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Somewhere in England, I so want to believe, lives a jazz-loving, relentlessly honest, incisively bright, deeply sentimental 78-year-old woman named Esmé who long ago befriended an American GI in a tea shop on the eve of the D-Day invasion.
They only talked for half an hour — this self-confident and vulnerable 13-year-old girl, a war orphan, and this Army sergeant, who, in civilian life, had published a few fledgling short stories — chaperoned by her governess and her young brother, Charles. They never met again, although they exchanged letters, but somehow this chance encounter mattered deeply to both of them.
Maybe it was the way that Esmé told him, with the frankness and gravity of youth, “I’d be extremely flattered if you would write a story exclusively for me sometime. I’m an avid reader.” The soldier promised that he would, although he warned that he was not terribly prolific.
Though for my money Salinger’s best short story is still The Laughing Man.
More from Ken Silverstein:
Perspective — October 23, 2013, 8:00 am
How pro-oil Louisiana politicians have shaped American environmental policy
Postcard — October 16, 2013, 8:00 am
A trip to one of the properties at issue in Louisiana’s oil-pollution lawsuits
Factor by which male life-scientists are more likely to patent their findings than are their female counterparts:
Scientists in Singapore developed a urine-powered paper battery the size of a credit card.
A gas-like smell that prompted authorities to evacuate a train in France was discovered to originate from fermented meat in a passenger’s bag.
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“Shelby is waiting for something. He himself does not know what it is. When it comes he will either go back into the world from which he came, or sink out of sight in the morass of alcoholism or despair that has engulfed other vagrants.”