Original subtitles

I grew up in a quiet suburban town just north of New York.

On special occasions, my dad would take me into the city

and we would go and get dessert at the Waldorf or the Plaza.

I loved watching the people around us.

They seemed to have interesting lives.

I wanted to be one of them.

I wanted to write novels,

and speak five languages and travel.

I didn't want to be ordinary.

I wanted to be extraordinary.

Those memories came storming back to me last year

when I came to visit my best friend in New York.

I was only supposed to stay a few days,

and then return to Berkeley,

where my boyfriend was waiting on me.

But something shifted.

I wanna stay in New York for a while.

A while?

What do you mean a while? What about your semester?

Yeah, but see that's just it,

I don't want to analyze other people's work anymore, Karl.

I wanna write.

In New York?

Yeah.

In New York.

Isn't that what aspiring writers did?

Live in cheap apartments and write in cafes?

Yeah, I know, but it's what I wanted.

My boss says we're going paperless, all emails.

It's driving me nuts

with everyone writing about nothing,

answering thanks or worse, you're welcome.

My colleague sends me emails to ask me

when I'm having lunch.

I hope this is just a trend that will phase out.

I miss your rants.

Everyone in Berkeley is so serious,

and the jogging and wearing Tivos.

Fucking Tivos?

I'm like this big cloud of East Coast irony haunting Southern California.

Turning everything into Ash.

That's me.

Does Karl feel the same?

Um, it's not really the same for him

'cause he's been there for a couple of years

and the university sorta treats him like a star.

Huh, well.

Hey, Jenny.

I don't know exactly how long I'm gonna be staying

in New York.

Don't worry, just keep making yourself at home.

Eat anything.

Okay.

MA in English literature, University College in London,

I suppose that would make you more appealing

to some publishers, less to most.

You published poetry?

Yes, yes, in the Paris Review.

I just won their student contest.

Leave that out. Publishers avoid wannabe writers.

Oh, that is what I want to do though. Eventually.

Oh, I got it.

Not a publisher. How about a literary agency?

Great.

The oldest in New York. Do you type?

Uh, I took typing in seventh grade.

Of course you don't type.

She's gonna ask you if you can type

and you are gonna say?

Yes.

60 words a minute.

But do you type on a typewriter?

It's very different from typing on one of those computers.

Yes.

What do you like to read?

Everything.

Laurie, Hammet, Donald West lake.

I just finished "A Sentimental Education" and I loved it.

It was so contemporary, I was amazed

but to be in this field,

you'll need to read authors who are alive.

I love Flamel.

I like West lake. He's funny.

I guess you can start after Christmas.

We'll talk about Jerry then.

Ah, Jerry.

I'm sure you've heard that he's crazy

or senile or a misanthrope, all lies.

He's not the problem.

It's these people who relentlessly call for his address,

his phone number, asking to be put in touch with him.

Or even with me.

Reporters, students, university deans, producers.

They can be persuasive, manipulative,

but you must never ever give out his address.

Do you understand?

I understand.

Good, remember, there's no shortage

of college graduates who want this job.

Be prepared for long hours.

Pam will give you a key

Pam, okay.

Thank you so much.

I can't tell you how honored and thrilled I am.

No need to be honored, thrilled maybe.

Margaret is pretty thrilling.

I'm Daniel by the way.

That Jerry.

I didn't know yet what a literary agency was,

but it felt like I'd stepped closer to the world of writers.

I was to be surrounded by god-like literary names.

No doubt their proximity would inspire my own writing.

Well, Congratulations on your new job.

Here's your key.

Do not lose it.

We will expect you at 8:00 AM sharp, January 8th.

I never went back to Berkeley.

New York was to be my new home, writing my new life

with a coveted job to pay the rent.

Hi.

Hey.

Hey, come, come, come join us.

Hi.

This is Joanna.

This is Mark, this is Lisa.

They just got engaged, so.

Oh wow. Oh my goodness, congratulations.

Sit down.

The office is incredible.

It's like nothing's changed since 1927,

and I'm guessing my boss represents.

- Anne Rice. - The Pope.

Thomas Pynchon.

J. D. Salinger.

- No way. - He's still alive?

Yeah, he is, he lives up in New Hampshire

in basically total isolation.

Reporters are always trying to ambush him in the local diner

or try to sneak onto his property.

I love "Catcher In The Rye",

but "Franny and Zoe" is my favorite.

My friend Kat used to work at his publishers.

And one night, she was working late.

Like 1:00 AM late, and the phone rings in the office

and keeps ringing.

So she picks it up and she heard someone screaming.

The manuscript is okay!

I saved the manuscript from the fire.

Salinger?

His house had burned down

and he called in the middle of the night

assuming someone would be at the office.

Isn't that crazy?

I read that he's still writing,

but that he doesn't wanna publish.

Writing makes you a writer, not publishing.

Publishing is commerce.

Such a crock of shit, Don.

This is some preemptive strike argument

in case he never sells a novel, if you ever finish writing.

I will, but today is about Joanna

and her crossing to the dark side

with the book munchers, cheers.

Cheers. Thanks.

I had met Don days earlier in a socialist bookstore

where he worked part time.

Haven't seen you around here before.

Let me guess, you're an intern at the New Yorker.

Besides fighting materialism

and raising class awareness, Don was into boxing,

Norman Mailer, and?

I'm writing a novel.

He was straightforward about being a writer.

I admired his confidence.

Do you know the Panama Cafe?

It's on Avenue Way, it's kind of like a writers' hangout.

I do actually. Yeah, they have poetry.

Poetry reading.

Love is the one who's hard to find,

love's the one who knows your mind,

love's the one who feeds your soul,

love's the one to have and hold.

