yesterday morning in the suburban train i started reading salinger's nine stories. the stories are perfect for my ride to frankfurt. the train takes 18 minutes. to read one story takes about the same time. the first story, a perfect day for bananafish immediately grabbed me. there are only few authors who are able to write in an easy, everyday language and they hit it. salinger is one, camus another, hemingway and carver come to mind too. this story reminded me most of brautigan though. there is a fantasy at work there, a surreal lucidity hidden in the mundane. when i arrived at the main station i had just finished the last phrase and i was shocked. the smile on my face which had been there from the first sentence on was gone. i wasn't prepared for the end. i had been enchanted so much that i didn't anticipate something bad could happen. though it was clear from the beginning on. but salinger had weaved a web of hope i got caught up in. maybe that is the art of writing. to get the reader so much immersed into the fiction that he forgets everything about logic and common sense.