The Scene and Herd

J.D. Salinger is like a good, mopey, eighties pop tune. I like to claim that all of it bores me by now, but just watch me get all emotional when Depeche Mode comes on the radio, and just watch me
get all overwhelmed
by J.D.’s death.

I try to avoid retro music because it seems to keep me from changing. I can’t get older to the soundtrack of 1980s Manchester, that’s for sure. I’d just stay 20 forever. Morrissey Night is an indulgence, but I always leave there feeling guilty and melodramatic and telling myself that if I want to get shit done, I’m going to have to forget about The Smiths for a while.

The Catcher in The Rye was the first book I ever read that was different. It was the first book I read that made me realize that books could be different. Before Salinger, I didn’t understand that writers could do whatever they wanted to do. I was fascinated by the way his characters thought and spoke. It was new and colourful. Good Lord, I thought J.D. was the most quotable writer in history and I read every one of his books, even as they became terrible.
It was an awful romance.

Of course, the newness faded. I realized that there were all kinds of authors out there that did things differently and I forgot that Salinger was the first one to teach me that. I forgot about Salinger completely so that I could change and get older and not get stuck being fifteen forever.

Now he is dead and I’m feeling all guilty and melodramatic. I’m sure we can tell ourselves to forget about our youths for a little while, but I’m not convinced that we can shake them for good, can’t shake the books and the songs that saved our lives.
Yes, we’re older now.
And we’re clever swine.
But they were the only ones who ever stood by us.