J.D. Salinger—The Great Uncommunicator. The only thing
more frustrating than the self-imposed seclusion of one of America’s
greatest writers has been the intolerable silence of Salinger’s estate in the
two years following his death. During this time there has been no word—and
certainly no sentences, paragraphs, short stories, novellas, or novels—about
the works (if any) left by Salinger after his death. Oddly, we have learned
that a few of his words scrawled on a note were offered for $50,000, but nothing
from his relatives as to what literary works he gifted the world at his death. We
read article upon article of his toilet being offered for $1 million, yet not a
whisper about his unpublished manuscripts.
Is the world being made a literary laughing stock? Is
this a prose prank of the worst order? Why has there been no press release
telling what literary remains were unearthed after Salinger’s death? What was
found beneath his bed and in the dark recesses of his closet? Were there
tattered spiral binders filled with handwritten stories on his nightstand? Did
they find boxes of unpublished manuscripts under his basement stairs or in a
worn attic chest or in a back corner of his writing studio?
If nothing was found, no yellowing manuscripts or
half-written chapters of the unassailable thoughts of Holden Caulfield or Seymour
Glass, then tell the world and be done with it. On the other hand, if a score
of unpublished manuscripts were found, let the world know and rejoice until the
glorious day of their publication.
The world is waiting. The world wants to know. To the
day, it has been two long silent years since his death on January 27, 2010.
That’s 720 days of stillness and longing from a literary world adrift in
mediocrity; 1,036,800 minutes of hope and emptiness.
Salinger had a wealth of literary gifts at his
disposal, perhaps more than some of the greatest writers that ever lived. He
decided to only let us open a few of those gifts, the largest of which he
called The Catcher in the Rye.
The others he kept us from opening. That was his choice as artist and gift giver. In reference to his privacy Salinger wrote:
“It is my rather subversive opinion that a writer’s feelings of
anonymity-obscurity are the second most valuable property on loan to him during
his working years.” (“People,” Time,
1961-08-04) In a 1974 interview he confessed: “There is a marvelous peace in not
publishing .... I love to write. But I write just for myself and my own
pleasure.” (“JD Salinger Speaks About His Silence,” Lacey Fosburgh, The New York Times, 11-03-1974)
Did Salinger actually write after his final
publication of “Hapworth 16, 1924” in The
New Yorker on June 19, 1965? Fortunately, thankfully, what scant historical
record we have to date tells us he did. The manuscripts should be there,
somewhere. If nothing has been found, has his estate looked everywhere? Have
they dug up soft patches of dirt in Salinger’s backyard? Have they checked the
trunk of his old Jeep and the glove box and the center console? Did they visit
every bank in a twenty mile radius of Cornish, New Hampshire in search of his rumored safe
deposit box? Have area rugs been rolled up to reveal possible trap doors in the
floorboards? What about behind air vents and beneath sofa cushions? Has every
jot and tittle been collected from the backs of envelopes and margins of
newspaper articles? If they have found nothing, they need to look harder and
keep looking. They need to never stop.
Ray Bradbury stated in Zen in the Art of Writing that “You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.” Salinger
knew this better than anyone. He continued to write so the world would not
destroy him. What evidence we have regarding his continued writing
habits is telling. The most direct comes from Salinger himself. In a 1994
letter addressed to Michael Mitchell, the dust jacket artist for the first
edition of The Catcher in the Rye,
Salinger revealed that he continued to “work on” in a methodical fashion where
he kept the “[s]ame old hours, pretty much.” His confession that he kept
writing some thirty years after the publication of “Hapworth 16, 1924” gives us
bright hope that a treasure trove of
manuscripts was found upon his death.
Salinger’s only
daughter, Margaret, presented further evidence in her memoir of not only
manuscripts, but a color-coded system for future publication: “A red mark
meant, if I die before I finish my work, publish this ‘as is,’ blue meant
publish but edit first, and so on.” (Dream Catcher: A Memoir, Margaret Salinger, 2000) Then there is Joyce Maynard who lived with
Salinger for 10 months while she was 18 and he was 53. She recounted that he
continued to write each morning and that by 1972 he had completed two new
novels. (At Home in the World, Joyce Maynard, 1998)
And let’s not
overlook Salinger’s protective neighbors in Cornish. One stated that Salinger
told him he had written 15 unpublished novels. (“JD Salinger’s Death Sparks
Speculation Over Unpublished Manuscripts,” The
Telegraph, 01-29-2010) If thoughts of having a new Salinger novel published
each of the next 15 years doesn’t send literary chills down your spine, your
back is broke.
