James Salter marked his ninetieth birthday with a dinner hosted at the Sag Harbor home of Maria Matthiessen, the widow of writer Peter Matthiessen, on Saturday, June 13, 2015. The gathering took place as the summer eased in, with lingering, vivid sunsets and a mood of quiet celebration among a circle of close friends. She wore a white linen suit reserved for special warm evenings, sharp and witty as ever. Salter listened with humility to the compliments offered and seemed especially eager for one gift: Herman Melville’s last novel, Billy Budd, the 1946 edition of The Sailor. He appeared content, hopeful, and perhaps even happy, before dying six days later from a heart attack suffered at the gym. That final sequence, intense and contrasting, could sit comfortably as a scene in one of Salamandra’s Complete Stories. Published in Spain, with a foreword by John Banville, the collection arrives in bookstores with renewed attention to Salter’s life in letters and fiction.
Two years prior to his death, Salter could finally savor the critical acclaim that had long eluded him. In 2013, thirty-four years after the publication of his last novel Todo lo que hay, the international press began to recognize his stature, and local voices in the United States echoed the sentiment. The Observer ran a headline calling him the unrecognized hero of American literature, while Esquire proclaimed him the best writer you’ve never read. Salter gave several interviews to international journalists, and the writer who shared a daylong discussion with him recalled the moment as transformative, both personally and professionally. Just before Christmas 2013, Salter opened the doors of his Bridgehampton home to his second wife, Kay Eldredge, who is also a writer. They spent much of the day discussing life and literature, a conversation that carried a luminous spark in Kay’s eyes even as they hurried to catch a bus back to Manhattan. The exchange became the backdrop for the reflection that a forthcoming Complete Stories would return him to readers worldwide, a moment that sometimes echoes how fate and conversation shape a writer’s career.
life and writing
Salter and Eldredge met in Aspen, Colorado, and in 1985 they welcomed a son named Theo, joining Salter’s first four children from his earlier marriage to Ann Artemus. The couple wed in 1998, sharing a bond built on empathy and candor. The dedication of one book to Kay hints at a relationship that transcends mere publishing—an intimacy many writers yearn for as they try to translate life into prose. Salter recognized the line between life and writing, noting that he often compartmentalized these realms yet still carved out time for his children. He read widely, drawing inspiration from biographies and authors who shaped his own sensibilities, and he valued conversations with writers who illuminated the craft. The passion for storytelling was personal and contagious, a true partnership between life’s experiences and the stories he sought to tell.
Salter, born James Arnold Horowitz, attended the United States Military Academy at West Point and served as a fighter pilot during the Korean War. Later, writing became the compass for a life that mixed travel, family, and literary ambition. The late years held a practical tenderness—sharing insights with his family, guiding younger editors, and continuing to explore the possibilities of prose. He pursued a wide range of interests and never limited his ambitions, whether in fiction, nonfiction, or screenplays. The gradual accumulation of work, and the recognition that came late in his career, underscored a core belief: writing demanded both discipline and curiosity, a balance he pursued with unflagging energy.
real fiction
Salter’s method stood out for its exacting eye and tactile sense of language. He carried a notebook everywhere, jotting observations and snippets that could later find life in a sentence or paragraph. He distrusted fiction that felt fabricated from start to finish, insisting that true storytelling grew from life itself. Reading remained a live conversation; though his early years were filled with reading, his later years saw him selecting works with a discerning taste, preferring authors whose craft could withstand scrutiny. He admired Isaak Babel and lingered with selections like Edmund de Waal’s The Hare with Amber Eyes, finding in such works a shared commitment to memory, detail, and quiet power. His own aim was not to imitate others but to let life inform a voice that could endure beyond a single era. Yes, he hoped his books would outlive him, a desire shared by many who write with a long arc in mind.
In a brief moment after a conversation, Kay Eldredge received copies of the Spanish edition of Salter’s Complete Stories, a sign of how his work travels across cultures. The editor Anik Lapointe, long connected with Salter, has been a steady advocate for his writing since first meeting him at the Frankfurt Book Fair in 1998. The Spanish edition, Años luz, published in 1975, marked a turning point in Salter’s reception abroad. Lapointe notes that Salter’s prose—refractive, precise, and imbued with emotional resonance—has a way of remaining modern, even as years pass. The shared assessment across generations is clear: Salter’s language remains a jewel, its rhythm quietly compelling and its characters drawn with both restraint and depth.
Lapointe remarks on the Spanish reception of Salter’s work, highlighting a loyal audience that has continued to engage with his stories over the years. The translation program has brought works like Light Years, Dusk, Game and Distraction, Fighter Pilots, and Solo into new conversations, ensuring Salter’s voice endures in new languages. Plans for additional untranslated texts are in place to coincide with the centennial in 2025, keeping the momentum of his literary presence alive. The belief endures that his writing, when revisited, offers fresh insight into contemporary concerns—proof that great literature remains timely, and its emotional truth resilient through time.