My love and adoration for Salinger continues to grow unabated.
I'm not a fan of short story compilations, because I finish one really quickly and am all 'YAY!' and next minute, 'WAIT, THERE'S MORE?' But I can at least forgive Salinger this trespass.
A Perfect Day for Bananafish
"Well, they swim into a hole where there's a lot of bananas. They're very ordinary-looking fish when they swim in. But once they get in, they behave like pigs. Why, I've known some bananafish to swim into a hole and eat as many as seventy-eight bananas."
I giggled. Then I turned the page. Oh, Seymour.
I'm left wondering about his tattoo ... and Muriel, when she woke up ... good grief.
Uncle Wiggily in Connecticut
Very confusing in the beginning, as I kept mixing up Eloise and Mary Jane. But Ramona and Eloise's interaction was fantastic - fantastically awful, that is - and the last line of dialogue about killed me.
Just Before the War with the Eskimos
Didn't get this at all. Also forgot it pretty quickly. I guess Ginnie had some kind of personality disorder, but I'd need more information before coming to a definitive diagnosis. Who picks up and keeps dead birds? Ugh.
The Laughing Man
You knew what was coming half-way through, but not at the beginning, so yay for that. I can't really feel sorry for the fate of the Laughing Man. He was an assassin and he had no NOSE and I'm shallow.
Down at the Dinghy
More Glass fic! Only, JD, there's no need to tell us Boo Boo was 'nee Glass.' We who love you already figured that out. Her son is a thorough Glass as well. I have such a clear picture of Boo Boo crouching on the dock with Lionel in the boat that I want to draw it immediately. I had to wiki 'kike', so the impact was somewhat lost on me.
For Esme - with Love and Squalor
Was this Buddy? Or Seymour? Seymour seemed to have a liking for precocious kids. Poor Esme, though, sending the watch and all and never getting any reply...
She wrote to him fairly regularly, from a paradise of triple exclamation points and inaccurate observations.
LOVE, LOVE, LOVE.
Pretty Mouth and Green My Eyes
Another one I didn't remotely grasp. I thought Joanie was the woman with the old man, but no. And why did he suddenly get tired of the conversation when Joanie came back? I NO UNDERSTAND.
"Madam Bovary takes a course in Television Appreciation. [...]
De Daumier-Smith's Blue Period
This was just stupid. And I can't help but think that, no matter how much artistic genius you have, a painting on brown paper with from-the-tube skin colour is never going to be more than crap.
On the other hand, I can still picture Jean with his red moustache and yellow tie and beige suit.
WAS the shop girl the nun or what?
OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD. I'm not sure I can say what this did to me. But. TEDDY.
Teddy lingered for a moment at the door, reflectively experimenting with the door handle, turning it slowly left and right. "After I go out this door, I may only exist in the minds of all my aquaintances," he said. "I may be an orange peel."
"The trouble is," Teddy said, "most people don't want to see things the way they are. They don't even want to stop getting born and dying all the time. They just want new bodies all the time, instead of stopping and staying with God, where it's really nice." He reflected. "I never saw such a bunch of apple-eaters."
HE KNEW! HE KNEW AND HE WENT ANYWAY! HE KNEW!
Previously, on Book Glomp 2009:
He Knew He Was Right, Anthony Trollope
The Bostonians, Henry James
For Whom the Bell Tolls, Ernest Hemingway