggere questo breve romanzo in un momento migliore.

Non avrei potuto leggerlo in un momento migliore perché anch’io, come la Franny che si affaccia nel titolo, sto attraversando « un esaurimento nervoso di quart’ordine », per dirla con le parole del fratello Zooey. Non mi sono messa in testa di aggiustare il mio mondo biascicando ininterrottamente una preghiera a Dio, ma ho appuntato in un quaderno il proposito (altrettanto insano) di fare più torte e più passeggiate. Anch’io, come Franny, « sono stufa di tutti questi ego, ego, ego. Del mio e di quello di tutti gli altri. Sono stufa della gente che vuol “arrivare” da qualche parte, fare qualcosa di notevole eccetera, essere un tipo interessante. É disgustoso, disgustoso e basta. Me ne infischio di quello che dicono. [...] Sono stufa di non avere il coraggio di essere nessuno e basta. Sono stufa di me e di tutti quelli che vogliono fare colpo, in un modo o nell’altro ». Sono preda, cioè, di una cieca, distruttiva misantropia, che non risparmia me stessa né gli altri e che sento destinata a portarmi rannicchiata in posizione fetale sul divano, con mamma che mi spinge sotto il naso una tazza di brodo di pollo e un gatto grasso avvolto nel plaid.
Essere Franny non è piacevole per Franny né per coloro che la circondano: è avvolgersi in una cappa di ritrosia e inerzia, volersi del male e voler male agli altri perché non ci si ama più. Avere paura di amarsi, soprattutto, paura che stimarsi il giusto sia di per sé un atto di narcisismo, che dare una valutazione, per quanto oggettiva, delle proprie capacità sia necessariamente una dimostrazione di superbia intellettuale. Conseguentemente, disistimarsi e, quello che riesce di meno, simulare una umiltà che caratterialmente non si possiede, per poi esplodere, di tanto in tanto, in commenti di una sentenziosità caustica e faziosa.
C’è in Franny qualcosa dell’Holden, ma c’è soprattutto Franny, un personaggio a tutto tondo, così vivo che quasi pare di poterci uscire per un caffè. E la vitalità, l’assoluta realisticità sono quello che di più colpisce nella creazione cesellata di qualsiasi personaggio: da Lane, ragazzo di Franny (che, nella sua spocchia da studente di college, fa quasi tenerezza) alla signora Glass, madre di Franny, Zooey e degli altri fratelli Glass, vestaglia e sigaretta, dispensatrice di brodi, pragmatica e vigile.
Parole a parte merita la straordinaria figura di Zooey, che emerge dalla pagina con tutta una gestualità e un modo di parlare, un affabulatore così affascinante, un provocatore così sofisticato, che davvero balza su dalle righe per dialogare col lettore.

I fratelli Glass sono accomunati da una straordinaria intelligenza e, quel che più conta, da una certa voracità di conoscenza. Tutti e sette, dal 1927 al 1943, hanno preso parte a un programma radiofonico intitolato “Bambino eccezionale”, da cui (è legittimo dirlo) non si sono mai più ripresi. Sono cresciuti cercando di meritare sempre il titolo di “bambini eccezionali”, di essere all’altezza del proprio passato di piccoli geni e di quello dei fratelli. Puntellano, nonostante gli anni e i colpi del sistema, una certa idea di sé che hanno costruito nella prima infanzia, un’idea di superiorità intellettuale ma anche di anormalità. È Zooey stesso a definire lui e Franny degli “anormali”. Illuminanti, a tal proposito, le parole della signora Glass: « Non capisco proprio a cosa serva sapere tante cose ed essere tanto intelligenti e così via, se non riuscite a essere felici ». Una frase con cui ciascuna madre – specialmente la mia – potrebbe uscirsene da un momento all’altro.

Il cuore del romanzo è una conversazione tra Franny e Zooey, sollecitato dalla madre a “fare un discorsetto” alla sorella minore. Niente di straordinario, nessuna evoluzione pirotecnica nella trama. Con grande spontaneità Salinger ci invita a prender parte a un esercizio per cambiare il nostro angolo prospettico, le nostre lenti di osservazione del mondo. Vogliamo guardarlo con la lente del nostro ego affaticato, acuto e schifato dalla realtà? Vogliamo schifarci di tutto e di tutto spogliarci? O vogliamo, al contrario, pensare che in ognuno di quelli che schifiamo e da cui vogliamo allontanarci c’è magari un piccolo ego costretto in spoglie che non gli appartengono, un ego piangente e solo? Vogliamo essere autoreferenziali, pensare di poter cavarcela da soli, o vogliamo, per il bene nostro e degli altri, esercitare (verso noi stessi e verso gli altri) la funzione straordinaria della generosità?
Ecco, nelle parole gentili, ironiche, provocatorie che Zooey rivolge a Franny io ci ho visto tutta la lunga ed elaborata risposta che cercavo da giorni. Risposta che né amici né parenti erano riusciti a fornirmi in modo così spiritoso, esaustivo e ben scritto.

