J. D. Salinger_ A Life - Kenneth Slawenski [205]
Another passage is best understood when viewed in the context of all of Salinger’s writings. At the end of “Hapworth,” Salinger introduced one of his final characters to the world: a Czech woman who recommended that Seymour read the poetry of Otakar Brezina. She was a handsome woman, Seymour recalled, “in somber, costly clothes, yet with interesting, touching, dirty fingernails.” Since “The Young Folks,” twenty-five years earlier, Salinger’s characters had primped and preened over their fingernails as a sign of self-centered phoniness. It remained one of the few symbols constant throughout Salinger’s career. As he closed what would prove to be his final story, Salinger at last presented a character who ignored her nails as a signal of virtue. “God bless ladies with costly, tasteful clothes and touching, dirty fingernails,” Seymour exclaims.
Passages like these, coupled with the revisionist nature of “Hapworth,” which steals back from Seymour nearly every endearing quality he ever possessed, have led many readers to view the story as Salinger’s final act. Many believe that through “Hapworth,” J. D. Salinger completed his own transformation into his characters; he became Seymour Glass. Using “Hapworth” as a literary bullet, he then committed professional suicide and—as Buddy Glass once said of his brother—left the “Whole Loving Family high and dry.”14 It is easy to blame “Hapworth” for Salinger’s final withdrawal. The interpretation is convenient, but it is also unlikely. There is no indication that Salinger ever intended “Hapworth” to be his final release, and he was far too tenacious a writer to throw up his hands because he had penned a bad story. “The jig is never damnable and never up,” Seymour says; “when it maddeningly appears to be, it is merely time to rally one’s magnificent forces again and review the issue.” In 1966, defying “Hapworth”’s frigid reception, Salinger reinforced his relationship with Little, Brown and Company and formally recommitted to the publication of a new book.15 In fact, Salinger told his friend Michael Mitchell in October 1966 that he had already completed not one but two new novels.16
Perhaps by 1965, Salinger had indeed “bogged down” in his own mannerisms and characters. Perhaps living twelve years in the relative seclusion of Cornish, separated from the variety of people and experiences that had always fed his creativity, had stunted his inspiration and limited the dimensions of his work. Undoubtedly, “Hapworth” is one of his weakest literary moments—a moment that became more inevitable as he took greater risks with his writing. Without the restraint of The New Yorker, the story mirrors the overdrawn length and aimlessness of “The Inverted Forest” or “The Children’s Echelon.” But to walk away from “Hapworth” with the conviction that Salinger was used up as an author sells not only J. D. Salinger short but also the resilience and adaptability of creativity itself. It was likely that, sooner or later, Salinger would discover in the solitude of rural America the same high level of inspiration he had found in the busy streets of New York.
*Claire’s mother moved among three homes during the year: an apartment in Manhattan, a home in Bermuda, and another home in Italy. Although Claire’s own childhood was spent in a succession of foster homes during the war, she never lost sight of her affluent upbringing.
† When it came to his children’s education, Salinger defied the attitude of Holden Caulfield regarding boarding school. Matthew was enrolled at Phillips Academy Andover, one of the most renowned private schools in the nation, where he was a classmate of John F. Kennedy, Jr. (much to his grandmother’s delight).
*Gordon Lish’s account of his 1962 telephone conversation with Salinger should be approached with caution. It was relayed to the author Paul Alexander more than three