If you know the Glass siblings, my subject heading might be familiar. It’s a part of Franny and Zooey that cracks me up every time. Poor Zooey, sitting in the bath, trying to memorize the lines of a dreadful script while his mother pounds on the bathroom door.

I’m not going to try to say anything meaningful or eloquent about the death of J.D. Salinger. This is because he rocked my world — at various times, his work was the rock of my world — and nothing I say could ever be sufficient. I love Holden and Phoebe without apology; I love Zooey; I love Seymour and all the Glasses. This poster hangs in my office:

Thank you, Mr. Salinger, for everything.