J.D. Salinger | Franny & Zooey | 1961

Dear Franny,

I know, sweetheart. I know how you feel. I left school because I was surrounded by people who failed to recognize their potential as human beings. They nattered on and on about the most insubstantial things, and they could not see past the end of their egotistical noses, and more than once I felt queasy when I stared down at a chicken sandwich, inane prattle ringing in my ears. But I promise you that there are still people who are bright and good and kind. I promise you that there are girls just like you, who have curled up on couches and pulled the blankets up to their ears and slept for days just so they wouldn't have to remember what a heartbreaking world we live in. I promise it will get better--not because everyone around you will get better, but because you will find the strength in you to carry on being polite and brave and wise in spite of the wreckage. But if you want it to get better, sweetheart, you have to get up and do something about it.

Drink your chicken soup, think of the Fat Lady, and hug your brother - he doesn't mean to shout.

With love,
C. M. Dougan

J.D. Salinger | Catcher In the Rye | 1951

Dear Holden,

You're absolutely right about all the phonies in the world. They make you feel lonely and depressed and like you'd kind of like to be dead sometimes. But I have something to tell you: You're a phony too, sometimes. Like when you talk about how you hate it when Ackley never does anything until you shout at him to, and then later, you do the exact same thing to Stradlater and Ackley. They ask you to move out of their lights, or turn out the lights, or leave, and you just keep doing what you're doing. I mean, I don't blame you for it or anything. For the most part you aren't a phony and all. And your teacher Mr. Antolini wasn't being flitty. He was being fatherly. He was worried about you and you deserted him. I was mad when you did that. Anytime somebody tries to help you, you find some excuse to leave them. I hope that when you grow up you're a novelist, like what D.B. could've been. I want you to write about all the phonies in the world. Maybe then you'll realize that you can be a phony, and you'll stop complaining so much about others.

Oh, by the way, if you wear a red hunting hat in New York City, you're bound to get some funny looks.

From,
Leanne Kinkopf

J.D. Salinger | "A Perfect Day For Bananafish" | 1948

Dear Seymour,

It's been awful long hasn't it? I was thinking of the dun colored horse that wasn't black but was the fleetest nohow. How apocryphal Freddy was hugging it and weeping his great tears.

And how you were telling me to watch all the crabs scuttling around at the same time. Watch each one carefully because Po might, on a sunny day, do something like that, trying not to bend the leaves.

I also left a load of bananas on the beach, half stuck in the sand, hoping you would pick one out and have a meal of it. But you don't seem to be coming out of your house lately. The breakup was hard on you, wasn't it?

I used to push people I loved. Down the stairs. Kick them even. I think I wanted to feel that push, that kick. Because sometimes affection is like that. So much happiness it feels like a violence. Kids understand that burst.

Anyhow, I hope you feel better soon. I've been writing on my refrigerator the last slips of paper that Kafka wrote while he was dying.

He thinks the flowers are thirsty. Franny can't pass a flower by without telling me the bee color.

We all miss you. Even if you are so happy, think of us. Come out and play.

Cheers,
Helen Cho