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A lot of people consider "Catcher in the Rye" to be a classic. Which it is, I suppose, although I don't think it stands up against Dickens, Tolstoy, Steinbeck, Hawthorne, Austen, et. al. I first read it shortly after graduating from college, and its sense of disenfranchisement (for lack of a better word) certainly appealed to my rudderless twenties. Holden Caulfield is stuck in a sanatorium somewhere, having suffered a sort of nervous breakdown. Set in the 50s, he narrates his tale, which took place over the course of a few days just prior to Christmas break. He's 16 and already on his fourth school, where he recently flunked most of his classes. After arguing with his roommate over a girl, Holden decides to hightail it back home to New York City, three days ahead of schedule. He also decides that he won't tell Ma and Pa Caulfield, but rather will stay in a hotel, where he observes a few of his fellow dwellers in various states of strange behavior. Holden takes a few trips down memory lane, meeting up with past acquaintances, recalling a poem he read as a child, and bounding off on a quest to find the Central Park ducks that so fascinated him when he was younger. This book has been banned in a lot of libraries, and I can't quite figure out why. It isn't particularly salacious, even when it tries to be. Yes, Holden wants to get laid, but his attempts are sad rather than sexy. Yes, there is occasional racy language, but no murder, mayhem or violence. I've re-read this book a few times since my early twenties and always find something in it that appeals to whatever stage I find myself in at the time. That, I suppose, is the mark of a great work of literature.

2022-10-21 05:18