James Salter

I once went to a reading where several authors read, one of them being James Salter. A woman in the audience was having some problems -- medical, or possibly emotional -- and eventually, after repeated interruptions, she was forced to leave the room. But the way she left it! Carried by two or more men and attended by others, feet first down the aisle, her shirt partially up showing a slit of white belly. She wore a calm, almost complacent smile on her face (I was near the aisle) as she was carried away.

James Salter was the next in line to read. It was a hard audience -- we were already distracted and fidgety and I myself was composing the story in my head to tell my husband later that night. But after a few sentences we began to pay attention; after a page or two, we were spellbound. I do not use the word lightly. The entire room was absolutely enchanted -- he held us in his two fingers as he turned the pages of his manuscript. The story he read, ironically, was of a woman enchanted by a dog.

James Salter is no dog, however -- he is well dressed and handsome, and kind. I took a weekend workshop with him and he said something no writing teacher has ever said in any other class of mine -- he said there are many different kinds of ways to write.

The few facts I know about him I learned in a Paris Review interview (in a later edition he appears wearing a shirt that says "Lu Lu") -- he was in the military, he has written screenplays, he travels. The more important things I've learned by reading what he has written. His novel Light Years is something I pick up again and again and each time I find some marvelous sentence I'd previously missed. All of his sentences are thoughtful, and I find them very profound but not at all pedantic. He is remarking on life, not trying to direct it -- like a wonderful storyteller with a beautiful voice.


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