Salinger, RIP

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"I know I can leave this or any other matter quite to your discretion, Bessie; my God, you are as admirable as you are lovable! As well as not sending him any more tablets with lines for his stories, also absolutely do not send him any tablets with very flimsy paper, such as onion skin, as he merely drops this kind in the garbage can for general disposal outside the bungalow. This is wasteful, to be sure, but I would appreciate it if you did not ask me to step in a delicate matter of this kind. I am hesitant to say that certain kinds of waste do not offend me; indeed, certain kinds of waste tend to thrill me to the marrow.

Also worth keeping in mind, it is this chap's leonine devotion to his literary implements, I give you my word of honor, that he will eventually cause of his utter release, with honor and happiness, from this enchanting vale of tears, laughter, redeeming human love, affection, and courtesy. With 50,000 additional kisses from the two looming pests of Bungalow 7 who love you, Most cordially, S. G. " - "Hapworth 16, 1924," Salinger's last published work, from the June 19, 1965 issue of The New Yorker.

A collection of other stories here and here.

In today's culture of pornographic celebrity, in which fame is the supreme currency, Salinger's pursuit of total anonymity remains an inspiration, a reminder of what matters, and a reminder of what disappears.

2006-2011 archives for The Daily Dish, featuring Andrew Sullivan