On September
15, 1961, Time magazine featured Salinger on its cover and reported that he
intended to write a Glass trilogy. (“Sonny: An Introduction,” Time, John Skow, 09-15-1961) “Hapworth 16, 1924”, a long letter from his character Seymour
Glass while at summer camp, was the only novella from the trilogy published.
It is clear
Salinger continued to write all these years in his remote cinderblock bunker
with its fireplace and writing desk and filing cabinet and packed lunch. (“Sonny: An Introduction,” Time,
John Skow, 09-15-1961,)
This leaves five possible scenarios for his unpublished manuscripts.
Suppose they were
destroyed. This may have happened before his death by his own hand in a fit of
public defiance. Salinger did state that he wrote for his own pleasure. Yet he
had tagged various manuscripts for publishing, making destruction by his own
devices unlikely. Perhaps the 1992 fire where “damage to the house was
extensive” torched them. (“Fire Fails to Shake Salinger’s Seclusion,” New York Times, 10-24-1992) There is no
evidence this occurred and it would have been contrary to observances by
Margaret Salinger and statements to his neighbor that the manuscripts were
piling up. In Salinger’s 1994 letter to Michael Mitchell, dated nearly
two years post-fire, he stated he continued to write each morning in his normal
fashion. It is also reported that
Salinger’s writing studio was removed from the hilltop house perched on the 90
acre compound, which likely preserved his manuscripts when the 1992 fire
occurred.
What if Salinger lied all these years? What if he
never put pen to paper after “Hapworth 16, 1924” was published in 1965? What if
the mostly negative reviews caused his fragile persona to give up writing
forever? Suppose he spent all day in his writing studio playing video games and
surfing the Internet while telling his family he was hard at work. This is
unlikely given his statements and the manuscripts his Margaret witnessed at his
Cornish, New Hampshire
home.
There is the possibility that his manuscripts were
stolen, yet there is no evidence of a break-in while Salinger was alive or
after his death. This is one of the most unlikely scenarios.
A more plausible explanation for the silence (Excuse
me. I once again meant to say “intolerable silence.”) and muted responses of
his agent and family is that his will gave pointed instructions not to publish his
manuscripts for a certain period of time. Perhaps Salinger went so far as to
demand that no word be spoken to the public about what writings he left for
three or five or ten years. If breached, all heirs would be cut off from the
will and the certain high royalty stream the new novels would bring. Or suppose
his manuscripts are in no shape for public consumption and not to be published.
That would be quite extraordinary, Nabokov-esq even.
This leaves us with the most hopeful postulation for
lovers of all things Salinger—The Great Uncommunicator has left too many
manuscripts for his estate to shift through in two years. What if there are
squabbling over which book should be published first and in what order? The literary
world is holding its collective breath that is the case. If so, the Salinger
estate should at least hold a press conference and inform everyone. It is in
the realm of possibility that inner-circle squabbles could have erupted between
his children and wife over which novel to publish first. Matt Salinger publically
disagreed with some of the childhood accounts Margaret wrote about in Dream Catcher: A Memoir. Salinger
left a tabbed system of publication, right? Can’t everyone just get along for
literature’s sake?
To date the Press has made Salinger out to be a
one-hit wonder who, unable to pen another work of prominence, slunk into a life
of seclusion as a bitter and frustrated artist. Nothing is further from the
truth. Salinger published two novellas, over thirty short stories (some
residing in the Princeton and University
of Texas libraries). He
accomplished all this some fifty years ago and has been writing ever since.
Imagine what he has accomplished over the last half century with modern word
processors. Imagine what they found Salinger’s closet.
Salinger was anything but a literary hack. He may be
the finest example of the opposite. Salinger wrote for the pure love it; not
for the supposed glory of publication. He practiced at the very highest level
that any true artist can obtain, one without interference from outside influence;
and as Holden would put it—far removed from a bunch of morons who sought to
destroy him.
In truth, J.D. Salinger never needed the world. It’s
always been the world that has needed J.D. Salinger.
And perhaps now is when the world needs him most.
Andrew Barger
1-27-2012
