good food

"Neither one of my parents graduated from college. I was not raised in a household with many books or records. I was not exposed to fine art at a young age or taken to any museums or plays at established cultural institutions. My parents wouldn't have known the names of authors I should read or foreign directors I should watch. I was not given an old edition of Catcher in the Rye as a preteen, copies of Rolling Stones records on vinyl, or any kind of instructional material from the past that might help give me a leg up to cultural maturity. But my parents were worldly in their own ways. They had seen much of the world and tasted what it had to offer. What they lacked in high culture, they made up for by spending their hard-earned money on the finest of delicacies. My childhood was rich with flavor—blood sausage, fish intestines, caviar. They loved good food, to make it, to seek it, to share it, and I was an honorary guest at their table."

~~ from Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner

salinger

After my last class last Friday, a student approached the desk. Rather than discuss a paper topic or grade, he wanted to discuss Salinger's death. I hadn't mentioned it in class, so this alone made me happy.

Over the weekend and through today, I had a chance to read various obituaries--from The Washington Post and New York Times and other papers. Like you perhaps, I particularly enjoyed the Times article on the less reclusive life that "Jerry" enjoyed in Corning, New Hampshire, including the fact that the town folk enjoyed helping J.D. avoid the tourists by giving bad directions.

I got to thinking about when and if I'd ever assigned Catcher in the Rye, and from what I recall the only time I did was in an American Literature survey course I taught for a satelleite campus of a university with central headquarters in Illinois. The classroom was in the basement of a hospital near Broad and Girard in North Philadelphia, and the students were 6 middle-aged nurses looking to complete a bachelors degree.

How or why Instructor Kudera chose Salinger for this crowd is unclear, but to a person, these women found the narrator to be a spoiled rich kid who complained too much. They couldn't believe anyone would dare whine so much as our dear, dissident Holden. If I'm not mistaken, my enthusiasm carried me an hour into the 3-hour night class before I recognized they disliked our hero. From there, I grew cautious, switched David Bradley's The Chaneysville Incident to Toni Morrison's Sula and was relieved when the semester came to an end.

(The Bradley would have also been a first assigning for me, but it's long and dense and who knows what my overworked African American adult students would have thought about the bitter black male protagonist living with a white woman he seems to treat so poorly at times?)

So there you have it. Holden Caulfield has a special place in the heart of millions--not only English teachers and majors and writers but all kinds of kids who may or may not be "readers" and of course, famously, even a serial killer or assassin here and there. But to exhausted women pursuing the full four-year degree after half an adult life spent cleaning up blood and urine, Holden was a spoiled brat.

God bless you and your literature, Salinger, and of course, may you rest in peace.

Carry on.