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 Posting a reply to post #2767

File: 124756342520.jpg-(104.92KB, 525x416, Salinger.jpg)
2767 No.2767
When J.D. Salinger dies and achieves transcendence, will all the stuff he has been writing and stashing away be available to the public. How would it work, if, let's say there's stacks from floor to ceiling of work, for hundreds of books, labeled by him to be published or otherwise...Yes I am taking the scenario that he hasn't destroyed, hidden them, or given up writing, I want to know if it all does exist, if everything would just be published or what?

It's how it's worked with all the other dead authors. I don't see a difference in this case.

All I know is, that when all is said and done, Catcher in the Rye will still be a bad book, and J.D. Sallinger will still have only one testicle.

You're a phony.

But I have all my testicles.


Oh you don't, do..nt you...

Hey Ace, this is the last great American writer, after Nine Stories that statement is sealed, he is also the MOST reclusive, combine those two elements and you have the biggest literary goldmine and movement if he does have indeed ANY work to be published posthumously, let alone if it is MASSIVE from over half a century of writing.

Do you push out all these highly desired, works at once? Do you realize the implications of this? How would they all come out, this isn't some little drawer with 50 pages inside.

I think it depends on who inherits his estate. I forget who exactly, but this woman writer (a poet I think) left her belongings to her sister and specifically asked her to burn all her writings but the sister read it and was all "Shit, this is brilliant" and let it be published. It's a really famous dame, too, I just can't remember.


This was killing me to not remember so I looked around. Emily Dickinson.

>>Hey Ace, this is the last great American writer
I'd hate to read some of America's bad authors.


There is nobody else that even comes close to Salinger. You are silly.

Yeah can you explain that to me?

I never understood the Salinger love. I couldn't finish Catcher because I wanted to slap the stupid out of Holden by the end of the first chapter. I forced myself through one of his other books and it was almost painful to read. I'd love to know what magical theory every other writer is aspiring to to want to hop on this guys' dick.

Not because I want to hop on his dick, mind, I'd just like other people to hop on mine and it seems prudent to take notes.


Catcher In The Rye??

*pompous giggles*


Start here my son:


And without fail, read Nine Stories first.

I'm on page 4 and this is some grade A Horseshit. This smacks of the kind of shit you feed your professor to make you think that you're profound and deep when really you could give less of a shit and are just throwing out big words to fill up the page limit.

>Meanings rip up the fine fabric of thought located in space

Seriously what the fuck does that even mean? "morals blow your mind"?

This is just cementing my impression that modern writers love jerking Salingers' cock because he actually managed to create the most boring stories and characters possible, and nobody else realized that you could do that and make money.

Maybe I'm just the son of a new generation. One that's sick of culture.

>>Meanings rip up the fine fabric of thought located in space
That's neat. You can do that by stepping to the left. Or actually, because we're on a moving planet that happens anyway.

>>While reading a text, the reader is often confronted with a situation, when he transcends the boundary of his experience and
enters a totally new realm of knowledge. However, in such cases the situation is seen from the individual‘s own point of
view, or, rather his worldview. A new meaning may be created by transferring a characteristic of one phenomenon to another.

Also this is the shittiest use of Hegel imaginable, and I've read Lenin.

So that actually does answer Fang's question: It's a book for people who love the smell of their own farts.

To date, Catcher in the Rye is the only Salinger book I've read, and before I read it I knew nothing about the book or the author. I was assigned the book for English Literature, and from the very beginning I liked it.

It'd be hard for me to say exactly why I liked it, but I guess a major factor was how real everything felt. The protagonist/narrator was a teenage boy who wasn't very smart and wasn't very motivated, and the story revolved around him not doing much in particular. But something about his thoughts and actions felt very organic to me, as if I had genuinely watched the world through the eyes of this young man for a couple of relatively uneventful days. In other words, it was pleasantly immersive.

Based on that alone, I would not label Salinger as "the best American author ever" or whatever people are calling him. There are other books that I liked significantly more, and I can understand why some people would dislike Catcher.

this point of view I can respect. Not just because it's personal opinion, but I also agree that Salinger manages to write "real" people, or as real as they got back then. I think it's boring, but to each his own.

What kills me is, I had a writing teacher basically admit to stalking Salinger when he was in his early twenties. And he wouldn't really let us critique the others work; that is, criticize it. All my teachers have disallowed this; not just that you can't say something mean, but you literally can't offer any advice that amounts to even the most base criticism. He basically admitted that the worst we'd ever get from a publishing company is a polite form letter, and then wouldn't let us be harsh on our peers. I couldn't even say something like "So, where are you going with this?". See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. And it drives me insane.

It seems like there's some kind of pervasive train of thought among most writers; some mad love of english that borders on insanity, which is only fostered among writers. And it drives me up the fucking wall. What's the point of being so complex that you lose all but a few readers? What's the point of being so complex that most can't recognize the complexity from drivel? I mean, sure, lets teach everyone to have a borderline fetish-level love of english. That doesn't keep us from the high-paying english jobs that involve television and movies and games and titties and explosions and basically everything that is HURR and wrong with mainstream culture, no sir.

Tits and explosions are even better when rendered in fetish-level purple prose.

But I digress. I'm not sure what this has to do with Catcher. From what I remember, It was pretty plain as far as the language was concerned. Downright conversational if you want to know.

it's just me venting. I didn't find anything remarkable about Catcher. "Greatest American Novel" seems kind of horseshit, but the camp who believes that is firmly removed from the camp that actually makes money, it seems.


Are you just not aware of any of his other writings? You know the important ones? Read Franny and Zooey, Raise High The Roofbeam Carpenters, Nine Stories..fuck, even read his uncollected magazine short stories, to get an accurate representation of why he is the best.

they said Catcher specifically. I've read a few of his others and I still fail to see the charm.

Bumping this topic for current relevance.

CORNISH, NH—In this big dramatic production that didn't do anyone any good (and was pretty embarrassing, really, if you think about it), thousands upon thousands of phonies across the country mourned the death of author J.D. Salinger, who was 91 years old for crying out loud. "He had a real impact on the literary world and on millions of readers," said hot-shot English professor David Clarke, who is just like the rest of them, and even works at one of those crumby schools that rich people send their kids to so they don't have to look at them for four years. "There will never be another voice like his." Which is exactly the lousy kind of goddamn thing that people say, because really it could mean lots of things, or nothing at all even, and it's just a perfect example of why you should never tell anybody anything.

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