“Me dieron una habitación inmunda con una ventana que daba a un patio inereior, pero no me importó muhco. Estaba demasiado deprimido para precuparme por la vista. El botones que me subió el equipaje al cuarto debía tener unos setenta cinco años. Resultaba aún más deprimente que la habitación.”"

Salinger, J.D. El guardián entre el centeno. Madrid: Alianza, 2004, p. 70.

Moccia Federico, celeberrimo autore di pilastri della letteratura mondiale come “tre metri sopra il cielo”, ha presentato il suo ultimo romanzo.

Ha azzardato un’analogia con IL GIOVANE HOLDEN di J. D. Salinger.

Per me le analogie tra Moccia e Salinger si limitano al fatto che entrambi hanno scritto romanzi.

Allo stesso modo c’è analogia tra MARTIN LUTHER KING e Piero Marrazzo: entrambi hanno avuto alcune ”disavventure”.

Camelia m-a intrebat ce gandesc eu, eu si numai eu, despre perfectiune. Am preluat centrarea si inscriu cu capul.

Din punctul meu de vedere, perfectiunea poate exista ca doua stari diferite: cea de scop, de ideal, sau cea de prezent. Este ori ceva la care tinzi, ceva ce vrei sa devii, sau ceva ce deja esti, in ciuda defectelor, a lucrurilor corectabile.

Ambele variante mi se par o idiotenie si o cale sigura spre nefericire.

Ideea de perfectiune neaga esenta umanitatii, neaga o parte a naturii umane. Ideea de perfectiune neaga exact ideea fireasca de transformare, de calatorie a omului.

Atunci cand perfectiunea devine o destinatie, presupunand ca putem ajunge la ea, presupune ca odata atinsa, toata calatoria s-a terminat. Nu mai exista nimic dupa asta. A fi complet inseamna a fi terminat. Omul ajuns la starea de perfectiune este vaduvit de un scop, de o insemnatate a propriei existente, este un om gol.

Pe de alta parte, ideea de a fi deja perfect in imperfectiunea ta, desi pozitiva pana la un punct, neaga, de asemenea, notiunea de schimbare, de metamorfoza a oamenilor,pentru ca… de ce ai vrea sa schimbi ceva ce e perfect? Cum ai putea sa evoluezi dincolo de asa ceva? Acceptarea in totalitate si neconditionata a propriei persoane se transforma intr-o lene hiper-permisiva, intr-o orbire a auto-perceperii. A face greseli, a recunoaste ca faci greseli, a trage concluzii dupa ele este baza evolutiei omului ca specie si omului ca individ.

In cele din urma, ca si concept, perfectiunea e extrem de plictisitoare. Daca turnul din Pisa n-ar fi fost inclinat, ar fi fost un simplu monument arhitectonic banal. Mozart a fost “doar” un compozitor genial, perfect. Beethoven, in schimb, pe langa populariatatea trezita de lupta cu surzenia, n-a avut talentul melodic al lui Mozart, in schimb si-a permis sa fie mai indraznet, mai revolutionar, mai titanic in creatiile lui si inca mai influenteaza muzica la aproape doua secole dupa moartea lui.
Situatiile perfecte sunt de asemenea, plictisitoare. Daca n-ar exista conflicte – interioare, sociale sau cu natura – atunci toate filmele ar fi inutile si neinteresante. Ce s-ar fi intamplat daca Batranul ( “Batranul si marea” ) ar fi prins un peste in fiecare zi? Cat de interesant ar fi fost “De veghe-n lanul de secara” daca Holden Caulfield s-ar fi inteles bine cu toata lumea? Ce fel de film ar fi fost “Fight Club” daca personajul principal ar fi trait in continuare intr-o vegetare vecina cu perfectiunea in apartamentul lui, inconjurat de mobila ikea?

A cauta sa fii perfect nu conduce in final decat spre o nefericire abisala.

“If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him!” – zen koan

Questo è un fondamentale che mi manca (cose che capitano, un nostro amico non ha mai visto E.T. l’extraterrestre in vita sua):

IL GIOVANE HOLDEN (The Catcher in The Rye), J.D. Salinger (1951), riassunto qui per l’occasione da mio fratello Alessandro, prima superiore.