But hold a minute, hold how,

there's a hundred hungry ways to hold her up

or hold her down.

Will she still be able to get around.

Will she be able to hold her breath.

Where the hell were you?

Cut the goddamn grass today

or else I'm selling your K car, you hear?

Dear Mr. Salinger, I read your book,

"The Catcher In The Rye" three times now.

It's a masterpiece, and I hope you're proud of it.

I mean, you certainly should be.

Most of the crap that's written today is so uncompelling

it makes me sick.

I mean, not too many people write anything

that even approaches sincerity.

And I don't mean to say that everyone

who reads your book gets it.

Not at all, lots of people don't.

I mean I can give you plenty of idiotic examples,

but I won't.

Hell, you might be laughing out loud right now

at the thought but I think I get it.

Maybe I don't.

Wow.

Well, you are here.

I am.

We know you can type, hooray

but have you ever used a dictaphone?

At ease.

It can be tricky at first,

but I'm sure you'll get the hang of it.

Play, rewind, and I think those control speed.

- Hugh can help. - Hugh?

You can get started with these.

This is our technological area. It is all very new.

This is a Xerox machine you'll use to make copies

of my correspondence.

I believe that is the button you press to make a copy.

Did she give you her speech

about the evils of the digital age yet?

Max, this is Joanna, my new assistant.

Hello, Joanna. Nice to meet you.

So there are no computers?

We choose not to use computers.

I've seen them in action.

They just make more work for everyone, wasting time.

All right, as you can see,

we have a relaxed, cordial environment.

We ask that you don't wear dungarees, sneakers,

T-shirts, sweatshirts, especially the kind with hoods.

No open-toed shoes,

but it's perfectly fine to wear trousers if you're a woman,

and no need to wear stockings in the summer.

Bare legs are perfectly fine.

And if Jerry calls you just say,

"Yes, Jerry, I will let my boss know."

Jerry Salinger?

Well of course, Jerry Salinger.

And above all, you never ever call him.

Why would I call Jerry Salinger?

Jerry doesn't wanna hear about how much you love.

"The Catcher In The Rye".

And he doesn't want to read your stories.

Don't have stories.

Good, writers make the worst assistants.

Get to work.

The proprietor hereby grants to the publisher.

Starting from the day.

I'm Hugh, you must be Joanna.

Yes, hi. Nice to meet you.

If you need anything, I'm right here.

I take care of contracts, legal, copyrights, the fun stuff.

Salinger's letters, fan mail.

You need to answer them using these.

There's one for each type of inquiry;

Adaptation, autobiography,

autograph, photograph, interview, celebrity auction.

Mr. Salinger does not wish

to receive mail from his readers.

Thus we cannot pass your kind note onto him.

1963?

That's the year he stopped responding himself.

You need to take the new one based exactly on this verbatim.

No change.

So Salinger doesn't get any of his mail?

Not one. You shred them in the shredder.

You should always read them.

Yes, indeed.

- Just in case. - Just in case.

In case of what?

We've been extra careful

since the Mark David Chapman thing.

John Lennon's assassin.

When the police arrived at the Dakota,

they found Chapman calmly sitting on the sidewalk

reading "Catcher In The Rye".

At his trial Chapman said,

that the big part of him was Holden Caulfield?

And the small part of him was,

the devil.

Did Chapman write to Salinger?

We'll never know, since we throw away the mail.

Read everything thoroughly.

Use your judgment.

I think about Holden a lot.

When I first think about him,

I get a stupid grin on my face, you know?

Thinking about what a funny guy he is and all.

But then I usually get depressed as hell

'cause I only think about Holden

when I'm feeling very emotional and,

I can get quite emotional.

I can get quite emotional.

This boy is so earnest.

A major loser is what he is.

- Hey, he is not. - He is.

He's very sweet.

He's a little funny, but he's sweet.

And he cares so much.

I can't send him a letter that says,

"Dear kid, Mr. Salinger has no interest in you.

So please fuck off."

Look, this one is from the Netherlands.

Me and my wife trace Holden's steps around New York.

Did you know that the ducks

in Central Park stay through winter?

My God, literally a bunch of obsessive freaks.

I haven't read "Catcher In The Rye".

You're kidding.

I haven't read any Salinger.

Wow, everybody's read Catcher at the very least.

Yeah, well, at the risk of disappointing you,

there are actually a few writers that I've yet to read.

Well, I'm shocked.

Okay, look, this girl is ready to go to bed with him.

He's 70 something. Don't be naive.

Good literature is a powerful aphrodisiac.

I never had that teenage Salinger moment.

We never read "Catcher In The Rye" at school.

And later I was interested in difficult, gritty fiction.

Hey, hun.

Jenny's not here right now.

Oh, I'll be in the kitchen.

I imagine Salinger's books

to be insufferably cute, quirky and precious.

I didn't want to be entertained.

I wanted to be provoked.

My shoulder hurts from carrying all those manuscripts.

- Hey, Joanna. - Hi.

Oh, I found a writer for Max out of the slush pile.

The stories are so good, I read them last night

and I was sobbing by the end.

What's the slush pile?

The slush pile?

Okay, it's like the most amazing

and most horrible part of our job.

The stack of manuscripts nobody wants to read.

Basically it's all the unsolicited query letters.

People with no referral who write to agents cold.

The slush pile is like 99% crazy shit.

Though some of it is seriously hilarious.

But very, very occasionally you find something amazing.

Your boss doesn't let you read?

I'm available to read manuscripts,

should that be something that you're interested in

at home or my free time of course.

Manuscripts?

No.

Tabs wrong, margins wrong,

proper names wrong, really, everything wrong.

You can start retyping today.