Ben scritto, occorre sottolinearlo, perché questo breve romanzo è anche un gioiellino di bella scrittura, scrittura intelligente e raffinata, vivace ed eclettica, dotata di una grandiosa lucidità di analisi e di un piglio dinamicissimo nelle descrizioni. Un Salinger che non mi ha fatto in alcun modo rimpiangere “Il giovane Holden” e di cui ho deciso, da ora in avanti, di divorare metodicamente la produzione.
Magari si potesse avere un piccolo Zooey così saggio, formato statuina, da mettere sul comodino quando si sta male. Nel caso ne trovaste uno, sapete cosa regalarmi per il compleanno.

If you liked Catcher in the Rye more than your average novel, then you probably have considered reading Franny and Zooey. It's one of very few books that J.D. Salinger wrote because he kind of turned into a weird old recluse. I was really excited about reading this. I expected big things. Needless to say, I was very disappointed.
Problem number one: Zooey, who is essentially the "protagonist" (or one of two main characters) is pretty much identical to the main character from Catcher in the Rye, Holden Caulfield. And so is every other guy character in Franny and Zooey. They all talk and act the same. It's all "Jesus Christ, goddam" and you can't tell them apart.
Problem number two: the plot. If you thought Catcher in the Rye was short on plot, check out this book. NOTHING happens. I mean it. Nothing. The first quarter of the book is just Franny sitting in a restaurant talking to her boyfriend. The remaining three fourths is Zooey sitting in the bathtub talking to his mom, then getting dressed and talking to his sister in the living room. That's it. They don't do anything. They don't go anywhere. The entire book is just characters talking to each other. And it's boring, pointless dialogue, too. It'd be one thing if they were interesting characters but they're not. And all they do is smoke. Every one of them. They chain smoke like it's the only thing Salinger could think of to put into his novel that wasn't in quotation marks.
Hmm, what can Zooey do when he's not talking...I've got it! He can smoke a cigar! Brilliant!
More like frustrating. That makes two books in a row that I've read and been disappointed with.

از این کتاب متنفرم..یه سطحی بودن و ضعف خاصی در سراسر جملات و دیالوگ های کتاب هست..جمله "و سیگارش را اتش زد"بار ها تکرار شده..انگار که مثلا باید حس کنی یه کرایسیس و بحران خیلی بزرگ تو وجود کاراکتر وجود داره..در حالیکه برای من شخصیت ها مقوا و پیش پا افتاده بودن..و مهم نیس چند بار جمله "و سیگارش را اتش زد"تکرار شد..هیچ تاثیری برای من نداشت..به عنوان خواننده از دور تلاش رقت انگیزی برای عمیق ساختن متن رو دیدم و با لبخند تلخی سرتکون دادم..

خدایا.. واقعاً به‌چنین چیزی نیاز داشتم.. چن وخته به‌این‌چیزا فک می‌کنم؟ چن وخته دغدغه‌هام رنگ و بوی این‌کتابو گرفته؟ این‌اوّلین داستانی بود که از سلینجر خوندم و باید بگم خیلی، خیلی، خیلی ازش خوشم اومد. اگه همه‌ی کتاباش همین‌طوری‌ـن، محشره. با داستاناش آدمو درمان می‌کنه.

