Catcher in the Rye (edited)

I just finished reading this book yesterday and it was by far one the most depressing books I've read in a really long time. It was also one of the best.

"Catcher in the Rye", by J.D. Salinger, is a story about this person called Holden Caulfield. It starts off with him narrating a certain incident in his life, when he's being asked to leave school, and how he decides to leave early himself.Of course, with this book there never is just one incident.

I guess I loved the book so much mostly because the story is not as important as what it's about. I love the way it's written. Salinger adopts this really easy, coversational tone, and not those forced candid tones, but an honest-honest "I'm-talking-to-you" sort of tone. If you must get into the technicalities, then it's the whole "streams of consciousness" thing. The narrative shifts from one incident to the other just like that.

I hate the way books are ripped apart on these study sites. I hate how they analyse the book and try and make sense of it as a book that encapsulates adolescent suffering or some such crap. The book just makes sense in itself. Absolutely everything in the book makes sense. Not because you necessarily agree with everything, but because you just know what the hell Holden is talking about. Whether it's how he felt like crying when he breaks the "Little Shirley Beans" record by mistake, or whether it is this time when he breaks-down in front of his sister in utter helplessness. Which is why the book depresses the hell out of you. When I was reading the book I told my sister, "Shit, this book is so depressing" and she gives me a "It's not that depressing", and this other friend of mine who was reading the book at the same time tells me "I like the book. It's funny...like get-a-life-loser" kind of funny, until I pointed out to her that it actually wasn't and some 5 hours later she realises it isn't and messages me at 1 am talling me she hated me because now she was depressed. (The point of the whole anectode was that I was right and they were wrong, in case you didn't get it.)

"What I really felt like, though, was committing suicide. I felt like jumping out the window. I probably would've done it, too, if I'd been sure somebody'd cover me up as soon as I landed. I didn't want a bunch of stupid rubbernecks looking at me when I was all gory."

There's a part in the book, somewhere right in the beginning, where Salinger says that a great author is when you feel like giving the author a call and just talking to him. And that's exactly what you felt like. I mean, maybe not Salinger Salinger, but the part of him that made him write up a character lihe caulfield. By the way, don't read the book if you live in a house like mine with no comfort food till you do have some.

"I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around— nobody big, I mean— except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff— I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be. I know it's crazy."

Getting down to some objective appraisal, Salinger has a brilliant eye for detail. He incorporates all those little things that you'd think no one else could give a damn about and makes you think twice about it. All the minor characters have been put down with the smallest flaws in mind. And you'll find Holden always saying that such-and-such a person was a pretty nice guy and that the same person was quite moronic in pretty much the same breath. Nice to know that there are people left who know that people aren't always just either this or that.

If you haven't read the book yet, read it. It's bound to cut you up. I mean, it really kills you, you know. And if you have, read it again. Just to find out whether it still makes sense like the first time you read it or if it reads differently just because you saw one of those gasoline rainbows in the puddle. (For the record, the friend who thought it was funny was reading it for the second time, so...)

Now reading: Bastard out of Carolina- Dorothy Allison