And here as a bonus is today's dictation.

Forget about manuscripts.

You need to get that right.

Is it on?

As you know, I believe that computers make work

rather than alleviate it.

But I agreed to install one in the office

on a trial basis because.

It came in an elegant black.

Because Hugh discovered that people,

I don't know who these people are

and why they don't have more important things

to do with their lives,

but people have been publishing whole Salinger stories

on their personal e-webs.

Web blogs.

Web blogs, ridiculous.

This is blatant copyright infringement.

And we're going to have to scour the worldwide web

to put an end to it.

And that is all the computer is to be used for.

Sorry to interrupt. Just passing through.

Don't mean to cause a fuss.

We can turn it off now.

Uh, it's already off.

Okay, good.

And then maybe the little coat that goes over it,

I've seen it in pictures. Thank you, Max.

I'm afraid we don't have...

There were hundreds of us, thousands maybe,

all girls working at literary agencies or publishing houses.

We answered calls for our bosses,

ushered in the writers, fetched them water.

Never belying the fact

that we wanted to be writers ourselves.

We whispered about the lucky ones,

the ones who were mentored by their bosses,

who were allowed to take on books or clients.

The ones who broke the rules to show initiative.

The ones who wanted it badly enough.

Please find two copies of the contract

with St. Martin publishing.

Let's face it. I was a secretary.

Hello?

Hello? Hello?

Hello.

Speaking to? It's Jerry.

Hello, Mr. Salinger.

Who is this?

This is Joanna.

Who?

I'm Joanna, I'm Margaret's new assistant.

Oh, Margaret's new assistant.

Nice to meet you, Susanna.

How do you like your job?

I love it.

Good to hear.

I'm calling to speak to your boss.

Unfortunately, she's not in right now.

Can I leave her a message?

Oh, no. I'll call back.

Well, I'm sure you have a lot of work.

It was very nice talking to you, Susanna.

I'm looking forward to meeting you in person.

You too.

Have a great day.

Goodbye.

I never say have a great day

Jerry?

He's deaf, explosion during the war.

- She just left? - Yes.

Better go tell her.

Quicker.

Margaret. Sorry.

I'm sorry to disturb you,

we just got a call from,

your client just called.

I wonder which one.

I have to take this.

Go ahead, boss. I'll wait for you at the restaurant.

You did the right thing.

Salinger wants to publish a book.

The press is gonna go nuts.

No press, no one must know, that's our job.

So it's true. He's been writing.

Well, no, it's an old story.

Hapworth, publisher.

Clifford Bradbury approached him to publish it

as a standalone book.

He has been thinking about it for eight years.

The publisher wrote to him back in '88.

Jerry liked the fact that he wrote on a typewriter.

How did he get Jerry's address?

He addressed it to J.D. Salinger,

Cornish, New Hampshire.

Postman delivered it.

That's brilliant.

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, Margaret.

What kind of publisher is this?

It can't be Little Brown or any major house,

they would have just called you.

Oh boy, you're gonna love this, Max.

It is a tiny press in Virginia, kind of a one-man operation.

Mary gold press.

Mary Bell's Press?

Yes, that's it. You know them?

They publish poetry and I like a few of their poets.

Are you fucking kidding me?

A one-man press is going to publish the first book

from Salinger in three decades?

That's fucked.

Publishing Salinger is different than publishing poetry.

Thank you.

Obviously, we have to proceed carefully.

Find out everything we can about this Clifford Bradbury.

I'll call 'em.

I won't mention Salinger and I'll ask for his catalog

and a sample for our records.

Good thinking.

Hugh, get me the contract with the New Yorker, please.

What's Hapsworth?

It was published in the New Yorker in '65.

Took up almost the whole magazine.

Pretty common in those days.

Esquire did it, Cosmo.

That's where I got my start,

buying stories for a magazine.

For Cosmo?

For Playboy.

How did you end up working for Playboy?

Enough chit chat, Joanna.

Back to work.

Hi, is this Clifford Bradbury?

Hi, this is Joanna Rakoff.

I work for ANF Literary Management.

The job of an agent is to open up opportunities

for their clients.

But when it came to Salinger, the logic was reversed.

We had to shield him from the outside world,

bolstering his reputation as a complicated recluse.

But publishing Hackworth was going

to get a lot of attention.

Nobody understood his change of heart.

Night, Jerry.

Maybe I thought I understood.

Maybe he realized that what he wanted

wasn't what he wanted at all.

Are you serious?

You're like, yeah, visiting me in my room.

What are you writing?

Writing a very bad poem.

Listen, Brett and I were talking and,

look, when you first got back to New York

and I said that you could stay here,

to be honest, I thought you'd go back to Berkeley with Karl.

You're kicking me out?

No, like I'm happy to have you here.

And you can stay if you want.

But what did you plan on doing, what are your options?

We disinfected the apartment

'cause the man before had seven cats,

but young, married, couple like you

take better care of it, yeah?

We're not married.

The man next door, he takes care of little things

if you need it.

He's Mexican, he drinks, but he works hard.

How much?

- 560. - We'll think about it.

No, we'll take it.

Oh, good deal. You're Jewish, yeah?

- Me? - Mm?

No.

I like very responsible.

Let's sign the paper.

The lease is gonna be under her name.

Hm?

Could just given ourselves a day to think about it.

This is New York city, young lady.

The big time.

I barely make $300 a week.

No, wait, we split the rent, booba.

I'm gonna pay my half.

I just have to avoid the credit check.

Look, I'll take care of the furniture, all right?

There's no sink.

What?

There's no sink in the kitchen.

I knew that there was something off about the apartment

but I couldn't put my finger on it.

And there's no sink in the kitchen.

