However contradictory the coroner’s report — whether he pronounces Consumption or Loneliness or Suicide to be the cause of death — isn’t it plain how the true artist-seer actually dies? I say that the true artist-seer, the heavenly fool who can and does produce beauty, is mainly dazzled to death by his own scruples, the blinding shapes and colors of his own sacred human conscience.JD Salinger, Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters & Seymour
I am suddenly compelled to read some Salinger for the hundredth, thousandth time (or at least tenth time, but let me excessively overstate the number of times I’ve read this or that or the other just to humor me). I don’t mind reading Catcher, but I am more inclined to reading Nine Stories or the other four novellas. I think that Catcher was charming, but far from his best work.
Kafka would suit my mood as well. The Trial? Anyone? Anyone?