I have been waiting for September 6th like a kid
waits for Christmas, like an Apple-lover waits for the new grande-nano-mini
iPad, like a total nerd waits for the J.J. Abrams reboot of STAR WARS (okay,
I’m waiting for that one too). What is
this September 6th event that could have me so twittery (remember
when that was a word completely unrelated to technology?) and breathless with
anticipation?
It is the release date for SALINGER – the new documentary
about the life of Jerome David Salinger, better known as J.D. Salinger – recluse,
author, and love of my life. I can hear
you thinking to yourself, “Oh no – she’s one of those Salinger quoting, dog-eared
Catcher in the Rye toting weirdos” to which I can only say – you don’t know the
half of it, buddy.
The love affair began in high school, which is the time when
so many of us afflicted by this disease first begin to notice symptoms: uncontrollable
head nodding upon each and every mention of the word “phony”, bouts with
nervous giggles over the curse words, and the distinct and overwhelming feeling
that someone finally really gets you. A certain someone named Holden – I mean, have
you ever heard a cooler name?
If the exhilaration of reading The Catcher in the Rye was my
first contact with Salingerphilia, Franny and Zooey gave me a full blown
case. It was absolutely revelatory and
pretty much shaped my life philosophy – to this day it is still one of the most
brilliant distillations of what Christianity is really about that I’ve ever
encountered. “Don’t you know who that fat lady really is?...Ah, buddy. Ah,
buddy. It’s Christ himself…”
Of course from there I read his Nine Stories, and then when
those were devoured, I set up shop in the microphiche (look it up, kids!)
department of the library to pour over his stories published in magazines like
Good Housekeeping and The Saturday Evening Post. In fact, it was one of those little known
stories (A Girl I Knew) that inspired me to write my very first screenplay. Salinger wrote about a young American man, a
thinly veiled version of himself, who meets a young girl in Vienna and falls in
love with her while tying her ice skates one day. They begin a romance, but then the war breaks
out and the man must go back to America… he leaves behind the young woman who
he later hears was killed in a concentration camp.
I was so devastated by the story that I decided to imagine a
different fate for the characters, and so wrote a script about a teenaged girl
who discovers her grandmother was the girl with the skates, and that she
escaped with her life, married and moved to America – the girl discovers her
grandmother was in love with J.D. Salinger and so sets out with a group of
friends to try and find the recluse and deliver the news that his beautiful
skater was indeed still alive.
When I finished the script I was proud and excited – and
grateful to have been inspired and encouraged, if not directly, at least in
example by Mr. Salinger, and so I decided to send the script to him. I had hopes that he would respond favorably,
feeling very much like Holden in Catcher when he says, “What really knocks me
out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that
wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone
whenever you felt like it.” And so, with
visions of future phone calls with my favorite author, I mailed a copy of the
script along with a letter and a headshot (I had heard he had a soft spot for young,
wide-eyed actresses) by Fed Ex, just to show how professional I was. Oh how I dreamed that he would read the
script and invite me to his cozy New England home to read his secret stash of
Glass family novels that I was convinced existed. But that dream was never to be. A month or two after I mailed my heart to the
New York offices of J.D. Salinger’s agent, I received a short letter back.
Seven little words that amounted to a dagger to my soul,
“Mr. Salinger does
not accept fan mail.”
Fan mail? FAN
MAIL?? It was a script that had taken me
a full year to write! I was broken
hearted. My hard work and passion had
been reduced to unwanted, unworthy trash.
Just like that, my fantasy of knowing Jerry better was crushed. But in the rubble of the experience, a
writer was born. A producer read that
script and liked it enough to stage a table read for investors. It didn’t sell, but the interest was enough
to encourage me to keep writing, and soon after I applied to USC to get my
Masters in writing – and got in.
And now, some ten years later, there is a new film promising
to give me the unprecedented, unvarnished glimpse of Salinger that I so
craved. Even more exciting, the
biographers released news this week that there are indeed more stories about
the Glass family – rumored to be published in 2015. And buddy, you better believe I’ll be first
in line to get my copy, dressed not in a rabbit fur collared coat, but in a
nice warm cloak of nostalgia.
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