We just signed a lease for an apartment with no sink.

But we can do the dishes in the bath tub,

it's no big deal.

There's a tub. Trust me.

Dear Mr. Salinger, please forgive my bad English.

I work much at night and I like it

because I don't have to talk to people so much.

My heart is troubled, just like Holden Caulfield

Holden is like my grandfather, you know?

A no-bullshit man.

He taught me a lot about human nature.

He warned me, I will be disappointed by most people.

We would be very honored

if you would serve as our commencement reader next year.

We would, of course provide you with accommodation

in a very fine inn where your privacy,

which I know is important to you,

would be scrupulously respected.

The fishing helps me, a nice refuge from my nightmares.

It's been 27 years since Vietnam.

They just keep getting worse.

You know, seeing your dead friends,

having their guts ripped out.

I'm sure you must have similar type dreams

being a veteran who.

Does not wish to receive mail from his readers.

Thus, we can not pass along your kind note to him.

We thank you for your interest in Mr. Salinger's book.

My daughter died from leukemia.

She was a talented young writer.

I'm founding a small literary magazine in her memory,

and I'd like permission to call it Banana Fish.

The Salinger was her.

Titles can't be copyrighted?

Absolutely, Jerry.

I could write a novel and call it "The Great Gatsby"

if I wanted to.

So yes, she can call her magazine Banana Fish.

Great.

But the agency can't advise her.

- Really? - Yup.

I'm just telling you this for your own edification.

Send the form letter and finish shredding.

That's absurd.

Well, of course, you're right.

She's gonna start yelling at me

the minute she's off the phone.

Pleasure to talk to you, Jerry, as always.

Goodbye.

Crap sandwich.

Hugh?

Yes.

Do you have the Salinger contract ready?

Yes, almost there.

Ask Pam to call a messenger

so we can get it over to the New Yorker before 6:00.

- The New Yorker? - Yes.

Probably best if I just bring it myself then, no?

I grew up reading the New Yorker

following my father's ritual.

He would start with the movie reviews

and then turn to the talk of the town,

and then the features.

In college, everyone was into The New Yorker.

Hi.

My boss wanted me to make sure

this was delivered right away.

Thank you.

Can I help you with something else?

No, no, no, no.

That was it. Thanks.

I was at the Algonquin serving him a martini.

Anyway, I used my Cosmo ID to get in the room.

I recognized the agent, he did not recognize me.

And we spent the evening talking

about William's tragic death and the agency.

And?

And I lost my job at Cosmo for not showing up

the next morning.

But I kept the man's card, and a year later,

I gave him a call at the agency.

Hi.

And he hired me, and the rest is history.

Joanna, what is it? Something wrong?

No.

She was walking by looking cold and hungry and forlorn.

And I invited her in.

Joanna, please sit down.

I really don't want to interrupt.

Don't be silly.

This is my wife, Helen.

Nice to meet you.

We were just reminiscing,

telling tales about the lost generation.

Hemingway, Fitzgerald.

Do you know the agency represented Fitzgerald?

Of course, yes.

And Dylan Thomas, Langston Hughes, Agatha Christie.

And you've read all their work, of course

I have, however, my boss suggests that I read writers

that are alive.

Speaking of living writers,

are you familiar with Rachel Cusk?

Don't take the bait, Joanna.

I am. Yes, I am, I am.

Her first novel, "Saving Agnes" was huge.

It won the Whitbread, I think?

And everyone that I knew in London was reading it.

It was our lives basically, or it was my life.

What is it about?

Well, it's a coming-of- age tale, definitely.

I guess it's about the ways in which women

- need to get over this self. - Loathing of their bodies say.

I'd say it's more about how the patriarchy imposes rigid

and terrifying ideas of femininity onto young women.

How that paralyzes them, and strips them of their dignity.

I don't know, it doesn't feel quite that didactic to me.

It's a very introspective novel.

It doesn't really read like social commentary.

Okay, Joanna meet Rachel Cusk.

- Hello. - No, no.

- I'm so sorry. - It's okay.

It's lovely to meet you.

You're a novelist yourself?

Joanne is my assistant. I don't hire writers.

I'm very particular about it.

Really?

I thought all publishing assistants

were writing novels at their desk.

If you can write a novel at your desk

while fetching coffee for a tyrant like Margaret,

good luck.

Well, you really have to love it.

You have to want it more than anything in the entire world.

More than a boyfriend or a closet full of pretty dresses,

or a fancy job that makes everyone jealous.

You need to be okay with saying no

when you're invited to a party,

and you really need to be okay

with having your mother and father hate you.

Joanna, don't you have some dictation to finish?

- Yes, I do. - Margaret.

Those St. Martins contract memos

need to go out immediately.

- Absolutely. - Okay.

It was nice to meet you all, thank you.

- Bye. - Lovely to meet you.

Hi.

You got a letter from your high school sweetheart, Karl.

Does he know about us?

Yeah, I'm sure I mentioned it.

Joanna, did you break up with him?

Like a proper breakup?

"Dear Karl, it's not you it's me.

"I'm sorry, it's over," you know, the normal stuff?

We haven't talked in three months

and he knows that I'm not going back to California.

Did you talk to the landlady about the heating?

Why do you need a heater?

Your love should keep you warm.

I was hoping you might find the time to write back,

but I bet you must be getting a lot of letters.

But I feel like writing again,

if you don't mind me doing so

'cause well, I feel depressed as hell.

And I figured it's the honest thing to do.

Your characters are the only ones in literature

who are truly like me.

I mean, they take action.

They don't sit around contemplating suicide.

They pick up a gun and they shoot themselves in the head.

He's challenging Jerry.

