literature – Don't Gel Too Soon

So Long Mr. Salinger, and Thanks

All I wanted when I was a kid was to be Franny Glass. To be part of the Glass family, intellectual, quirky, and with lists of beautiful quotes on a poster board on the back of their bedroom door. They were sad and weird and wonderful.

And now, today, we lose their creator, most beloved for Holden Caulfield, the eternally adolescent hero of Catcher in the Rye. Holden is worthy of every affectionate word written about him, and his palpable pain is familiar to those who’ve journeyed through the teen years, but the Glasses — well — they were a different kind of lovely.

They are all the children of one man, and he died today. I wish I could tell you what it felt like to read Catcher in the Rye at 13. I can remember where I was sitting as I read it – how I felt – and the deep sadness that accompanied Holden’s story. It must have been traumatic though, because later, when my son and I read it together, I was shocked to learn that Holden’s brother had died. I had jammed that fact someplace hard to reach, which means it was even more disturbing than I remember. Reading it with my own child was a beautiful experience to share with a young man of deep compassion and great sensibility – a memory I cherish. So Salinger gave me that, too.

(I’m not mentioning Joyce Maynard here. She had a right – but sheesh!) And I really don’t have much to say about the quiet recluse in the hills of New Hampshire. Farewell to him, yes, but also to yet another connection to the days when I was young – and more like Holden than like women of a Certain Age. The passions, the pain, the poetic anger at people for not being what we expect them to be and the desperate longing to rescue the imperiled and the lost.

Anyway,
I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of
rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody’s around – nobody big,
I mean – except me. And I’m standing on the edge of some crazy
cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go
over the cliff – I mean if they’re running and they don’t look where they’re
going I have to come out from somewhere and <span>catch</span> them. That’s all I do all day. I’d just be the
catcher in the rye and all. I know it’s crazy, but that’s the only thing
I’d really like to be.”

I guess those who don’t dream of being the catcher long
to be the one who is caught. And those longings don’t go away whether you’re 13 or
63 (right – I first read it FIFTY years ago!) Imagine. No, it
doesn’t go away, but your perspective changes. The loveliness of that
kind of protecting — or being protected – it isn’t around much in the real
world. All the more reason to be grateful for the rare observer who can remind us of its sweetness, and of what we are capable of aspiring to.

And grateful I am. For Franny and Zooey and Seymour and all their craziness and for Holden, what he gave me then, and what I remember, even today.

BACK TO MANDERLAY WITH REBECCA AND JANE EYRE

OK so this movie was made in 1940 — way before I was even born! I read the book in 9th or 10th grade and saw the movie a couple of times late a night and probably with my sisters, pretzels and mustard. And commercials. Even so it had a profound effect on me then – and, apparently, now.

It’s on TCM — I usually have the TV on when I’m working. But I keep having to go back and forth between Rebecca and Angel – ANgel for God’s sake! — because it’s just about unbearable. This poor girl (she doesn’t even get a name – just "the second Mrs. deWinter) is a mouse – pathetic and scared. Everything she does is a mistake. Right now she’s begging her new husband for a costume ball like the ones Rebecca used to hold — I had to turn it off. I know she’s going to wear Rebecca’s costume — know what will happen – and I, of course, unlike Joan Fontaine, know the truth about the witchy, Rebecca herself. I can still see the flames — oh but I don’t want to tell you the ending — maybe you’ll see it yourself some day with your stomach in your mouth in mortification for this poor girl.

As I was writing this I realized that there’s another romantic tale — from a Bronte 100 years earlier – where the ending involves a fire; it’s another book I loved – made into a film – Jane Eyre. Wikipedia says there were 5 silent film versions and have been 10 film versions (they count Rebecca in that – apparently it was a "tribute" based on Jane Eyre so I guess this comparison isn’t very original, alas) and 7 TV versions. Another mousy dreamer – another poor girl making her own way (maybe with more of a spine though), another strong, angry man with a deep painful secret. How embarrassing that I still love both stories – remember where I sat when I first read each book and can’t quite avoid either film when it pops up on TV.