Holden Caulfield è un sedicenne. Capelli rasati ma non cortissimi, qualche ciocca bianca in testa. I suoi genitori hanno fatto carriera, suo fratello, il più grande, lavora a Hollywood come scrittore realizzato, sua sorella è la più brava studentessa elementare di New York e suo fratello deceduto era anch’egli un fior di ragazzo, amabile e studioso. Ma Holden Caulfield no.
La storia si apre con Holden in visita ad un suo professore del collegio di Pencey, NY, dal quale è stato cacciato (alle sue spalle aveva già altre due bocciature).
Holden non vuole tornare a casa, però. Non vuole dare altri dispiaceri ai genitori e se ne torna a Pencey, dove ha intenzione di trascorrere ancora qualche giorno prima di andarsene.
Holden odia. Odia tutto, odia tutti. In particolar modo quelli che vogliono apparire ciò che non sono e contesta tanti comportamenti anche oggi di uso comune considerandoli atteggiamenti falsi. Lui disprezza le conversazioni convenzionali, quelle vuote. (Da qui l’aggettivo dissacratore*: toglie dal piedistallo i modi fasulli)
Per la verità ha qualcuno in simpatia, e sono perlopiù le persone che gli altri emarginano.
Saltando diversi passaggi (una trama avvicente non era l’obiettivo di questo libro), si può proseguire dicendo che Holden si arrabbia parecchio con il suo compagno di stanza, Stradlater, poichè è andato a letto (Holden dice “ha stantuffato”) con una sua vecchia amica cui teneva moltissimo, e con la quale aveva avuto rapporti profondi. Holden si rivolta contro il compagno, che non aveva nemmeno in piena antipatia pur non essendo un emarginato ma bensì un vero latin-lover, ma ha la peggio. Se ne va furente da Pencey con un occhio nero e il “grugno pestato”, come avrebbe detto lui.
Holden torna a New York, dove abita, ma non va dai suoi genitori, con i quali non vuole ancora avere a che fare. Si trova un albergo, il più squallido, a sentire Salinger, degli States. Infatti, l’hotel è, oltre che muffito, pieno di pervertiti le cui imprese potevano essere ammirate dalla finestra. Holden passa le serate a deprimersi in locali che aveva amato frequentare, anche luoghi di un certo rilievo, con musica e tutto quanto. Una sera, il ragazzo dell’ascensore dell’hotel propone a Holden una serata con una prostituta. Lui accetta ma non ha in mente nient’altro che dormire. Vuole la ragazza solo per parlare, poichè si trovava in grande depressione. Lei arriva e pretende comunque il pagamento. La tariffa pare si sia alzata di cinque dollari in pochi minuti. Lui rifiuta, lei chiama il ragazzo dell’ascensore, che le dà a Holden di santa ragione e si prende i soldi. Lui rimane per terra insanguinato, e ha un forte desiderio di uccidersi. Solo che ha pochissima voglia di prendersi e buttarsi giù dalla finestra, specie per quello che la gente avrebbe deto vedendo il suo corpo per strada.
Questa è il punto del libro in cui Holden tocca il fondo.
Abbandona l’hotel e cerca di ristabilire contatti con il mondo passato: una vecchia fidanzata, un conoscente di un collegio da cui è stato cacciato, e così via.
Alla sua ex propone di scappare e di rifugiarsi nell’ovest, e insiste tanto con le sue idee inette che lei è costretta ad andarsene furibonda.
Vuole poi rivedere sua sorella, al quale è molto legato. Così torna di notte a casa sua, di nascosto, e intrattiene una conversazione con la sorella, l’unica persona al mondo, pare, che ami davvero. Poi se ne va di nuovo, e passa la notte sbronzo per il parco. E’ in condizioni pessime, e chiede ospitalità a un giovane ex professore, che viveva nella zona. Lui accetta volentieri e lo fa dormire sul divano. Holden però, una volta sistematosi sul sofà e preso sonno, si sveglia di soprassalto nella notte e si accorge che il professore, che stimava molto, era seduto a poca distanza da lui e gli stava accarezzando i capelli. Holden è sconcertato e decide di partite in fretta e furia, nonostante le storie del professore.
Holden passa la notte in stazione. Il mattino dopo rivede la sorella, all’uscita da scuola, e le comunica che ha serie intenzioni di partire per l’ovest, chiudersi in una vita solitaria e rimanere là per tutta la vita. Lei lo prega di portarla con lui, ma lui rifiuta categoricamente. Lei si arrabbia moltissimo, e lui per riappacificarsi con la sorellina la porta allo zoo e poi su di una giostra. Le promette che non sarebbe partito, e la guarda salire sulla giostra seduto su di una panchina. Rimane lì immobile, anche se inizia a diluviare.
Il libro si conclude con lui a letto con un terribile frebbrone, dovuto all’episodio appena narrato, che si interroga sul suo futuro scolastico.

Il libro va preso così: non c’era nessuna pretesa di creare una trama avvincente, infatti molti capitoli sono piatti ed estesi alle sole riflessioni di Holden.
Il libro è diventato pilastro della letteratura americana poichè rivoluzionario: prima del ‘68 (è uscito nel ‘51) l’adolescenza non era riconopsciuta come età, come nel 1700 non era riconosciuta l’infanzia: il Giovane Holden è stato il primno libro ad interessarsi dei problemi giovanili e per questo ha avuto un enorme scalpore e successo.

Il pezzo più bello del libro può essere colto solo se viene letta la nota a inizio libro, quella di traduzione del titolo:
letteralmente, THE CATCHER IN THE RYE, significa L’ACCHIAPPATORE NELLA SEGALE: la frase fa riferimento ad una canzone scozzese che all’interno del libro un bambino canta: in realtà, è Holden che la ricorda come L’ACCHIAPPATORE NELLA SEGALE, ma il testo originale era un altro, di poco differente: SE UNA PERSONA AFFERRA UNA PERSONA CHE VIENE ATTRAVERSO LA SEGALE. Così, quando la sorella gli chiede, nel libro, cosa volesse fare da grande, visto che anche lei era conscia del fatto che il fratello non amava alcunchè, lui risponde più o meno così: -Hai presente quella vecchia canzone, L’acchiappatore nel campo di segale? Ecco, io voglio fare quello. Mi figuro tanti bambini che giocano in un campo di segale, e quando fanno per cadere nel precipizio poco distante, io sono lì pronto per acchiapparli. Non so esattamente cosa significa, ma è proprio quello che voglio fare.
La sorella lo corregge e gli fa notare che il testo era un altro: SE UNA PERSONA AFFERRA UNA PERSONA CHE VIENE ATTRAVERSO LA SEGALE, ma lui ribadisce che lui sarà L’ACCHIAPPATORE NEL CAMPO DI SEGALE.
Quel pezzo è il più bello del libro, a mio avviso.

* (A scuola, dopo la lettura, ognuno ha dovuto dire un aggettivo che qualificasse Holden Caulfield)

Now that I have finished my fourth helping of the entire The West Wing series, I have decided to devote my spare time to reading the numerous books I have but have not read (or completed) yet.

They are:

Bill Bryson – Down Under (finished 15/10/09)
J.D. Salinger – The Catcher in the Rye
Joseph Heller – Catch 22
Barack Obama – The Audacity of Hope
Chuck Palahniuk – Fight Club
Bill Bryson – Made in America
Mil Millington – Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About

They are the ones which immediately leap from my bookcase screaming “read me now dammit!”, and once I do I’m then going to make a start on the classics. As someone with a History degree which contains heavy doses of American history, I feel I have a shockingly poor knowledge of the great books. I have never read Hemingway, Twain, Faulkner, or any of the great American writers.

As Josiah Bartlet once said, modern history is just another name for television. It’s shameful that I have a history degree yet I have barely read a book first published before 1945.

But what to read first?

In the year 1980, after Mark Chapman shot John Lennon dead, he sat on the sidewalk, took out a book from the pocket of his overcoat and started reading it until the police arrived. The book was “Catcher in the Rye” written by J.D. Salinger. This book has always been the subject of controversies since it was first published in the US. So, being the way I am, I absolutely had to buy this book.