It's a game and you're falling for it.

I feel this boy just deserves a proper response,

not our usual bullshit.

Bullshit?

You are confusing judgment with empathy.

I have read hundreds of letters just like this one.

It can get overwhelming, but just do your job.

Did you send my letter to Mr. Salinger?

Did you send my letter to Salinger?

You have no right to keep my letter.

You can't read other people's mail.

I wat at least expecting a confirmation.

Dear Mr. Salinger, I hate school.

Especially English class.

"Catcher In The Rye" is the only book I liked.

My teacher is going to make me flunk.

She says I'll have to repeat my year

and that's gonna be so embarrassing.

So I asked her, "What can I do?"

"Write a letter to J.D. Salinger," she told me.

"And make it so good that he'll write back.

If he writes back, I'll give you an A."

Please write back, so I can get an A.

An A earned by trickery means absolutely nothing.

You'll soon find out that young women

are often held to double standards when it comes to success.

You need to prove to yourself and to your peers

that you do not need special treatment.

If you desire an A or a passing grade,

you must do the work assigned to you.

And if you want to uphold the spirit of Holden,

try not to care too much about how people judge you.

This might mean being more humble,

but it's the only way.

Sincerely, Joanna Rakoff.

You've become quite the expert in what Salinger would say.

"If you want to uphold the spirit of Holden",

have you read Catcher yet?

You haven't?

Unbelievable.

Brett got accepted at Case Western.

I thought he's going to Brooklyn Law.

He's from the Midwest.

He misses it, you know?

So you'll stay here until he's done?

Of course not. I'm going with him.

We're engaged, remember?

Wait, you're moving?

I thought you loved your work?

I do, but Cleveland is a cool city.

We're already looking for a place in Shaker Heights.

Wow. Suburbs.

Have you been writing lately?

I don't really write anymore.

I know we used to say that we wanted to become writers

but that was more your thing.

I kind of grew out of it.

You make it sound like a teenage phase.

Isn't that what it was?

I don't understand.

You're dropping everything for Brett's project?

Whoa, Joanna stop.

I don't wanna be a writer.

You keep saying you want to write, but you work long hours

for other writers while Don is at home writing his novel.

Oh, we both write,

and we're supportive of each other's work.

Well, then I'm happy for you guys.

Please be happy for me.

I'm sorry.

Why don't we go to the Waldorf and get dessert?

I'll have the $12 cheesecake.

Maybe we'll catch my boss

on her martini ones or something.

I gotta get back to work.

Everything to your liking?

Yes, thank you.

May I get you a cab?

It's such a nice day, I think I'll walk.

It is a beautiful day. You enjoy it then.

Thanks.

Hello.

- Hello, Susanna. - How are you today?

I'm great. How are you?

How's the weather in Cornish?

It's very pleasant.

Tell me something, Susanna.

I was looking at those books from this fellow, Clifford,

in Virginia, Mary Bells Press.

Yes.

What do you think of them?

Honestly, I think the design isn't great.

I think they'd really benefit from hiring a designer.

But as far as the books themselves, I've only read a few.

I do like some of the poets they publish though.

Well, you read poetry?

I do, yes. A lot.

Do you write poetry yourself?

I do.

Oh, I'm very glad to hear that.

Poetry is food for the soul. Never forget that.

Susanna.

Food for the soul, I've got it.

Susanna, it's important to write every day.

You know that?

I'll keep that in mind.

Jerry wants to meet Clifford.

Gosh, gotta find somewhere discreet.

Well, it won't be.

Jerry's driving down to Washington on Wednesday.

They're meeting in a cafeteria at Georgetown University.

That's awful. Awful.

Do we trust this Clifford fellow?

I don't know.

So we're presuming he's not gonna tip off The Post

that the world's most reclusive writer

who barely leaves his home,

who hasn't given an interview in decades,

will be having lunch at Georgetown University on Wednesday?

Yeah.

You have mentioned this possibility to Jerry?

I have not. Jerry thinks of Clifford as a pal.

If I say anything negative about him,

Jerry will not take it kindly.

That's it. Back to work.

Oh, Joanna.

Tell me what you think of this.

Judy Blume?

- You've heard of her? - Of course, I have.

I read all of her books as a kid.

I love her. Everyone loves her.

She was a client of my predecessor, Claire.

She's not written a book in a long time.

Have you ever read Judy Blume?

No, I don't read children's literature.

But they're so wonderful.

I'm sure, Claire had impeccable taste.

You wanna go out?

We're broke.

So? We'll split a beer.

It's open mic night at the KGB.

- What? - You can bring a poem.

They'll love you.

- You're not funny. - I'm not trying to be.

Your poems are good.

I have a Judy Blume manuscript to read.

Judy Blume?

Judy fucking Blume?

I loved "Then Again Maybe I Won't".

You liked Judy Blume?

Yeah, I mean, I was a kid once and like a hero, Tony,

my parents were working class

and moved to middle-class area.

- It's about social class. - No, it's not.

It turns you on that I like pedestrian stuff, doesn't it?

To be given Judy Blume's new book was like

going from sitting in the stands to hitting a home run.

I felt lucky to be on the inside.

- Well? - I like it.

Really?

But what do you make of it?

I'm not sure what you mean.

Well, it's not a kid's book, is it?

No, no. It's about kids for grownups.

It's about female friendship.

But will adults buy a book about kids? Can I sell it?

Lots of books have child protagonists, "Oliver Twist".

This is not Oliver Twist, but you would buy it?

I would.

Many people would.

There's the nostalgia factor.

You know, my entire generation grew up on Judy Blume.

- Maybe. - Definitely.

All right, you've had your fun.

I've put new tapes on your desk.

Close the door.

