Book Review: Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger

To steal from wikipedia...Franny and Zooey is J.D. Salinger's third book, published as such in 1961, its two parts having originally appeared as a short story and a novella in The New Yorker (love) in 1955 and 1957, respectively. Franny and Zooey, a sister and brother both in their twenties, are the two youngest members of the Glass family, a frequent focus of Salinger's writings. The action of both parts takes place over a long weekend in November 1955.

I waited quite a while after finishing this book to formally review it as I was interested in hearing what the other ladies thought. Our opinions were all over the map, but two things we agreed on: this was not as good as Catcher in the Rye, and it was so dialogue-heavy that it often read more like a play than a novel(la). Neither of these are criticism per se (after all, what book could compare to Catcher in the Rye?), and overall we enjoyed the read.

J.D. Salinger has a subtle, clever sense of humor that is sprinkled so smoothly throughout his storytelling - he is a true master at the art of delivery. The Glass family members showcased in this book- Franny and Zooey- display the usual Salinger-esque characteristics: overly-smart, withdrawn intellectuals who are essentially royalty in a society which they reject. Franny has borrowed a book from her college library which tells a tale of a Russian pilgrim who all too literally interprets the Bible's command to "pray without ceasing." She decides to devote her mind and spirit to perfecting the same end, eventually resulting in a complete meltdown at home. Zooey witnesses the episode and his dialogue sharing opinions with his mother makes up most of "Zooey." The entire family flaunts clever antics and humor throughout, and Zooey advocates his ultimate position(spoiler, kind of) that selfless prayer (and impliedly other acts of philanthropy) is, ironically, ultimately self-serving. A theme that is also revealed in my current read, The Fountainhead...

Salinger is brilliant and I only wish his strange reclusive lifestyle didn't require that he abandon all efforts to publish his works. No doubt someone discovered an attic of hidden masterpieces on the day he died (R.I.P. Salinger) which his eager readers will never see!