Rebecca may not have – as Maxim deWinter so desperately feared – "won in the end" but her successor – and Jane – won my heart long ago and I guess there’s no point in fighting it. Always, always, the phrase "last night I dreamed I went to Manderlay again" will strike images and memories of my days as a dreamy girl whose literary journeys to great but unhappy mansions and great but horribly haunted love affairs were such perfect gifts.

Burqas, Fareed Zakaria and Women’s Mags

So I meant to write about several OTHER things today but an exchange on a women’s media list in which I participate struck me. I love VOGUE. I used to say that I only read it in the beauty parlor but really I read it – period. I am now hoarding the NYT Sofia Coppola’s Paris fashion supplement to read this weekend. So I was fascinated by the fuss over Fareed Zakaria – whom my younger son totally admires and whose articulateness and cool perspectives also impress me- and his joke at a recent panel at the Council on Foreign Relations Here’s part of the Huffington Post post that started the conversation:

“Last week, Zakaria moderated a Council on Foreign Relations event featuring Afghan President Hamid Karzai, excerpts of which can be found here. Notably absent is an exchange that occurred during the question-and-answer period at the end, when Glamour journalist Shirley Velasquez stood to ask Karzai a question. After identifying herself as a Glamour reporter, Zakaria interrupted her, cracking: "Glamour? Blue burqa vs. black burqa?”

According to Velasquez, the audience erupted with laughter, and Karzai “laughed and said something about being grateful that finally an easy question was going to be asked.” He should have been so lucky: Velasquez came armed with a question about the deplorable treatment of women in Afghanistan, noting that the U.N. estimates that less than half of school-age girls are actually in school and a whopping 70% of married women in Afghanistan suffer from domestic abuse.

Asked Velasquez: “My question, Mr. President is why have these conditions persisted and how is your government improving the lives of women” Oh, ho ho, blue burqa vs. black burqa? According to Velasquez, Karzai seemed taken off guard by the question and responded: “Your first problem is the source you’re using. The UN doesn’t know what they’re saying,” and quoted stats were “absolutely wrong” At this point, says Velasquez, Zakaria actually stepped in and warned Karzai, saying, “Be careful Mr. President. Remember you¹re on the record.”. Way to facilitate the discourse, Fareed.

Karzai continued, maintaining that Afghanistan had “great respect” for its women, more than most other countries in the area. Wow, set that bar high.” You can read the whole post – and a transcript here.

I got kind of obsessed with the history of women’s magazines, which I knew to include publication of many serious and mature writers for much of the past century. Here’s what I said – and what I found in Wikipedia:.

In fact, the late lamented Mademoiselle – and other women’s mags, were outlets for great writers in the first half of the century – albeit often with male editors but editors who clearly thought women could appreciate good fiction and complicated ideas.

Most men today have no idea of the content and influence of these mags (and yes I know Betty Friedan used the change in focus in The Feminine Mystique but I still think we need to remember the proud tradition of these publications.) Even Vogue – the queen of the old fashion books – has always carried substantial content. Most readers enjoy both the fashion and the substance when it’s available. We just don’t feel the need to tell everyone “I only buy it for the interviews”

WIKIPEDIA:

MADEMOISELLE was an influential women’s Magazine published by Condé Nast Publications. Its historically notable contribution to literature was that it published short stories by noted authors such as Truman Capote, which other magazines did not.” Also, Sylvia Plath’s experiences during the summer of 1953 — as a guest editor at Mademoiselle in New York City and in deepening depression back home — provided the basis for The Bell Jar, her only Novel" One of the most influential artists of this century, Barbara Kruger Art director and image developer, creating works using Anchorage which was used in the magazine.

LADIES’ HOME JOURNAL first published February 16,1883 as a women’s supplement to the Tribune and Farmer. The following year it became an Independent publication. It was published by the Curtis Publishing Company and edited by Louisa Knapp until she was replaced by Edward William Bok" in 1919. He published the work of social reformers such as Jane Addams.

MCCALL’S was a monthly women’s magazine that enjoyed great popularity through much of the 20th century, peaking at a readership of six million in 1960. It published much fiction, including such authors as Willa Cather, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gelett Burgess, Ray Bradbury, Jack Finney, Anne Tyler and Tim O’Brien.

So did Zakaria overstep? I wonder how anyone can laugh over the humiliation of the burqa. It’s almost physically painful to me to imagine. And if you read What do you think?