Judy, Margaret's expecting you.

Coffee?

That's very exciting. Yes.

What is it?

- Judy Blume's here. - Shit.

Michael, hold on one second.

That's today?

I thought we had more time.

She's going to blow this, isn't she?

I think so.

Hey, we've been renovating, moving everything around

which is why your books are down there and out of order.

Don't worry about it.

I'm Joanna, I'm Margaret's new assistant.

I'm such a huge fan of yours.

That's very sweet of you.

Really nice to meet you.

Judy, how lovely to see you. Come into my office.

Joanna, why don't you answer your phone?

There's someone at the reception who wants to see you.

Me?

- Are you Joanna Rakoff? - Yes.

Is that your real name?

'Cause it's so ridiculous, it sounds fake.

You have no right to keep my letter from J.D. Salinger.

I'm sorry. Who are you?

Because of you, I'm going to fail English.

Is everything all right here?

- No. - Yes. Yes.

No.

Why don't we go downstairs and get a coffee, okay?

Joanna.

Aren't you supposed to be in school?

Who do you think you are?

It's my job here to answer Jerry's mail.

Oh, it's Jerry to you. Is he your sugar daddy?

No, I've never even met him, okay?

Mr. Salinger does not want to receive his mail.

So instead you lecture me like you're my mother.

You're right, okay?

I'm sorry. I apologize.

Your letter was different

and I thought you deserved a real response

instead of our, I'm sorry,

we can not pass along your kind note bullshit.

So I wrote you something more personal.

What makes you think your advice is better

than some bullshit response?

I'm going to summer school.

So thanks a lot, Ms. Rakoff.

You sent a personal letter to one of the fans

and she came storming in here?

Oh my gosh.

Oh my gosh.

Do you have any idea how many times

when I was answering Salinger's letters

I wanted to write my own one back?

- Really? - Of course.

"Dear Sir, obsess over another writer.

I hear Kurt Vonnegut answers his own fan mail."

I mean sometimes you just wanna go,

"Hey, loser."

And then others, they're so engaging.

You just want to champion them, you know?

Yes, yes, exactly.

But you've crossed the line.

It's a huge rabbit hole ethically and legally.

I'm taking you off Salinger's mail.

No, no, Hugh, please?

I love these letters so much,

I promise you this won't happen again, I promise.

Judy?

- It's all over. - Judy?

- She's leaving us. - For whom?

Does it matter?

I were Judy, I would have left too.

Joanna.

Why?

Tell me, I'm curious. Why would you leave?

No, I'm really, really sorry.

I didn't mean that, I just

I'm just sad to see her leave, that's all.

Well, until you can articulate a reason

that will enlighten us,

you can go back to typing your dictation

and fetch Daniel's prescriptions when you're done.

Close the door.

Okay, you think that when a man falls in love

he doesn't look at another woman, hm?

But I have news for you, every man in this world

is looking at every woman in this world and deciding whether or not.

He wants to fuck her.

She's sexy, right?

Don, I think you might be in a hole.

You maybe wanna stop digging.

You think women don't look at other men? We do.

We even look at other women.

We just don't drool while we do it.

Booba, booba. I drool exclusively for you.

- Hey. - White wine?

No, thanks. I'm gonna go.

I know, I actually came to give you this.

What's this? It's from Karl.

He's coming to Washington for a concert.

He really wants you to go.

You've been in touch with Karl?

He wrote you a letter but you never answered.

- Wednesday in DC. - Yeah.

What is it?

Someone should go to the meeting

in Washington with Clifford Bradbury.

Make sure that he's prepared,

and walk them to the agency's protocol.

He did sound jittery on the phone.

I can't leave New York, but I suppose I could send.

Me!

- You? - Me.

Why?

Take notes and assist Clifford.

Just let me do this for the agency.

You are to go to Washington,

be the agency's eyes and ears.

Find out who this Clifford person is.

You are to meet with him beforehand

and debrief him afterward.

But you are not to meet with Jerry.

Jerry must think they are meeting on their own, understood?

You will not regret this.

We'll see about that.

Hey!

I've got a gift for you.

My birthday was two months ago.

Well, birthdays are for Hallmark.

It's, it's my novel.

You finished it?

Don't you wanna read it?

Oh, of course I do.

Thanks.

Congrats!

Mr. Bradbury?

Yes. Joanna?

- Hi. - Hi.

- Nice to meet you. - And you.

I've widened the spine see, to give the book some length

because it's too thin.

I also retyped it all from the New Yorker.

I didn't scan it and good thing too,

because there were a few small typos.

New Yorker doesn't make typos.

Oh yes, small ones but typos still.

Salinger is such a stickler for details.

- I made two mock-ups. - Wow.

Do you think I should have made more?

No.

Oh, I think I should've made more, yeah.

Mr. Bradbury, it's gonna go very well.

Just forget everything that you've heard

about Mr. Salinger.

I think that you'll find that he's very straightforward.

It's important that you just be yourself.

What happened?

Jerry Salinger paid for my lunch.

But how did it go?

- We agreed on everything. - That's great.

Because I just missed him then, huh?

- Except the typos. - What do you mean?

He did not want me to correct them.

Yeah, he seemed peeved that I fixed them.

You know, I thought at one point he'd say

let's just forget the whole thing, you know?

Did he say why?

He wants it printed exactly as it ran in the New Yorker

as if the typos were actually intentional,

it makes no sense.

Hey, don't fix any more typos.

Don't tell anybody about the book.

No interviews.

That would ruin the whole deal.

Yeah, we don't want to do that.

Great work, Mr. Bradbury.

My boss is going to be very pleased, okay?

Bye.

- Jo! - Hi.