نکته‌ی حیرت‌انگیز داستان، اینه‌که نود درصدش دیالوگه و من شخصاً اصلاً خسته نشدم با دیالوگا. اون‌قد طبیعی و واقعی بودن و خب روح ِ منم بهشون نیاز داش.. و چقد نویسنده صادق و روراس نوشته‌شون.. شخصیّت‌پردازی ِ بی‌نظیر تک‌تک ِ شخصیّت‌ها ستودنیه. فرنی رو با تمام وجود، درک می‌کردم. در عین این‌که سرزنشش می‌کردم. روح سیمور در بند بند داستان مث یه‌قدیس حضور داش و زویی، زویی.. چقد این‌شخصیّت نازنین، نابغه، سادیسمی، دلسوز، مهربون، دیوونه و اعصاب‌خرد کن بود. ازون‌دس آدمایی که از فرط ِ هوش و نبوغ، روانی شدن! :دی شخصیّتی که هم خعلی دوسش دارم و هم مث فرنی، دلم می‌خواد بکشمش. :دی

و خب، با همه‌ی این‌تعریفا، اصلاً داستانی نیس که هر کسی بخونه و بفهمه. نه این‌که خدایی نکرده بخوام شعور کسی رو بیارم پایین، مسئله اینه‌که چقد می‌تونی درون داستان فرو بری. چقد لمسش می‌کنی و تجربه‌هاشو مزّه‌مزّه کنی. هوش، درک، احساس، هر اسمی که می‌شه روش گذاش. به‌هر حال، مخاطبش خاصّه. و مسئله‌ی بزرگشم همون‌بحران‌های معرفتی- عقیدتی ِ بنیادی غرب هس که به‌عرفان‌های شرقی پناه می‌آرن و ازین بحث‌های جامعه‌شناسانه‌ای که شخصاً شیفته‌شونم. احتمالاً واسه همینه که کتاب علوم‌اجتماعی چارممونو نیگه داشتم.

+ فقط چرا این‌قد سیگار می‌کشیدن؟ ینی سیگاره تموم نشده، یکی دیگه روشن می‌کردن! ازون مامانشون بگیر تا زویی و فرنی با اون‌همه ناز و اداش. :دی

+ ویرایش پس از خوانش دوم: نه، تأثیر بار اولم رو نداشت. به نظرم خیلی از دیالوگ‌ها زائد و رواعصاب اومدن. زویی خیلی حرف می‌زد. حوصله آدم
سر می‌رفت. :/ ولی از زمانی که می‌ره پیش فرنی و حرف می‌زنه باهاش، با این‌که مدام می‌خواد خودشو کنار بکشه ولی نمی‌تونه در مقابل خواهرش بی‌تفاوت بمونه، باز داستان به خوبی بخش اول می‌شه. وگرنه بخش اول به نظرم شاهکاره. ولی بخشی که زویی با مامانش تو حمومه، به شدت ور ور می‌کنن- شرمنده :دی- و دیالوگ‌ها با این حجم، راهگشا نیستن. باز از جایی که می‌ره پیش فرنی بهتر می‌شه. گرچه بازم حشو زیاد داره. ولی پای تلفن بخصوص، هم نقشی که بازی کرد هم خیلی حرفاش دوست‌داشتنی بودن. فقط بیچاره لین، معلوم نشد اون آخرش چی شد. و این‌که فرنی آیا برگشت به دانشگاه؟ یا طرح این سوألات اصن مهم نیستن؟ ینی تو تقریباً دوصفحه، یهو فرنی زیر و رو می‌شه؟ آخه به نظرم حرفای آخرِ زویی خیلی هم تأثیرگذار نبودن. نه حداقل اون‌قدی که از یه شخصیت با چنین هوشی انتظار می‌ره و من خیلی حس نکردم فرنی بحرانش حل شده باشه. وقتی کسی اون‌قد تو ذکر گفتن و خوددرماندگی‌ش غرق شده باشه، حرفای آخر زویی نمی‌تونه این‌طور تغییرش بده.

Imagine you are born into a super intelligent family. So smart, in fact, that all the kids used to be on a show called “It’s a Wise Child”. For Franny and Zooey, it has become a curse. They both have problems listening to others expound on their ideas and opinions, without disagreeing and cutting them down.

“I’m just sick of ego, ego, ego. My own and everybody else’s. I’m sick of everybody that wants to get somewhere, do something distinguished and all, be somebody interesting. It’s disgusting.”

There is a lot of witty dialogue and discourses in this book, especially between Franny and Zooey; Zooey and his mother and Lane and Franny. The scenes between Zooey and Bessie, his mother, were hilarious and my favourites.
To be honest, this book is just dialogue.

Franny has become obsessed with the idea of continuous praying- to the point that it has affected her both physically and mentally. She is at that age where she is searching for meaning and purpose and it weighs heavily on her.

This book is about coming to terms with your existence. A very interesting exploration by the author. Salinger has a very unique style.