Salinger

I went through my J.D. Salinger phase junior and senior year of high school. I liked Franny and Zooey way better than Catcher in the Rye, though, and Nine Stories best of all. I even wrote a ten-page research paper on the Glass family (whose names I can still rattle off - Les, Bessie, Seymour, Buddy, Boo Boo, Walt, Waker, Zooey, Franny).

The best part about coming home is grabbing a book at random off the shelf in my room, opening it to a similarly random page, and plowing in. I can do that for hours, and I often do. I reread a couple of the stories from Nine Stories last night. I enjoyed them well enough. I still think Salinger's a good author, but he's not my favorite anymore. Couldn't tell you why; he's just not.

His dedications still crack me up, though. Here's the one to Franny and Zooey:

"As nearly as possible in the spirit of Matthew Salinger, age one, urging a luncheon companion to accept a cool lima bean, I urge my editor, mentor and (heaven help him) closest friend, William Shawn, genus domus of The New Yorker, lover of the long shot, protector of the unprolific, defender of the hopelessly flamboyant, most unreasonably modest of born great artist-editors, to accept this pretty skimpy-looking book."

And here's the one to Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour: An Introduction:

"If there is an amateur reader still left in the world--or anybody who just reads and runs--I ask him or her, with untellable affection and gratitude, to split the dedication of this book four ways with my wife and children."