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Salinger, J. Zooey English The facts at hand presumably speak for themselves, but a trifle more vulgarly, I suspect, than facts even usually do. As a counterbalance, then, we begin with that everfresh and exciting odium: the author's formal introduction. The one I have in mind not only is wordy and earnest beyond my wildest dreams but is, to boot, rather excruciatingly personal.

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If, with the right kind of luck, it comes off, it should be comparable in effect to a compulsory guided tour through the engine room, with myself, as guide, leading the way in an old one-piece Anti aging anon scansoft bathing suit. To get straight to the worst, what I'm about to offer isn't really a short story at all but a sort of prose home movie, and anti aging anon scansoft who have seen the footage have strongly advised me against nurturing any elaborate distribution plans for it.

The dissenting anti aging anon scansoft, it's my privilege and headache to divulge, consists of the three featured players themselves, two female, one male. We'll take the leading lady first, who, I believe, would prefer to be briefly described as a languid, sophisticated type. She feels that things might have gone along well enough if I'd just done something about a fifteen- or twenty-minute scene in which she blows her nose several times-snipped it out, I gather.

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She says it's disgusting to watch somebody keep blowing her nose. The other lady of the ensemble, a svelte twilight soubrette, objects to my having, so to speak, photographed her in her old housecoat.

Neither of these two lovelies as they've hinted they'd like to be called takes any very shrill exception to my over-all exploitive purposes. For a terribly simple reason, really.

If, to me, a somewhat reddening one.

They anti aging anon scansoft from experience that I burst into tears at the first harsh or remonstrative word. It's the leading man, however, who has made the most eloquent appeal to me to call off the production. He feels that the plot hinges on mysticism, or religious mystification-in any case, he makes it very clear," a too vividly apparent transcendent element of sorts, which he says he's worried can only expedite, move up, the day and hour of my professional undoing.

People are already shaking their heads over me, and any immediate further professional use on my part of the word "God," except as a familiar, healthy American expletive, will be taken-or, rather, confirmed -as the very worst kind of name-dropping and a sure sign that I'm going straight to the dogs.

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Which is, of course, something to give any normal fainthearted man, and particularly writing man, pause. And it does. But only pause. For a point of objection, however eloquent, is only as good as it is applicable.

The fact is, I've been producing prose home movies, off and on, since I was fifteen.

Somewhere in "The Great Gatsby" which was my "Tom Sawyer" when I was twelvethe youthful narrator remarks that everybody suspects himself of having at least one of the cardinal virtues, and he goes on to say that he thinks his, bless his heart, is honesty. Mine, I think, is that I know the difference between a mystical story and a love story.

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I say that my current offering isn't a mystical story, or a religiously mystifying story, at all. I say it's a compound, or multiple, love story, pure and complicated. The plot line itself, to finish up, is largely the result of a rather unholy collaborative effort.

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Almost all the facts to follow slowly, calmly to follow were originally given to me in hideously spaced installments, and in, to me, somewhat harrowingly private sittings, by covergirl anti aging krém three player-characters themselves.

Not one of the three, I might well add, showed any noticeably soaring talent for brevity of detail or compression of incident.

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A shortcoming, I'm afraid, that will be carried over to this, the final, or shooting, version. I can't excuse it, regrettably, but I insist on trying to explain it.

We are, all four of anti aging medizin berlin, blood relatives, and we speak a kind of esoteric, family language, a sort of semantic geometry in which the shortest distance between any two points is a fullish circle.

One last advisory word: Our family's surname is Glass. In just a moment, the youngest Glass boy will be seen reading an exceedingly lengthy letter which will be reprinted here in full, I can safely promise sent to him by his eldest living brother, Buddy Glass.

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The style of the letter, I'm told, bears a considerably more than passing resemblance to the style, or written mannerisms, of this narrator, and the general reader will no doubt jump to the heady conclusion that the writer of the letter and I are one and the same person.

Jump he will, and, I'm afraid, jump he should. We will, however, leave this Buddy Glass anti aging anon scansoft the third person from here on in. At least, I see no good reason to take him out of it.

Ten-thirty on a Monday morning in November ofZooey Glass, a young man of twenty-five, was seated in a very full bath, reading a four-year-old letter. It was an almost endless-looking letter, typewritten on several pages of second-sheet yellow paper, and he was having some little trouble keeping it propped up against the two dry islands of his knees.

Salinger, J. D.: Zooey

At his right, a dampish-looking cigarette was balanced on the edge of the built-in enamel soapcatch, and evidently it was burning well enough, for every now and then he picked it off and took a drag or two, without quite having to look up from his letter. His ashes invariably fell into the tub water, either straightway or down one of the letter pages.

He seemed unaware of the messiness of the arrangement.

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He did seem aware, though, if only just, that the heat of the water was beginning to have a dehydrating effect on him. The longer he sat reading-or re-reading-the more often and the less absently he used the back of his wrist.

In Zooey, be assured early, we are dealing with the complex, the overlapping, the cloven, and at least two dossier-like paragraphs ought to be got in right here. To start with, he was a small young man, and extremely slight of body. From the rear- particularly where his vertebrae were visible-he might almost have passed for one of those needy metropolitan children who are sent out every summer to endowed camps to be fattened and sunned.