The book is about a 16 yr old boy – Holden Caulfield, who has just been expelled from his school for non-achievement. Understandably, he is no particular hurry to meet his parents. So he takes all the money he has and departs for New York, where he decides to spend a small vacation before going home to face his parents’ inevitable wrath, and thus ensues a series of events where he – spends an evening dancing with three tourist girls, has a clumsy encounter with a prostitute, and runs away from the house of a former teacher when he makes a flitty move for him. But this book is not about these events. It’s more about the character, what he says, thinks and how he extrapolates. Uninterested in the fake nature of the world, Holden is a teller of what is real.

The book is all about the perception of a boy of all events around him. He is lonely, confused, observant, perceptive, angry and frustrated at the way people act the way they do. He hates phonies. He would rather live all alone in a cabin on a mountain than being around the phonies. Holden is smart, intelligent but he wants something that the environment around him cannot supply. He wants to be able to protect children from falling off the cliff – prevent them from losing their innocence and become a part of this fake world. The best thing about the book – it is written in the form of Holden’s first person narrative – that kind of lends a distinct appeal to the way his reminiscences and perceptions have been presented and, the language has a good mixture of the underlying humor, slang, profanity, repetitions and moral reflections.

This is one of those books, if you start reading it, it kind of gets a grip on you, blocks out your peripheral vision – you know you can predict the end but you want to be able read every word of every page.

Phineas William Walsh is on a mission.  He’s going to save the world one endangered species at a time – and he’s depending on the Green Channel to help him do it.  That is until things go terribly, horribly wrong… as they only can in the life of a fourth grader.

Carla Gunn’s first novel, Amphibian, is both entertaining and engaging.  Written in the first person, it’s greatest strength may be it’s  narrator -  who owes a significant debt to Holden Caulfield (the hero and narrator of Catcher in the Rye).  And I mean that in the best possible way.  Because there’s more going on in Phin’s life than meets the eye – and he has a lot on his mind other than the planet.   His grandfather just passed away and his grandmother is sad.  His parents are separated and his Mom is dating a guy Phin doesn’t like. Not that he likes the idea of her dating. Period.  His father is out of the country 80% of the time and doesn’t know what’s going on.  He’s also the class bully’s favorite target.

And then (if that wasn’t enough!) there is the issue of the Gorachs from the planet Reull.  They’re destroying the planet and the other creatures of Reull need to figure out what to do before it is too late:

When my mom went to do some work in her study, I went upstairs and wrote about Reull and drew some pictures of them.  I drew the Jingleworm, who is red and white and has a part on the end of its body that jingles like a bell wherever it goes.  The Jingleworm’s predator is the Three-clawed Wren and it jingles so much that the Wren doesn’t have any problem finding it to eat.

But then the Jingleworms started to hide in the coat of the Green-tailed Squirrel, which didn’t mind because the loud jingling noise of the Jingleworm scared away its predator, the Electric Cat.  The Electric Cat’s ears are very sensitive to the jingling noise.  To it the Jingleworm sounds like somebody scraping their nails on a chalkboard sounds to us.  Sot the Jingleworm and the Green-tailed Squirrel have a symbiotic relationship.

The problem again is the Gorachs.  They are starting to collect Jingleworm tails for jingly bracelets, which they give to their Gorach children.  The Gorachs are parasites, so many of the animals are working on making more symbiotic relationships.  The Gorachs are in for a surprise.

Sure, it has become a cliché to compare novels narrated by juveniles to Catcher in the Rye, but in the case of Amphibian it works.  I’ve always believed that readers tend to miss the whole point of what Salinger was trying to do, – not surprising since his novel has mainly been defined by controversy.  The focus has always been on Salinger’s creation of a smart ass kid doing scandalous things, at least by 1950’s standards.  (You can just imagine what the reaction would have been to Gossip Girl)!

Subsequently, the story Salinger was trying  to tell is too often overlooked.  It is about a young boy, whose even younger brother has just died of leukemia.  Catcher in the Rye, at its heart, is about Holden attempting to deal with his grief.  And doing so in the absence of (I’d even go so far as to say his abandonment by) the adults who should be comforting him.  All the rest, the celebrated language and famous scene with the prostitute, is just so much white noise put up by Holden between himself and his emotions.

I do not want to misrepresent Amphibian as being a heavy novel, though it does touch on some surprisingly heavy material.  Phin is dealing with kinds of grief (and accompanying feelings of helplessness) that he’s too young to put a name to.  Or, like Holden, to even recognize.  But to Gunn’s credit, she chose to tell her story through the eyes of a 9-year old boy – which gives it a very different flavor than if it had been told by, let’s say, that boy’s mother or teacher.  Gunn reveals what’s going on with Phin in a way that perfectly captures a young child’s lack of perspective.   Divorce, bully, species extinction and permission to watch the Green Channel all carry equal weight and importance in Phin’s world.  Because everything is the end of the world – nothing is.  And Phin is a really funny kid.  His humor moves the book along quickly and, thankfully, saves it from becoming the angst-fest it might have been.

This morning I woke up to an awful sound – it was like a wolf trying to howl after swallowing one of those birthday-party noisemakers.  And it was standing over me.

I was a little worried about what I might see – maybe a pack of wolves having a birthday party and the cake just happened to be me – but I took a chance and opened my eyes.  My mother was standing there and that awful noise was coming from her.  She was smiling so I figured she wasn’t choking or something, so I asked her what the heck she was doing.

“I’m yodeling, Phin,” she said.

“But you’re not on a mountain,” I said.  “You’re standing over me making that awful sound.  I thought you were a wolf with something caught in its throat.  If you were a wolf, you’d have to be the alpha because if you were a submissive, the others would attack you for making a sound like that.”

Overall, Amphibian tells a good story about an average child working his way through a world where very little is under his control.  Carla Gunn allows us to smile at his tribulations knowing, even if he doesn’t, that Phin is one of the lucky ones.  Unlike Holden he has grown-ups around who love him and have his best interests at heart.  In the end, that makes all the difference.

Note:  Amphibian is Carla Gunn’s first novel.  While I’ve no knowledge of it being marketed as a YA, it is definitely  straddling the line between categories.  It does not rank high on the BookSexy scale, but it shouldn’t be dismissed.  Think of it as enviro-lit made more palatable by added sugar.

