J. D. Salinger_ A Life - Kenneth Slawenski [218]
Perhaps the most gripping legend surrounding Salinger’s later life concerns the works he has produced since his retirement. There was no reason to doubt that he had written steadily since 1965 and created an enormous volume of new works. But he always worked in a way that was almost secretive. His writings became his insular private world of prayer. Even when he was publishing, no one ever saw the pieces that he was working on. There was no mention of his current stories or characters at the dinner table, no discussion of evolving plot with family and friends. Salinger’s work was his alone, and he carefully separated it from that part of his life shared with others. His own daughter was unaware of her father’s occupation until she went to school and her teachers informed her (with some amusement) that he was a famous author. Peggy had had no idea. Even then, she never set eyes upon much of her father’s work until she was an adult. Rather than reading stories such as “A Boy in France” and “Hapworth 16, 1924” in her father’s studio, she was forced to find them in the Library of Congress. So though it’s clear that few people, if anyone, have actually seen Salinger’s later works, stories about them abound. Most accounts placed these works in a great vault, sometimes described as large as a room, although at least one story reported that he had them buried somewhere on his property. The most hopeful of these accounts depicted these treasures as being coded by the author depending on their status: incomplete, under review, or ready for publication.
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In 1996, news rippled through the literary world that after a silence of thirty years Salinger had made the stunning decision to release “Hapworth 16, 1924” in hardcover. In bestowing rights to the novella, he was said to have snubbed major publishers by selecting an obscure publishing house in Alexandria, Virginia, named Orchises Press. Critics were sent in a frantic search to find the original “Hapworth,” which was now scarce, having long been razorbladed from the few July 1965 copies of The New Yorker that still remained. Orchises announced a tentative release of “Hapworth” for January 1997, but January came and went with no release and no comment by Orchises or Salinger. In fact, there had already been three delays in publication by early 1997, leading to a certain anxiety among Salinger fans.
The delays gave critics time to track down copies of the novella, and they were soon falling over one another in print. The result was an explosion of publicity and critical reviews of “Hapworth” that the novella had managed to avoid when it was originally published. Articles appeared in The Washington Post, New York Newsday, and Chicago Tribune, and Newsweek, Time, and Esquire magazines. CNN and other major news organizations reported on the upcoming release. Even Saturday Night Live poked fun at Salinger in its parody of the news. When asked to comment on why he was releasing “Hapworth” after so many years, SNL reported Salinger as replying “Get the hell off my lawn.”
Far more serious than late-night comedy parodies, the epitome of critical reviews of “Hapworth” appeared in The New York Times Book Review on February 20, 1997, when Times critic Michiko Kakutani characterized the novella as “a sour, implausible and, sad to say, completely charmless story.” She accused Salinger of pandering to his detractors by reshaping Seymour’s character to defy their previous accusations of his unbelievable saintliness. Kakutani bewailed “Hapworth”’s characterization, plot, construction, and underlying motives. She produced a scathing critical assessment, not because she held any contempt for Salinger and his talents but because her critique was so thoughtfully calculated. Kakutani had done her homework and had presented a review as reverent as John Updike had years before—and just as damning. When