He was an enigma to many and for good reason.As a teenager, I read his iconic novel, "The Catcher in the Rye," which was published nearly 60 years ago. It still had a lot to say to people who were in the grip of the alienation and rebellion that are hallmarks of that age, and it helped me to realize that what I was experiencing at that stage of my life was precisely what other generations had faced and what future generations would face.
Salinger reassured me that I certainly wasn't the first — nor would I be the last — to have those feelings.
In December 1980, when ex–Beatle John Lennon was murdered by a twisted fan who had a copy of the book in his possession — and, apparently, had modeled himself after the narrator/protagonist of the book, Holden Caulfield — I retrieved my dog–eared copy of the book from my bookshelf and read it again, hoping to find some clue that might explain what had happened.
I never found what I was looking for — although I did gain a fresh appreciation and my respect was renewed for Salinger's work.
Salinger was 91. His birthday was nearly four weeks ago, on January 1. He broke his hip last May, but, according to his literary agent, he had been doing fine "until a rather sudden decline after the new year."
I guess those things are bound to happen when one has reached an advanced age.
We may never know the reason for the "rather sudden decline" in his health. But, today, I — and, no doubt, many who read and appreciated his works over the years — can't help wondering if there are manuscripts of his that will be published posthumously. Time will tell.
For now, rest in peace, Mr. Salinger.