The book, itself, is more attractive than your average paperback  – with bright glossy covers.  The front end paper is a full page bleed b&w photo of a South America Red-eyed frog (the same little guy who made the cover).  The pages are nice and thick with a slightly corrugated texture.  The publisher is Coach House Books, out of Canada.

Finished The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger a few days ago. Its really good. Really really. Haha, its kind of one of those pointless books without a story, but it doesn’t make you feel that way. Go read it. And I love how Holden Caulfield narrates, the language and slang he uses -apparently its completely accurate (historically).

I went Christmas shopping today. And I went to the National Geographic museum/store in Vivo City, it is really awesome! They have super cool stuff. I’m so going to buy one of their big duffel bags one day and pretend I’m some 19th century traveller exploring the world. Haha. My brother picked up some photo frames wanting to buy them and change the photos, then I showed him the sign:

[These photos have rested unchanged in these frames for the past 150 years ....]

I’m not even sure they were for sale. Anyway, I want to go again and explore for a longer time.

I’m halfway done with a parole I’m making with my helper. Heehee. I’ll post a picture of it when I’m done. Whooo. I realise, if I do decorate my house hardcore (which I WILL) this year, then I should be like having friends over more so we can bask in the yuletidey glow. Hahaha.

Does anyone have those Audio-Technica ONTO headphones? Are they good? I’m tired of sticking things into my ear, and I’m thinking of getting them.

J’avais finis ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ par J.D. Salinger, il y a quelques jours. C’est superbe. Réellement,  c’est superbe. Le livre est le type qui n’ont rien point/histoire, mais il ne te frustre pas. Allez-y, lire-le! Et j’aime comment Holden Caulfield raconte…la langue/lingo qu’il s’emploie -apparemment, c’est exact, historiquement.

Je faisais mon shopping pour Noel aujourd’hui. Et je suis allé au National Geographic magasin/musée en Vivo City, c’est tellement génial! Je vais acheter un de ces sacs grands et faire voyager comme je suis un explorateur dans le 19ieme siècle. Mon frere, il voulait acheter des cadres et remplacer les photos, puis, je l’ai montre le signe qui dit:

[Ces photos ont rester dans ces cadres pour plus de 150 ans...]

Haha je pense qu’il n’était pas pour vendre. Alors, je veux y retourner!

Je suis en train de faire une lanterne philippine pour Noel, avec ma bonne. Heehee. Je vais poster un picture! Woouah.

Est-ce que quelq’un ont des Audio Techinca ONTOs? Sont-ils bonnes? Je deteste placer des chose dans mes oreilles, et je pense que je vais (peut-être) acheter ces ONTOs.

-

¿Te gusta la cera?—preguntó Sybil.

—¿Si me gusta qué?

—La cera.

—Mucho. ¿A ti no?

-

Sybil asintió con la cabeza:

—¿Te gustan las aceitunas?—preguntó.

—¿Las aceitunas?… Sí. Las aceitunas y la cera. Nunca voy a ningún lado sin ellas.

—¿Te gusta Sharon Lipschutz?—preguntó Sybil.

—Sí. Sí me gusta. Lo que más me gusta de ella es que nunca hace cosas feas a los perritos en la sala del hotel.

Por ejemplo, a ese bulldog enano de la señora canadiense. Te resultará difícil creerlo, pero hay algunas niñas

que se divierten mucho pinchándolo con los palitos de los globos. Pero Sharon, jamás. Nunca es mala ni grosera.

Por eso la quiero tanto.

-

Sybil no dijo nada.

—Me gusta masticar velas—dijo ella por último.

—Ah, ¿y a quién no?—dijo el joven mojándose los pies—. ¡Diablos, qué fría está!—Dejó caer el flotador en el agua—.

No, espera un segundo, Sybil. Espera a que estemos un poquito más adentro.

-

Avanzaron hasta que el agua llegó a la cintura de Sybil. Entonces el joven la levantó y la puso boca abajo en el flotador.

—¿Nunca usas gorro de baño ni nada de eso?—preguntó él.

—No me sueltes—dijo Sybil—. Sujétame, ¿quieres?

—Señorita Carpenter, por favor. Yo sé lo que estoy haciendo—dijo el joven—. Ocúpate sólo de ver si aparece un pez banana.

Hoy es un día perfecto para los peces banana.

—No veo ninguno—dijo Sybil.

—Es muy posible. Sus costumbres son muy curiosas. Muy curiosas.

Siguió empuiando el flotador. El agua le llegaba al pecho.

—Llevan una vida triste—dijo—. ¿Sabes lo que hacen, Sybil?

Ella negó con la cabeza.

—Bueno, te lo explicaré. Entran en un pozo que está lleno de bananas. Cuando entran, parecen peces como todos los demás.

Pero, una vez dentro, se portan como cerdos, ¿sabes? He oído hablar de peces banana que han entrado nadando

en pozos de bananas y llegaron a comer setenta y ocho bananas—empujó al flotador y a su pasajera treinta

centímetros más hacia el horizonte—. Claro, después de eso engordan tanto que ya no pueden salir.

No pasan por la puerta.

—No vayamos tan lejos—dijo Sybil—. ¿Y qué pasa despues con ellos?

—¿Qué pasa con quiénes?

—Con los peces banana.

—Bueno, ¿te refieres a después de comer tantas bananas que no pueden salir del pozo?

—Sí—dijo Sybil.

—Mira, lamento decírtelo, Sybil. Se mueren.

—¿Por qué?—preguntó Sybil.

—Contraen fiebre platanífera. Una enfermedad terrible.

—Ahí viene una ola—dijo Sybil nerviosa.

—No le haremos caso. La mataremos con la indiferencia—dijo el joven—, como dos engreídos.

-

Tomó los tobillos de Sybil con ambas manos y empujó hacia delante. El flotador levantó la proa por encima de la ola.

El agua empapó los cabellos rubios de Sybil, pero sus gritos eran de puro placer.

Cuando el flotador estuvo nuevamente inmóvil, se apartó de los ojos un mechón de pelo pegado, húmedo, y comentó:

—Acabo de ver uno.