You got my invitation.

Yeah.

I'm so glad you're here. You look great.

So do you.

I'm glad you're here, Jo.

I've been wanting to go apologize.

What?

I was angry when I sent you the letter.

I wrote stuff I didn't mean.

No, don't apologize. You should be angry.

I'm angry at you for not being angry at me.

Well, I'm not angry and that's absurd by the way.

You hurt me, and I needed to unleash.

I deserved a proper breakup, you know?

"Karl, I'm leaving you."

The usual stuff.

The usual stuff.

Felt depressing when you left.

I didn't read, I didn't read your letter.

Why?

I couldn't make it past Jo.

Nobody else calls me Jo, so.

I want you back in my life.

You know, even if it's just a phone call

every once in a while.

You were my best friend.

I miss you, Jo.

I miss you too.

I've learned that as phony as it may be,

you can't go around revealing

your goddamn emotions to the world.

Most people don't give a flying hoot

about like what you think

and feel most of the time, I guess.

And if they see a weakness,

I mean why for God's sake is showing emotion a weakness?

Boy, do they jump all over you, right?

They seem to get right in your goddamn face

and revel in the fact

that you are actually feeling something.

Is it good?

What?

The manuscript, is it good?

It's interesting.

But you hate it?

I don't hate it, or maybe I do hate it

and that's why it's good.

- It's weirdly addictive. - But?

I don't want to read about his sex life.

No one wants to read about his sex life.

Maybe I'm just annoyed by his nonchalance.

Or because?

He's writing and I'm not.

I understand.

What's going on?

Well, keep us posted and thank you.

Apparently he shot himself.

Wait, who, who shot himself?

Daniel, Joanna. Daniel committed suicide.

The Daniel?

In the living room while Margaret was in the bedroom.

This can't be right.

Daniel is a beautiful man.

He's sweet, he's kind.

This can't be happening.

But he looked fine.

He was bipolar, Margaret took care of him all these years.

He was her brother?

Lover, for 20 years.

Wait, are we talking about the same Daniel?

Daniel was married to Helen whom you've met.

He lived half the week with Helen

and the other half with Margaret.

They shared his care.

They shared him.

Margaret shared a man with another woman?

Joanna, if anyone calls, tell them she's working from home

and take a message,

and no mention of this.

What about if it's Jerry?

Especially, if it's Jerry.

Can you please do that some other time?

Fine.

Thanks.

Margaret's office, Joanna speaking.

Hi, Joanna, it's Jerry. How are you?

Hi. I'm well, how are you?

How's the weather down there?

Muggy.

Is your boss around?

No, I'm afraid she's out.

She's been out a lot lately.

Yeah, she's very busy. Lots of meetings.

Is there anything I can help you with?

Let me ask you something.

This Clifford Bradbury fellow.

Sure.

What do you make of him?

I like him.

Sometimes I think he can over think things,

but he just doesn't wanna let you down.

Have you been writing every day?

A lot of days.

They've given me more responsibility around here.

So I've been reading manuscripts.

You're a writer, Joanna, aren't you?

Not an agent, not a secretary?

I don't know.

- Sorry, I missed that. - I'm a little bit deaf.

Yes. Yes.

I'm a writer.

To write, even if it's just 15 minutes in the morning,

protect that sanctuary, okay?

Don't get stuck answering the phone, Joanna.

You're a poet.

What's it like working for the New Yorker?

Well, why don't you come by the office one day,

we'll show you around.

I would like that very much.

Do you write yourself?

It's okay, we won't tell your boss.

I published two poems in the Paris Review,

I'm working on some new material.

Well, we'd be happy to take a look at your material

when you feel it's ready.

That would be great. That would be really great.

- Well, let's cheers to that. - Okay.

It's satirical stuff I like.

I know, but the New Yorker's fiction is a joke

and that soppy talk of the town thing,

Don.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I know you love that shit, that,

"Oh, let's all go meet up at the Algonquin.

"I do so wish you can join us" bullshit.

So when's the wedding?

It's Columbus Day weekend, right?

Or am I making that up?

It's next weekend, Don.

Joanna, you're coming, right?

Yeah, yeah. Exciting.

You're an asshole. You know that, right?

I knew that if I told you about it, you'd start planning

like let's rent a car, let's stay in this B&B.

What am I gonna wear?

And then you'd buy that dress

and you'd make all these plans,

and then you'd flip out at me when I told you

that I wanted to go alone.

You wanna go to your best friend's wedding alone?

Listen, I don't need to justify myself to you, all right?

- Really? - Really, booba.

All my bros from Hartford are gonna be there.

It's gonna be the end of an era,

and I don't wanna have to worry

about whether you're having fun or not.

Right, maybe you'll meet some hot blonde

that wants you to rip her panties off

and fuck her up the ass

and write an unreadable story about her.

What, where's this coming from?

Where is the sweet naive girl I met last Christmas,

'cause you know what, I'd like her back, please booba.

Stop calling me, booba, okay?

I'm not a child.

I call you booba because I love you.

It's what my grandmother calls my mom.

- You love me? - Of course.

I mean, would I be here if I didn't?

I told you I've never lived with a girl before,

you changed me.

You love me, but you don't want me to go to Mark's wedding?

Correct.

Look, I am older than you.

I try not to remind you of this, but it is true, all right?

And one day when you are my age,

you will realize that two people can love each other

and not agree on everything,

and not have to do everything together.

Do you think I should pack a tie?

Booba? You're good with this kind of thing.

Like I don't even have a suit, so you think,

you think just the shirt and a tie?

You're depressed.

I swear, I mean I recognize the symptoms.

I get like that when I'm emotional.

Well, I can get quite emotional.

