Charles McGrath: J. D. Salinger, who was thought at one time to be the most important American writer to emerge since World War II but who then turned his back on success and adulation, becoming the Garbo of letters, famous for not wanting to be famous, died Wednesday at his home in Cornish, N.H., where he had lived in seclusion for more than 50 years. He was 91.
Henry Allen: At the end, with J.D. Salinger dead at 91, we have no memories of him.
That is to say, we have no cranky anecdotes about thrown drinks, no second cousins who once stood next to him at a roulette table, no paparazzi pictures of him with his long face and solemn eyes staring with predatory kindness at some starlet in Malibu (careful not to look at her breasts, of course).
He was a sort of saint to his upscale readers, a foe of the cruel and the vulgar, a practitioner of Zen Buddhism, it was said, a man who in his writing found his masculinity in sensitivity and self-deprecation.
Salinger's New Yorker stories.
I'm going with The Onion for best obit..
http://www.theonion.com/content/news/bunch_of_phonies_mourn_j_d
I always thought it was inaccurate to say that Salinger lived "in seclusion" or was a "recluse." Seems to me he just didn't respond to fan mail, give interviews or license his work. The residents of his NH town thought him normal--and present--enough to keep prying eyes away from him, especially would-be profile writers.