—¿Un qué, amor mío?

—Un pez banana.

—¡No, por Dios!—dijo el joven—. ¿Tenía alguna banana en la boca?

—Sí—dijo Sybil—. Seis.

-

De pronto, el joven tomó uno de los mojados pies de Sybil que colgaban por el borde del flotador y le besó la planta.

—¡Eh!—dijo la propietaria del pie, volviéndose.

—¿Cómo, eh? Ahora volvamos. ¿Ya te has divertido bastante?

—¡No!

—Lo siento—dijo, y empujó el flotador hacia la playa hasta que Sybil descendió. El resto del carnino lo llevó bajo el brazo.

—Adiós —dijo Sybil, y salió corriendo hacia el hotel.

-

El joven se puso el albornoz, cruzó bien las solapas y metió la toalla en el bolsillo.

Recogió el flotador mojado y resbaladizo y se lo acomodó bajo el brazo.

Caminó solo, trabajosamente, por la arena caliente, blanda, hasta el hotel.

-

En el primer nivel de la planta baja del hotel—que los bañistas debían usar según instrucciones de la gerencia—

entró con él en el ascensor una mujer con la nariz cubierta de pomada.

—Veo que me está mirando los pies—dijo él, cuando el ascensor se puso en marcha.

—¿Cómo dice?—dijo la mujer.

—Dije que veo que me está mirando los pies.

—Perdone, pero casualmente estaba mirando el suelo —dijo la muier, y se volvió hacia las puertas del ascensor.

—Si quiere mirarme los pies, dígalo—dijo el joven—. Pero, maldita sea, no trate de hacerlo con tanto disimulo.

—Déjeme salir, por favor—dijo rápidamente la mujer a la ascensorista.

Cuando se abrieron las puertas, la mujer salió sin mirar hacia atrás.

—Tengo los pies completamente normales y no veo por qué demonios tienen que mirármelos—dijo el joven—.

Quinto piso, por favor.

-

Sacó la llave de la habitación del bolsillo de su albornoz.

Bajó en el quinto piso, caminó por el pasillo y abrió la puerta del 507.

La habitación olía a maletas nuevas de piel de ternera y a quitaesmalte de uñas.

Echó una ojeada a la chica que dormía en una de las camas gemelas. Después fue hasta una de las maletas,

la abrió y extrajo una automática de debajo de un montón de calzoncillos y camisetas, una Ortgies calibre 7,65.

Sacó el cargador, lo examinó y volvió a colocarlo. Quitó el seguro. Después se sentó en la cama desocupada,

miró a la chica, apuntó con la pistola y se disparó un tiro en la sien derecha.

-

-
Jerome David Salinger
De Un día perfecto para el pez plátano
En Nueve cuentos, Edhasa, 2007
Traducción de Elena Ríus
.

“-La vida es una partida, muchacho. La vida es una partida y hay que vivirla de acuerdo con las reglas del juego.

- Sí, selor. Ya lo sé. Ya lo sé.

De partida un cuerno. Menuda partida. Si te toca del lado de los que cortan el bacalao, desde luego que es una partida, lo reconozco. Pero si te toca del otro lado, no veo dónde está la aprtida. En ninguna parte. Lo que es de partida, nada.”

Salinger, J.D. El guardián entre el centeno. Madrid: Alianza, 2004, p. 15.

“Es que no les he dicho que me habían echado. No me dejaban volver después de las vacaciones porque me habían suspendido en cuatro asignaturas y no estudiaba nada. Me advirtieron varias veces para que me aplicara, sobre todo antes de los exámenes parciales cuando mis padres fueron a hablar con el director, pero yo no hice caso. Así que me expulsaron. En Pencey expulsan a los chicos por menos de nada. Tienen un nivel académico muy alto. De verdad.”

Salinger, J.D. El guardián entre el centeno. Madrid: Alianza, 2004, p. 10.

So this is getting hard…..didn’t do anything today so here’s a picture of the book I’m reading at the moment, well re-reading :]
Franny and Zooey by J.D Salinger, best author ever.

Who are your favourite authors? :]

An excerpt from Salinger’s “Seymour,” which I discovered and hopelessly fell in love with at seventeen.  This is Seymour writing to his younger brother, Buddy, upon reading his latest manuscript in the wee hours of the morning:

For your own sake, don’t make me proud of you.  I think that’s exactly what I’m trying to say.  If only you’d never keep me up again out of pride.  Give me a story that just makes me unreasonably vigilant. Keep me up until five only because all your stars are out, and for no other reason…Do you know what I was smiling at?  You wrote down that you were a writer by profession.  It sounded to me like the loveliest euphemism I had ever heard.  When was writing ever your profession?  It has never been anything but your religion.  Never.  I’m a little over-excited now.  Since it is your religion, do you know what you will be asked when you die?  But let me tell you first what you won’t be asked.  You won’t be asked if you were working on a wonderful, moving piece of writing when you died.  You won’t be asked if it was long or short, sad or funny, published or unpublished.  You won’t be asked if you were in good or bad form while you were working on it.  You won’t even be asked if it was the one piece of writing you would have been working on if you had known your time would be up when you were finished—I think only poor Sören K. will get asked that.  I’m so sure you’ll get asked only two questions. Were most of your stars out?  Were you writing your heart out? If only you knew how easy it would be for you to say yes to both of those questions.  If only you’d remember before you ever sit down to write that you’ve been a reader long before you were ever a writer.  You simply fix that fact in your mind, then sit very still and ask yourself, as a reader, what piece of writing in all the world Buddy Glass would most want to read if he had his heart’s choice.  The next step is terrible, but so simple I can hardly believe it as I write it.  You just sit down shamelessly and write the thing yourself.  I won’t even underline that.  It’s too important to be underlined.

“How Soon Is Now” – The Smiths

Sooooo, I finally got around to watching (500) Days of Summer.  It was… good.

Things that I liked:

1.  LOS ANGELES-  born and raised, baby   It was so nice to see good ol’ LA portrayed with so much genuine love;  they didn’t  pretend that it was New York, like all other Hollywood movies do, but really almost personified the city.  However, neither of the two main characters were Angelenos- something that was a bit disappointing, especially since Zooey Deschanel (who, by the way, was named Zooey Glass Deschanel after Zooey Glass from J.D. Salinger’s Franny and Zooey which I just finished reading for my Intro to Lit class – thanks Leo from said class - which is AWESOME, I adore Salinger) is a LA native.

