Charles, whom I am teaching to read and write and whom I am finding an extremely intelligent novice, wishes to add a few words. Please write as soon as you have the time and inclination. Yeah. She's interested as hell in all that stuff. She's majoring in psychology." Clay stretched himself out on the bed, shoes included. "You know what she said? She says nobody gets a nervous breakdown just from the war and all. She says you probably were unstable like, your whole goddam life." Undarkened, Clay watched X trying to get a cigarette lit. "Jesus," he said, with spectator's enthusiasm, "you oughta see your goddam hands. Boy, have you got the shakes. Ya know that?" We are all tremendously excited and overawed about D Day and only hope that it will bring about the swift termination of the war and a method of existence that is ridiculous to say the least. Charles and I are both quite concerned about you; we hope you were not among those who made the first initial assault upon the Cotentin Peninsula. Were you? Please reply as speedily as possible. My warmest regards to your wife. Post-war stories full of post-war syndromes… Psychologically subtle stories of grownups and children… And all the tales are rich in irony…

Salinger, J. D; Criado, Carmen (2018). Nueve cuentos (in Spanish). Madrid: Alianza Editorial. ISBN 978-84-9104-942-5. OCLC 1039944847. She put her hands and wrists farther forward on the table, and I remember wanting to do something about that enormous-faced wristwatch she was wearing--perhaps suggest that she try wearing it around her waist. i imagine salinger, lonely, smelly, the bottom of his too large t-shirt hard with encrusted sperm, top of it soft with drool… beard stubble, cat hair, spoiled milk, stale danish, waiting all week for the chance to tug at his old man penis to 23 minutes of mr. merlin, hoarsely shouting in anger and frustration as he’s about to ejaculate and they abruptly cut away from joyce to merlin. (thank god for tivo and being able to freeze frame or slo-mo marisa tomei without having to hoarsely shout at ethan hawke and phillip seymour hoffman) A truly sobering read but a triumph of a book for its exploration of the flawed human mind portrayed alongside real and powerful themes, accompanied by some superb characters to deliver many hard-hitting, important, but also simple messages. Bir süredir kitap seçimlerimden yana oldukça şanslı olduğumu hissediyorum. Ama yine de itiraf etmek gerekirse, uzun bir süredir beni bu kadar etkileyen, çiviyle yerime çakan öyküler okumamıştım.She blushed-automatically conferring on me the social poise I'd been missing. "Well. Most of the Americans I've seen act like animals. They're forever punching one another about, and insulting everyone, and--You know what one of them did?" O.K. G'night! Take it easy, now, for Chrissake." The door slammed shut, then instantly opened again. "Hey. O.K. if I leave a letter to Loretta under your door? I got some German stuff in it. Willya fix it up for me?" His face lit up. "Meet you at the corner!" he shrieked, and raced out of the room, possibly in hysterics. Clay left his feet where they were for a few don't-tell-me-where-to-put-my-feet seconds, then swung them around to the floor and sat up. "I'm goin' downstairs anyway. They got the radio on in Walker's room." He didn't get up from the bed, though. "Hey. I was just tellin' that new son of a bitch, Bernstein, downstairs. Remember that time I and you drove into Valognes, and we got shelled for about two goddam hours, and that goddam cat I shot that jumped up on the hood of the jeep when we were layin' in that hole? Remember?"

Charles begins his wall joke again. The narrator, thinking he is humoring the boy, jumps in with the punchline. This, however, infuriates Charles, who storms off to his table. Shortly thereafter, it is time for Esme to leave as well. Before doing so, she asks: “Would you like me to write to you?” She adds: “I write extremely articulate letters.” The narrator answers that he’d love it, and gives her his information. I said I certainly had been, and that I had heard her voice singing separately from the others. I said I thought she had a very fine voice. My ex once told me that kids stared at me because they sensed that I was one of them. I don't like him for saying that. She looked down at her wrist solemnly. "Yes, it did," she said. "He gave it to me just before Charles and I were evacuated." Self-consciously, she took her hands off the table, saying, "Purely as a memento, of course." She guided the conversation in a different direction. "I'd be extremely flattered if you'd write a story exclusively for me sometime. I'm an avid reader."

For Esmé—With Love and Squalor" begins with a framing device. The narrator, a World War II veteran from the US Army, has received an invitation to a wedding in England; the bride-to-be is a young woman he met six years prior when he was in London; it was there that he took a training course before getting shipped to Europe for combat duty. He decides against going to the wedding, but he does begin to write about his recollections of the bride. He mentions that he wouldn't mind if his comments unsettled the groom—a man he has not met—saying, She agrees, and the narrator and his newfound companion launch into a conversation that spans various subjects. The narrator explains that he saw the girl at choir practice; it turns out she already knew. The girl has plans to be a jazz singer on the radio; after making “heaps of money”, she will “retire and live on a ranch in Ohio.” She asks the narrator if he goes “to that secret Intelligence school on the hill.” He replies that he is visiting Devon for his health. “ Really,” she quips, “I wasn’t quite born yesterday, you know.” Sigur, putem formula ipoteze în legătură cu gestul lui „gratuit”. Seymour Glass tocmai s-a întors din război, acolo s-a petrecut ceva rău, nu aflăm ce, nici naratorul nu știe. Soția, prietenii și rudele îl privesc cu neîncredere, Seymour s-a schimbat în chip vădit, nu mai e omul de odinioară: poate ar fi nevoie de un medic, sugerează mama lui Muriel într-o discuție la telefon. She nodded. "Make it extremely squalid and moving," she suggested. "Are you at all acquainted with squalor?" Having been put off reading ‘A Catcher in the Rye’, I thought this was a good way to sample J.D. Salinger, and what a thoroughly satisfying collection of short stories to ruminate and reflect on. To appraise, commend, and to even reason with. A book where all the characters and their stories felt real – too real which makes this collection all the more unforgettable.

In 1963 a film version was in the works; Salinger insisted the part of Esme be played by New Yorker humorist writer Peter DeVries's daughter Jan, but it never worked out. It was a long time before X could set the note aside, let alone lift Esme's father's wristwatch out of the box. When he did finally lift it out, he saw that its crystal had been broken in transit. He wondered if the watch was otherwise undamaged, but he hadn't the courage to wind it and find out. He just sat with it in his hand for another long period. Then, suddenly, almost ecstatically, he felt sleepy.

She nodded. "I thought you might," she said. "I'm quite communicative for my age." She gave her hair another experimental touch. "I'm dreadfully sorry about my hair," she said. "I've probably been hideous to look at." Nine Stories (1953) is a collection of short stories by American fiction writer J. D. Salinger published in April 1953. Same goes for Seymour in "Banana Fish" and the narrator of "For Esme." Nobody got into the heads of brilliant but troubled young people better than Salinger. What we hear about Seymour as opposed to what we see creates a palpable (and beautiful)tension. The narrator of "For Esme"'s war inflicted emotional problems are drawn with such artistry as to flood over you as you read.