My humble tribute to a brilliant writer - J.D. Salinger

"I love to write and I assure you I write regularly. But I write for myself, for my own pleasure. And I want to be left alone to do it" - J.D. Salinger

I was first introduced to J.D. Salinger through his widely popular novel ‘The Catcher in the Rye’. I remember the book because I discovered it at a time when I was preoccupied with finding myself and finding some form of balance within my family. Like millions of other youngsters I could relate to Holden Caulfied. His narrative made me smile in unison and caused me to reflect on my rather muddled perspectives of growing up. The book, even today, has remained one of my favourites. One never knew what to expect from Holden and yet he seemed inaccessible and accessible at the same time. He was your most shameful reflection and your proudest moment all wrapped into one heady concoction.

I have prided myself on being a cynic, on sharing Salinger’s seemingly morbid world view on relationships and life and in so many ways I have grown up with his words resounding a quiet assurance in my ears. I never held his seclusion against him, I was never enraged by his refusal to publish post 1965. I didn’t care as long as I knew that he was out there, somewhere.

While I made a conscious effort to read “The Catcher in the Rye”, Salinger’s short stories came to me through various sources, a birthday present or a recommendation from a friend. With each new story my fondness for this reclusive grumpy old writer grew to awe-filled, respectful proportions. His matter-of-fact style of writing was a welcome breath of fresh air as compared to some of the younger writers who I felt tried too hard to make an impact. Salinger’s words flow and mesh and poke at you until you admit that you have at some point thought those same thoughts. Over the years I fell in love with stories like ‘Franny and Zooey’, ‘For Esmé - with Love and Squalor’, ‘The Heart of a Broken Story’ and ‘A Boy in France’.

When I heard that J.D. Salinger had expired 27 January 2010, my heart sank and my hand reached for my battered copy of ‘Franny and Zooey’. I have loved many books and many authors over the span of my short existence but my heart goes out to the man that make me hate with conviction and let go without disdain.

I loved J.D. Salinger because he made me want to think and dream and write. R.I.P