I'm not altogether clear what Camille means by the vacuum in which she sees Salinger working in his later days. I presume she doesn't mean the withdrawal to the house in the woods or his refusal to engage in public discourse. That, in one form or another, is the choice of most artists. Among such good writers as I've known personally, most were at great pains to avoid the bar/lit. party/chat show circuit - while the pubs of London & Dublin are filled with grand talkers & socialisers, all of them on the point of leaving for home to start their great novel. Nor do I believe (despite the unpopularity of this view on the list) that there can be any dialogue - within the proper meaning of the word - between an artist & his audience. The creation of good new stuff takes place, after all, way far out beyond that point where the readers have so far ventured. The writer is not only alone in his study, he must also resign himself to being alone in his mind. Having said all that, I DO have sympathy with Camille's view that there is something claustrophobic, self-regarding, solipsistic, about Salinger's later writing. As she says, the feeling is rather strong that one is eavesdropping: on someone playing by (or with) himself in an empty room - almost as though one had caught him admiring his own body in the mirror. Scottie B.