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Labyrinth of the Mind

A Fallen Hero

Posted in Books
I have just discovered that one of my literary icons has died today. As many of you may know from some of my past writings, J.D. Salinger ranked among my favorite authors and always held a very special place within my thoughts and literary pursuits. Like many of you I first read "Catcher in the Rye" in high school, and I was gripped instantly by the story. I fell in love with Holden as he pulled me long through the trails and experiences of his life. I felt a personal kinship with him, I could relate and identify with him and ever since that has remained one of the most memorable as well as influential books I have read, that has not in all this time since been shaken from its place in the high rankings of my favorites.  

And after that I devoured everything by Salinger that I could get my hands on, and was never once disappointed by the experience. There are many who criticize Salinger's writing, particularly for the reoccurring angst which provides though many of his characters and stories, some find it too simplistic, or immature, shallow and lacking in depth, but it was of course that cold biting cynicism which warmed its way into my soul and touched me at the very core speaking to me on very personal levels. I was enchanted by his characters, and I hungered for more of them. They spoke to me directly, touched some imperative cord within my soul. Within the capacity of the author-reader relationship I always felt we had a connection, and understand with each other. In fact many of my own poetic femme fatales were inspired by the works of J.D. Salinger. 
 
At times I would tell my friends that I sometimes felt as if I was one of J.D Salinger's characters come to life. There were moments when I felt like a creation of his. Perhaps he was not the most brilliant write ever, and perhaps his works were not pursue great, philosophical, complicated depths and maybe they are not relatable to everyone, but all the same he was a light which illuminated within the dark reaches of this cold heart, and for that he will always be a treasure I cherish.
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For though All are not able to write books, all conceive themselves able to judge them. ~The Monk

 

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