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That thread of the mystical quality of language
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at its extreme of literary power
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is what I drew out of Franny and Zooey.
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So, Salinger, too, has the dream
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that the artifice of literature, of literary language,
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the performance of language in the style of his novels,
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can somehow be the essence of the human soul,
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that it can somehow communicate
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the truth of the universe just through its form: its human, distinctive form.
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It's a way of thinking about form that has more to do with
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individuality than it does with convention.
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Remember that way that Franny can identify the timbre of her brother's