2.  THE MUSIC- See, I knew I should have kept up with Wolfmother after “Woman” because AMAZING !  I love the music in this movie so much (THE SMITHS-see title…we’ll get back to this later).  I am in no way a music conisiueur, but the Indie stuff is where my heart lies.  Also, how beautiful is Carla Bruni’s song “Quelqu’un M’a Dit”?

I shall show you:

To illustrate my earlier point, I had no idea Carla Bruni was a singer.  All I knew was the was some sort of  Princess Diana incarnation/First Lady of France/completely gorgeous.  But nay, she has one of the most gorgeous voices I’ve ever heard.  I’m not going to even try to describe the kinds of emotions that the soundtrack of this movie (which I am listening to as we speak) evoke in me.  If they could be so easily put into words, there wouldn’t be a need for the song in the first place.

3.  The humor:  It was wry, off-beat, and a little dark.  The most hilarious lines were placed in the most inappropriate scenes.  It’s called incongruity kids.  It’s like the plot played the straight man.

4.  Zooey Deschanel’s clothes, and apartment, and…:   Basically everything she owned.  I want.  DID YOU KNOW THAT SHE’S MARRIED TO BEN GIBBARD?  You probably did.  It’s ridiculously appropriate.  But I’m still jealous.  I heart her though, the almost-vegan/Katy Perry twin.  AND WHAT’S THIS ABOUT KATY PERRY DATING RUSSEL BRAND??  MY RUSSEL?!  Nooooooooooooo…

5.  Acting, writing, direction, editing etc. etc. blah blah blah..

6.  Autumn: Well, would you look at that, my favorite season

Things I Didn’t Like So Much:

1.  Tom:  This was by far my biggest problem with the movie, and probably the reason I didn’t moon over it like everyone else has done.  It’s not  because of Jason Gordon-Levitt; he did a fantastic job.  He was probably Tom’s redeeming factor, actually.  No matter how much I tried, I found it impossible to sympathize with Tom.  I mean, it was sad and all…really sad *cough*but I found myself siding more with his younger sister and that one girl he went out with as a blind date.  Summer told him that she wasn’t interested in being in a relationship, told him that what they had wasn’t serious- and he agreed.  He then continued to construct his own imaginary romance and then mourned over it by breaking plates on the kitchen counter and completely blaming Summer- despite the fact that she spelled everything out for him in the beginning.  Summer may have been many not-so-nice-things,  but she was honest.  Right to the very end.  And I liked that about her.  Tom was just a little too…Devdas for me.     Excuse the Bollywood reference, but really…all women want men to pine after them but…just how realistic is that? I love The Smiths, but…TITLE?  A bit melodramatic, maybe?

     In short, he was such a girl.  Geez.

Yeah, that was basically it.  I liked that it didn’t end with the typical “illogical happily ever after” because that is my ABSOLUTE LEASTFAVORITETHING ABOUT ROMANCES.  There was no romance between Summer and Tom.  There was Summer and then Tom’s fantasy, and that is where the romance lay.   And THAT is what love at first sight is.  I don’t believe in it.  LOVE, sure.  I don’t think that he falls in love with Autumn in the end; it is just the beginning of Autumn after all.  Enchantè

Besides, I’m listening to Vagabond right now and that’s all you really need to fall in love with the movie.

Maybe I’m just pathetically unromantic.  “She’s a DUDE!”  Ha ha ha.  Not.

In other news, I’m totally into Glee!  I downloaded most of the soundtrack and heart.   It’s not a revelation, but it’s fun and light and adorable.  And energetic.  There’s also an interesting satirical tone to the show which equals love for me.   So LOVE, Glee, LOVE!  It makes me happy

I downloaded all of Florance and The Machine’s album.  Awesome stuff.  I’ve also just discovered Cibelle, but her stuff is almost impossible to find.  :(  I’m tired ahora, I’ll post something gorgeous later.

TA!

Chathurika

Holden direbbe che è schifa. Schifa la maniera in cui quei palloni gonfiati parlano di tutta questa roba. Palloni gonfiati con cui non si può parlare.

La mia grande fortuna è che tutti i palloni gonfiati che millantavano di amare alla follia questo libro in realtà non l’avevano letto.

O l’hanno letto e non ci hanno capito nulla.

E non hanno capito nulla neppure quelli che prendono la scrittura di Salinger come modello. Quelli che provano a scrivere come lui.
Forse neppure io ho capito nulla de Il giovane Holden.

Ma almeno mi sono divertita a leggerlo.

Avrei dovuto leggerlo almeno dieci anni fa. E invece l’ho schivato. Avevo altro per la testa. Dieci anni fa io avevo una dipendenza da Kundera.

Leggerlo alla mia veneranda età è stato imbarazzante. Imbarazzante perché spesso mi sento esattamente come lui.

Alla deriva.

In mezzo a una spirale discendente.

Risucchiata in una vita schifa.

Vorrei avere anche io un’amica come Phoebe. Vorrei che Salinger avesse scritto The Catcher in the Rye con Phoebe come protagonista.

Di più.

Credo che Salinger abbia preso una cantonata pazzesca. La storia da raccontare era quella della sorella di Holden. Ha perso un’occasione e scritto un libro che è solo stile.

10. 1984
George Orwell

Orwell’s dystopian novel of a world controlled by Big Brother has become the quintessential cautionary tale for the far-reaching arm of government and the dangers of totalitarianism. Orwell has designed every corner of this futuristic world and transports us to a place where we may not want to be, yet cannot tear ourselves away from. It is a strong message about uniformity vs. individualism and makes us question what freedom really means while at the same time frightening us by showing that freedom may be slipping away from us as we speak.

9. To Kill A Mockingbird
Harper Lee

To Kill a Mockingbird is a tale of racism and bigotry seen through the eyes of a child. At first, the novel works as a story of what it is to be young and free. Then the novel moves into issues of social justice as Scout and Jem have their eyes open to the larger world. Atticus Finch is a hero of morals and values who fights to do what is right even when he knows he will lose. The novel is rich with themes and characters which are almost impossible to forget once you have read it.

8. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
James Joyce

James Joyce is one of the greatest writers of this century, and this semi-autobiography led Joyce’s movement into modernist literature. This novel outlines the main characters journey to grow in his intellect, philosophy and spirituality. Joyce’s style here is inventive and thought-provoking and has made this one of the best novels of the last one hundred years.

7. The Sound and the Fury
William Faulkner

A tale told from the viewpoint of multiple characters, The Sound and the Fury is a masterpiece at describing the thought processes of humans. Faulkner damn-near perfected the stream-of-consciousness thinking. Faulkner moves us with his tale of the decline of a southern family and their struggle to maintain honour.

6. The Catcher in the Rye
J.D. Salinger

Teen angst has never been so literary. Catcher in the Rye is one of the most popular books in the world. Its biting satire and well-constructed anti-hero have made this an exceptionally brilliant novel, definitely worthy in its inclusion as one of the greatest ever written.

5. The Grapes of Wrath
John Steinbeck

There may be no better written recording of the Great Depression than Steinbeck’s classic The Grapes of Wrath. It tells the tale of the Joad family on a quest for a better life in California and it is a tale of adversity and perseverance on a scale which sets the bar for all other American novels.

4. The Lord of the Rings
J. R. R. Tolkien

The Lord of the Rings has become a cultural phenomenon in the latter half of the twentieth century, a masterpiece of high fantasy on an epic scale in both scope and depth. Lord of the Rings is not a simple fantasy tale but is in fact a story rich in themes; loyalty, friendship, fate, duty, corruption, etc. Tolkien has created a world so full and complex you are immediately transported into it and become engrossed with every detail. Literary critics often dismiss The Lord of the Rings because of its genre, not able to look further to see that it is the masterpiece of its genre and is a work of genius.

3. Gravity’s Rainbow
Thomas Pynchon

Perhaps the greatest piece of post-modern literature, Pynchon’s masterpiece is a story about post-war Europe and the production of the V2 rocket. Pynchon’s novel is complex in its plot and structure. Gravity’s Rainbow also uses a lot of science and mathematics in its story, adding a level of sophistication and even greater complexity. Many critics argue that this may be the greatest literary work on the last one hundred years, while other claim it is far too difficult to be read. Nonetheless it is a massive achievement in writing and storytelling.

2. The Great Gatsby
F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Great Gatsby is often called “the great American novel”. Jay Gatsby is living the dream; riches, women, high society lifestyle. Everything seems to be going his way. Fitzgerald uses this character and situation to explore they areas of morality, materialism, and what it means to have wealth and worth. It is a true classic that was never recognized in its time, but grew into one of the most acclaimed novels of the modern era.

1. Ulysses
James Joyce

As almost any literary scholar what the work of the century is and you will almost get a unanimous decision: Ulysses. It seems to almost be a given that Ulysses is the best novel of the 20th century. Ulysses has strong characters, humour, technique, style; it is perhaps the most important piece of modernist literature. James Joyce is one of the greatest writers of the modern age and he has given us the greatest novel of the century.

I can’t lie, I appreciate a good RomCom every once in a while, and I have read, “in the mind of Gideon Rayburn,” which wasn’t good at all, but funny to read. I read those books discreetly, in some sort of privacy, and when in public, they’re not out in the open. When I bought the “Notebook” I didn’t carry it everywhere, nor opened it at any given time. I’m not going to deny that there have been times that I’ve chosen Sparks over Kafka, even my favorite, Salinger. Everyone appreciates an easy read once in a while. Why do you think In Touch and US Weekly sell so many millions of copies each week?

This is mean, and I’m an ass, but when I was on the subway one day I noticed a girl with a less than savory book…I would rather read Twilight, King, Grisham, even a travelling book before this one… How to Win Friends and Influence People!!! I’ve actually heard this was a decent book…just the title…come on!!! “Do you like to do it yourself” -40yr old Virgin.

The Master, in most of the mystic religious sects around the world is a man that can be described as the finite form of the infinite. The word is used in most of the religions of the East; like in Japan, where an ‘enlightened’ Zen monk is referred to as a Master. The 20th Century American writer J.D. Salinger, known largely for his ‘unusually brilliant’ and ‘controversial’ book The Catcher In The Rye used a Japanese ‘haiku’ (poem) in his book Franny and Zooey, first published as a story in two parts in The New Yorker magazine as Franny in 1955 and Zooey in 1957. The haiku by Kobayashi Issa (1763 – 1828) translated in English goes:

O Snail,
Climb Mount Fuji,
But slowly, slowly!

There are many interpretations of the haiku and one way of looking at it is that man can reach the summit by having the endurance to overcome adversity. Forgive me for digressing but this is the closest that I can come to describing the mastery of the man who is popularly known as the Little Master around the cricketing world. An old Japanese proverb says that a wise man climbs Mount Fuji once in his life and only a fool climbs it again; the implied meaning for the fool here is that it is so tough and has such inclement weather that only the really-daring would go again.

If Mount Fuji had a cricketing equivalent then Tendulkar is the man who has been living at the summit for just a few days less than 20 years now. There is no typhoon greater than the one he can still generate and there is no one from his time who has survived the hostile weather of international cricket with such elegance that even the violence that flows from his blade looks like the serene poise of a Zen monk.

On the eve of the fifth game in Hyderabad, the Indian captain MS Dhoni said, “Top order batsmen need to bat well and not rely on the lower order. If you are playing with seven batsmen, it’s better to get a big score from six of them rather than use the seventh, who we call as a backup batsman, especially when you are chasing. If one among the top order gets a big score it becomes easy for us as the others can rotate around him.”

The man on top of everything heeded the captain’s call and apart from another one at number six, no one else found it easy to rotate around him. Australia had belted 350, riding on the momentum they had picked when India had dropped it in the second-half of the ODI in Mohali.

For Australia just the top order came out to bat and everyone scored above a run a ball. Shaun Marsh and Watson scored 112 and 97 respectively. Ponting made a run-a-ball 45 and White and Hussey gave the finishing kick.