I'm not depressed.

I'm a very happy person.

What?

Nothing.

Getting a kiss goodbye?

All right, goodbye Joanna.

I think about Holden a lot.

When I first think about him,

I get a stupid grin on my face.

You know, thinking about what a funny guy he is and all.

Then I usually get depressed as hell

because I only think about Holden

when I'm feeling very emotional.

I can get quiet emotional.

That's what I had become, quiet emotional.

Dear boy from Winston-Salem.

My most profound apologies for taking so long to reply.

I've been thinking about your letters for months.

I suppose that.

I too can get quite emotional about things sometimes.

But you're right.

Can't go around revealing your goddamn emotions to the world

but if you can't reveal your emotions to the world,

then what are you supposed to do with them?

How do you go on?

'Cause I feel like crying all the time.

Joanna, what is it?

Has something happened at the agency?

No, no, no, everything's fine.

I brought you these, and some soup from Mangia.

I know you like their mushroom barley.

That's very thoughtful.

You do pay attention, don't you?

You did a fine job on those contracts.

Those electronic clauses,

they'll be the death of publishing.

On the other hand,

engaging with Jerry's fans was irresponsible,

immature and dangerous.

You know about that?

I have fired assistants for less.

Why didn't you fire me?

Because it's highly unlikely

you will make the same mistake twice.

Also Jerry likes you.

I am reluctant to alter his routine.

I don't wanna be a routine.

I have a couple of stories from long-term clients.

Read them, and figure out which magazines

they'd be right for, and send them out.

What if I don't like them?

Then it's your job to figure out who will.

Right.

Thank you.

Better get back to the office.

Why do you think Judy Blume left?

I'm sorry that I said that.

No, please.

I would like to know what you think.

When you met with Judy, did you discuss her writing?

The quality of her writing was never an issue.

Maybe she wasn't looking for the perfect sales pitch.

Maybe she just wanted to hear what you thought

about the story, what it meant to you,

or if you love books the same way that she loves them.

I'm not sure my love of books

was relevant to that discussion.

Maybe it was relevant to her.

I know it would be to me.

Oh.

You know, I sold my first book when I was in my 20s.

It was about this young woman journalist

in the Spanish Civil War,

and it was actually written by a man.

And yet he seemed to understand intimately

what it would be like for her as a woman.

Anyway, I sold the book,

and then my boss said that I should represent the author.

And naturally I said, yes.

And then like right away,

I started to get nervous, almost panicky.

And what if, what if the author disappointed me as a person?

And what if I liked the writing, but not him?

You know, it was about three weeks later

we met for lunch at Elaine's,

and at 9:00 PM, we were still there,

just laughing and talking and sharing

our aspirations and our love of music

and our love of books.

Daniel?

Yeah.

Daniel.

My condolences, Margaret.

I'll pull my socks up.

Oh.

For months, I had been touched by anonymous fans.

Touched by their desire to connect with Salinger.

Their letters had changed me.

The time had come to see for myself what had moved them.

Salinger's nothing like I thought, nothing.

He's brutal, brutal and funny. And I love it.

I love Franny the most.

There's that moment when the guy in Princeton

is waiting for Franny at the train station,

and he has the letter in his pocket, Franny's letter.

And he's read it a thousand times, he knows it by heart.

But when she gets off the train and asks,

"Did you get my letter?"

He says, - "Which letter?"

Hey, booba.

Thought you'd be at work.

I took the morning off.

I missed you, booba.

Are you going somewhere?

I'm leaving you, Don.

I get it. This is about the wedding.

Something hit me while you were gone.

Why are you making a thing out of this?

Listen to me, something hit me while you were gone.

But they were never really engaged.

I didn't miss you. What?

I didn't think about you, not for one second.

Okay, so you needed some time on your own. I get that.

You can keep the apartment, all right?

You need it more than I do.

You're gonna give me the, sorry, it's not you,

it's me bullshit?

I should have broke up with you before.

I'm not in love with you. I'm sorry.

I knew you could do it.

I knew it!

Come with me. Hugh!

Stop doing what you're doing.

Max, we're coming into your sanctum.

I have an announcement to make.

What is it?

Joanna has sold a story I gave her this summer.

Congratulations.

Not surprised. Good job. You're on your way.

Of course she is.

I knew the moment you walked

through the door that you were agency material.

Now you can start to build your very own client list.

A most exciting feeling for an agent.

Isn't that right, Max?

For once I have to agree with Margaret, yes.

We will celebrate at lunch.

Hope you like martinis.

Oh, she'll learn to like them.

You know, we have some authors

who would prefer to be with you, I think

than an old fogy like me.

Some people I think you'll like.

What is it?

I'm so grateful.

I'm so, so grateful.

You're leaving.

I was planning on talking to you sometime this week.

But you're doing so well.

I mean you have it in you to become a really fine agent.

You have good instincts, a good heart.

Thank you.

Thank you, Margaret.

My mind is made up.

Of course I'll stay until you can find a replacement.

You have other aspirations.

I do.

We just never really talked about anything

other than the agency's business.

It's very true.

But I like working with you. I like working here.

I really, really do.

There's just other things I want to do.

And I'm afraid that if I don't do them now, I never will.

I understand.

Hi, Kevin told me to drop this by at my convenience.

Would you like to give it to him yourself?

I think he's in.

That would be lovely. Thanks.

Hey there. Oh, guess who's visiting.

Hello?

Listen, I'm thinking, if I was the guy who put myself

on a paper and it came out as "Catcher In The Rye"

I'd get a bang out of the bastard writing me a letter

pretending to be able to do the same, follow me?

Oh, Jerry. May I introduce you to

Joanna, it's so good to finally meet you.