Salinger: The one-trick pony sensation

Last time I had written about a DWEM, short for Dead White European Male. This time I am going to talk about a DWAM, a Dead White American Male, namely, J D Salinger.

The guy wrote one major book — and 33 short stories of indifferent quality with strange titles -- in his life. That one novel, The Catcher in the Rye was published in 1951. After that Salinger went into hiding for the rest of his life. And he became an American icon. For the first 10 years after the publication of Catcher, however, the American literary establishment was highly critical of him for breaking a variety of taboos, including mentioning farting once. Then in the 1960s opinion did a turnaround and he was resurrected.

Since about 1962, even people who have not read his book say they have. In 2000, his book sold around 450,000 copies and still sells around 250,000, says Google.

There are two other reasons I am writing about him. The first is that, like him, I have also written a novel that will be my last.

Actually, he did write two other novellas, which were duds with names like Franny and Zooey and Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters. But I have no such noble intention.

The second reason is that, to begin with unlike his novel, which became a major bestseller — 30 weeks on the New York Times bestseller list — mine has gone entirely unnoticed, most notably by the bosses of the various litfests. That speaks very poorly, if of nothing else, of their taste in classy writing.

But jokes apart, Salinger is a wonderful example of a highly successful one-trick pony. I cannot think of a single writer who has become such a timeless celebrity with just one book.

Catcherwent into a decline until the late 1950s when bored teenagers -- the book’s hero was one such -- rediscovered it. Newspaper editors with teenage children started wondering about it and in 1961, Timemagazine did a feature on him.

It follows that reams upon reams have been written about him and his book which, in the final analysis, is no more than a fun read, the angry autobiographical rant of a rebellious young man against prevailing social mores. Oscar Wilde, Bernard Shaw, Jack Kerouac and countless others also did that but not with just one book. The poor guys had to slog for it.

What happened with Salinger could only have happened in America at that particular time of youthful protest against the accepted norms and certainties of the era.

But how good was Salinger, really, as a writer? I mean, how did he become a Bob Dylan of prose? And would he have spurned the Nobel?

To find out, I bought a book called JD Salinger: The Last Interview.

It actually turned out to be nine in all, plus a lengthy introduction. The interviews in the book have been conducted for over 67 years.

It is not clear who got more out of these interviews, the interviewer or the interviewee. Certainly, the reader did not emerge very much the wiser.

Salinger preferred to keep his responses short, on average about five words because most answers were monosyllabic, usually just a ‘No’. As one critic wrote, Salinger “took himself out of the narrative”. When he died, PBS tried to find a voice clip because there is no recording of his voice.

Nil nisi bonum — do not speak ill of the dead — is a well-known saying. Nor would I intend to do any such thing here even if I were equipped to do so.

But the question does come to mind: Would an eccentric have become such an icon if Timemagazine had not taken upon itself to delve into his life? At one point, it had several private detectives poking about.

The result was a long article called “A Private World of Love and Death” and the Salinger myth was launched. The more he tried to hide, the more insistent America became.

Just a few weeks later, Time’s sister, Life published another article called “Why is Salinger Hiding” and the myth turned into an obsession. Salinger became a literary phenomenon by not writing. As I said, this could only happen in a nutty country like America.

But the Salinger saga has given me hope. I am convinced that 10 years from now I will also become an icon of “Indian writing in English” and everyone who has not heard of my novel will feel quite silly, more so if by then I am a DWIM.

The more Salinger tried to hide, the more insistent America became