I can only describe Buddy's narrative voice as poignant, as sentimental, in an endlessly endearing way. Both novellas, whilst utterly different, are carried by this same voice, so drenched in a nostalgia that so carefully portrays grief, love, and suffering. I cannot express the beauty of this prose, because it feels so completely real, because it says everything silently, within the tone, the anecdotes chosen to be recalled, within the expressions, the fleeting feelings, inside every comma and brief thought, the entire book just oozes personality. Buddy is suffering yet sustained, grieving whilst having accepted, so rawly trying to capture the image of his brother in words whilst suffering under the expectation of this self-delegated responsibility, grasped by his own inadequacy. It touches my heart, and I revere Salinger for the emotional intelligence necessary to craft such a vivid character through what he says about others.

Seymour once said that all we do our whole lives is go from one little piece of Holy Ground to the next. Is he never wrong?