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Die. Salinger. Die.


Oh, the sneering, insufferable, dissolute privilege of Holden Caulfield! 

Yes, J.D. Salinger’s fictional creation, one admired by lone gunman and presumably, misanthropic Unabomber acolytes everywhere, has aroused the hand wringers of the literati elite.

On what would have been Uncle Sal’s 100th birthday, our Literati Elite, stimulated by their pious duty to eradicate All The Dead White Guy Writers, stacked their Volvo station wagons with cases of wine and drove off to Cornish, New Hampshire to Bill Ayers the hell out of J.D. Salinger’s legacy.

This jaunt will take some time as New Hampshire—for those deficient in American geography—is nestled within the confines of New England, the Literati Elites most splendid and revered locales. On the way to Cornish, there will be innumerable diversions and sojourns among coffee shops, bookstores, antique markets and cocktail parties in Newport, Martha’s Vineyard, Boston…and, the most time consuming, the liberal arts college circuit. 

(Oh, there will also be a little excursion to Rockport, Maine to replenish the preppy wardrobe at LL Bean.)

There will be much frivolity and reminiscing along the liberal arts college route as the Literati Elite will be among their own kind: the Academic Intellectual Elite. Here, within the cozy, Ivied environs, the Literati Elite and the Academic Intellectual Elite, will formulate their year long siege of J.D. Salinger.

The first phase of this literary expungement began on Sunday, December 30 of 2018. In another tiresome, cringeworthy example of Intellectual Elite wokeness, the archetype of the Literati Elite, the white privileged male of Bostonian Critical Theory (ah, yes, that Literary/Social/Critical Theory expertise personifies their fraternal credentials in the lodge of Academic Intellectual Elite) bemoaned the white privilege of Holden Caulfield.




Irony, eh?

As Holden Caulfield would have smirked, Phonies.

(Oh, also, as Holden matured, he would have replaced his favored pejorative Phonies with George Carlin’s Bullshiters.)

Of course, the Intellectual, Academic and Literati Elite have long abhorred Salinger’s most famous and transcendent character. But now in our Age of Ideologies, Holden Caulfield’s—let’s admit, his apathy is tedious—adolescent individualism is considered problematic. Yes, Holden is the antithesis of today’s ideal youth of manufactured collectivism.

But, Holden, to our Intellectual, Academic and Literati Elite, is simply a nuisance, an easily vanquished structure in the siege of Salinger.

Even J.D. Salinger, the myth, the recluse, the man, has never seemed to frighten our Elites. Salinger’s philosophical and farm-to-table living are shrugable offenses. A predilection for younger girls is simply deemed salacious. Being born with a single testicle is a fascinating launch point for a Freudian deconstruction. Hell, Joyce Maynard’s account of her time with Salinger was renowned for its illuminating aspects into the psyche of a legend. Of course, as the Siege Of Salinger intensifies in 2019, Maynard’s details will be reexamined and determined to be misogynistic.

Which, huh, yeah…

It’s actually Salinger the literary writer that infuriates our Intellectual, Academic and Literati Elite.

His he one of us? These Elites agonize while sipping cocktails.

Salinger was once a stalwart of the Elites favored Literary Institution, The New Yorker. His repudiation of plot and his use of elegantly precise, unadorned prose became the formula for generations of banal literary storytellers. 

This formula of prose and storytelling would be adopted by our Elites, manufactured and lauded within their incestuous domains of Writer’s Workshops, MFA Programs and Literary Journals.

I mean, without Salinger, we wouldn’t have had Gordon Lish, Raymond Carver and mounds and mounds and mounds and mounds of unremarkable remainder pile mid-listers.

Oh, Mid-Lister’s who were also literary editors, teachers and professors. You know, those like our Elites.

Maybe that’s why our Intellectual, Academic, Literati Elite despise Salinger: he wasn’t one of them. 

Or, while Salinger was alive, declining all inquires into his personal and creative, maintaining a marketing budget of zero, he still outsold many of The Elites Writer’s Workshop’s bright, young things whose novels were acclaimed to be This Year’s Most Stunning, Heart Breakingly Original Debuts! Alas, despite all that press generated by The Western Wisconsin Literary Journal and that small, influential coterie of New Yorkers, our miserabalist mid-listers-to-be, found their tomes stacked in the Bargain Bin.

I guess all that Twitter Blue Check Mark hype couldn’t compete with all the trending Trump outrage, could it, Mr/Ms. Mid-Listers-To-Be?

Or, our Intellectual, Academic, Literati Elite begrudged Salinger for his Masonic stature…

You know what?

It doesn’t matter.

All of them are bunch of goddamn phonies…

But, I must admit, witnessing the Siege of Salinger will be amusing, especially as the flames become furious, swirling and scorching our Elites, dooming them to self-immolation.

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