No matter what the conditions and the trueness of the wicket, chasing 350 is the cricketing equivalent of climbing Mount Fuji; and it was too stiff a climb for one man to pull the weight of 9 others. Apart from Tendulkar—who made a sparkling 175 in 141 balls studded with 19 square jewels and four large-sized pearls—the other significant contribution in the chase came in the form of a 59 from Raina at number 6. The 38 from Sehwag and the 23 from Jadeja had the possibility of becoming significant but Sehwag played one shot too many and Jadeja for the second time in the series ran as if his run out was essential to India’s victory.

If I look at the top 5 then it was just one man who made it possible that the game came down to holding one’s nerve in the end. At the stage where 19 runs were needed in 18 balls with four wickets in hand and a set Tendulkar batting as good as he ever had; the match was India’s to lose.

Tendulkar single-handedly kept India in the hunt; he played the booming drives, the lofted on the rise strokes clearing the inner circle, the delicate and the furious square cuts. He used the pace of the bowlers, when his deft touch was needed to place the ball behind the wicket on either side. Tendulkar danced down the wicket to hit the spinners out of the attack. He played perfect chip shots and the pulls that went along the ground. The Master bisected the boundary raiders using his wrists as if they were meant to solve a geometric problem. He dusted his cupboard to bring out a pull shot that sailed for a six over midwicket. He played with a fearless flamboyance so that the newcomers could adjust to the wicket without worrying about the run-rate.

Earlier, as Australia had preserved wickets, their late charge added 90 runs in 48 balls for the team. The way the Little Master had calculated and scored from the beginning and then in a big partnership with Raina; his team needed just 52 runs in the last 48 balls. The Aussie bowling had been thrashed, mainly by Tendulkar and to an extent by Sehwag and Raina. Two overs changed the game after Tendulkar and Raina had put India completely in front. The first of the two overs was the 43rd and the second was the 48th. In the 43rd over bowled by Watson, one run came for the loss of Raina and Harbhajan.

It has been such a series for Australia that it would not be surprising if an Aussie tourist is picked and brought to the ground in case Ponting suddenly finds that he is left with only 10 fit men for a game. The score-line says 3-2 in Australia’s favour and that is a massive achievement by an inexperienced as well as an injury-hit team that Ponting leads. I don’t think I’ll see a headline that says ‘India out to hit injury-hit Australia’ again in this series at least.

In the 48th over again two wickets fell for 3 runs. A crestfallen Tendulkar departed to a rising ovation off the first ball of the over. From the beginning he knew how to climb this summit; he created and shaped the reply knowing exactly where and how to take a risk and to keep his companions steady. There was nothing that could stop him in Hyderabad and even after the dismissal of Raina and Harbhajan; 32 more runs were added between Jadeja and Tendulkar.

And then the Master came down from the peak and made an error of judgement; as in that form no bowler could have taken his wicket had he kept his shot selection on the cautious side. After the dismissal he saw his work of art falling short just like it did in Chennai 1999. He had been phenomenal in Hyderabad but in the presentation ceremony he looked the most-disappointed and the-most forlorn man. Tendulkar knows it very well that the infinite is expected of the Master. And he knows that people forgive everyone but they never forgive a genius.

Due giorni fa avevo segnalato il sacrilego accostamento dell’ultimo romanzo di Federico M. al celebre IL GIOVANE HOLDEN.

Ora, proprio per chiarire quanto sballato sia questo accostamento, aggiungerò qualcosa sulle differenze tra i due romanzi e, soprattutto, tra i due autori.

The catcher in the rye (questo è il titolo originale) è un “classico” della letteratura anglosassone. Pubblicato nel 1951, ha avuto un successo mondiale e continua ad essere ristampato.

Poichè un romanzo “classico” è citato da molti, ma spesso lo hanno letto in pochi, riassumo la TRAMA.

Holden Caulfield parla di se stesso: ha 17 anni, è un pessimo studente. Non è scemo: è sommamente DEMOTIVATO. Non ha alcun interesse a prendere un diploma e a integrarsi nella classe media americana (a cui appartiene la sua famiglia).

Desidera semmai andarsene nel west, lavorare in un ranch lontano dalla modernità, innamorarsi di una ragazza semplice…

Alla vigilia dell’inevitabile bocciatura, lascia la scuola e ritorna a New York. Passa uno scombinato weekend da solo (i genitori non sono in casa) e riceve la solidarietà della sorellina Phoebe.

Tutto qui?

Tutto qui: è una storia apparentemente povera. Ma dentro c’è il rifiuto dell’american way of life e questo spiega come gli hippies degli anni ‘60 abbiano visto in Holden un precursore.

Dal punto di vista linguistico, il romanzo fu tra i primi ad usare un tono volutamente disadorno, pieno di ripetizioni, proprio per rendere realisticamente il modo di parlare di un 17enne assai poco colto. Holden ripete centinaia di volte espressioni triviali come “goddamn” (maledizione) o “and all that” (e così via).

Nonostante le offerte di versione cinematografica fioccassero, Salinger ha sempre detto di no. Da Jack Nicholson a James Dean a Jerry Lewis tantissimi attori avrebbero voluto “essere Holden”. Niente da fare. E questa è una differenza basilare con uno come Moccia.

Differenze notevolissime anche tra Holden e i (più o meno coetanei) personaggi di Amore 14, tre metri sopra il cielo and all that.

Holden non è uno studente modello, ma qualcosa ha studiato (lo dimostra nel colloquio con un prof); mentre Step, Massi and all that NON HANNO MAI UN LIBRO IN MANO e in questo si dimostrano perfettamente integrati con la società berlusconiana.

In compenso danno un’enorme importanza al sesso, nelle diverse sfumature del termine: romantiche (i famosi lucchetti di ponte Milvio) e fisiche (alcune/alcuni sembrano non pensare ad altro).

Holden, al contrario, ha altro per la testa e il suo maldestro tentativo con una puttanella si conclude  con un nulla di fatto.

Rimane da spiegare come IL GIOVANE HOLDEN fosse negli anni ‘90 apprezzatissimo dai lettori di Bookland e sia stato, invece, “bocciato” a partire dal 2002. Ma il post sta venendo troppo lungo. Ne parlerò la prossima volta.