4.5 stars. Somebody told me that a person's reaction to the Catcher in the Rye is indicative of how empathetic they are--and I have to agree. I see so many reviews berating Holden Caulfied for being a whiny spoilt brat; but if you look even slightly beyond the surface, it's clear that he’s a severely traumatised child. You’re missing the point of The Catcher in the Rye by refusing to listen to a boy that wants nothing more than to simply be heard. Holden is horribly annoying, perhaps even an idiot, but he's an idiot that needs help. I find Holden's worry over where the ducks go when the lake freezes over particularly moving.

Holden doesn't necessarily care about the ducks themselves, but he's worried and scared. He just got kicked out of school, has no friends to call, a dead brother, a horrific past of molestation, and winter is coming. He wants to know what's going to happen to him now that winter is arriving and he has nowhere to go, a little like the ducks. I still think Holden is really immature and whatnot, but I find it painfully relatable that he just wants someone to care for him, listen to him, or just tell him it's all going to be okay. Just about every complaint of his comes back to him just being personally afraid of the world--at least in my interpretation. Holden’s pervading fear of ‘falling through the cracks’ was definitely one of the themes that resonated with me most.

Salinger’s ability to sow so much depth into such sparse prose is nothing short of genius–and the debauchery of 1950s New York contrasted with Holden’s innocence is masterfully done indeed. There were so many wonderful scenes that I’ll never forget; Phoebe on the carousel, the whole prostitution fiasco, the ducks, Holden’s proposal to Sally, and of course, the description of the Catcher itself. I can't understand why people deem this beautiful little book to be a red flag; if I had to choose one book, just one, that expressed all my thoughts, feelings and anxieties about the world, I'd choose this one.

Well, whatever, this was underwhelming as hell.
I don’t exactly know what I mean by that, but I mean it.

Being (and especially having) a teenage narrator sucks
What the hell’s the matter with you?
The narration by Holden Caulfied in the The Catcher in the Rye made me think a bit of the Russian English dialect in A Clockwork Orange.
Except that I in that book in the end found the way of speaking to be a good way to set an atmosphere and a proper functional device and here I found it terribly annoying and leading nowhere, like the whole novel in a sense.

I expected a lot upfront of J.D. Salinger his most famous work. I mean, Normal People is called a millennial version of this and I loved that novel.
Holden Caulfield is a real teenager, his speech is full of hyperboles (I told him fifty/a thousand times) and “whatevers”, “and all’s”, “as hells”, "It really is", "I swear" and “goddamns” while he is being kicked from school.
He admits already in chapter two that he sometimes speaks as a twelve year old and in chapter three he terms himself an excellent liar, putting his tale of his expulsion in an unreliable narrator light that however does not have any pay off. In a sense you can say that on almost everything Holden tries or wants at some point during the "story" no follow up is given. Most of the time because he doesn't feel like it.
He was in my view infuriating and rather a hypocrite, like why does he hang out with people he first says he doesn’t like, and then calls them phony? Sure, thats something teenager do, but people also pick there nose and don’t write a story about that kind of bad habbits.

For someone for whom English is the only subject he does not fluke, Holden his vocabulary is very limited, constantly repeating itself.
Sometimes his narration feels almost Trump like.
Some exhibits:
He hated it when you called him a moron. All morons hate it when you call them a moron.

When she can’t think of anything to say, she doesn’t say a goddamn word.

I mean he was very intelligent and all, but you could tell he didn’t have too much brains.

Wuddaya mean “philosophy”? Ya mean sex and all? That what you mean?

He even admits the following when someone confronts him on this matter:
Your mind is immature.
It is. It really is. I know it.
There is even something that a character calls a typical Caulfield conversation later in the book, all sex and hormones while he is being a virgin as well.

To top this off, everything is crumby or he is, or wants to, horse around and we have some gross nail clipping, broken nails and pimple popping.

Allright, there are some themes that are kind of interesting
I never seem to have anything that if I lost it I’d care too much.
The only real heart in the first chapters is the death of his older brother to leukemia and the selfmutilation following from that.
And an offhand comment about a gift of his mum: Almost every time somebody gives me a present, it ends up making me sad shows some real emotion, as does his touching depiction of his kid sister.

At times this made the book feel like a less impactful and tight version of The Bell Jar. Psychological trauma and a sense of purposelessness, while being in one of the most exciting place on earth (Broadway here and New York in general in Sylvia Plath her novel) comes back prominently. The lack of an overarching tale in a postwar and post-religious world, and angst about that, is also visible.

To spice it up, we have some suicides by bullying on his class obsessed school and Holden seems to spend money as a kind of therapy, as a kind of early late-capitalism critique.
And it is interesting how he treats New York as a kind of village, even asking someone in Central Park if she’d seen his sister (and getting a response that the person knew her even).

Finally everyone can relate to the escapist fantasies of starting a simple live and travel the world he has. And there is some wit between all the repetitive thoughts Holden has:
That guy Morrow was about as sensitive as a goddamn toilet seat.

Mothers are all slightly insane.

Still this is not nearly enough in my opinion to warrant the excruciating reading experience of following Holden during a frankly completely wasted week
People are always ruining things for you.
The above quote is not just immature teenager hate against the world but also an accurate depiction how I feel about Holden, throwing in his own windows during this book in a consistent manner.
There is basically no plot, it is all character, and he as main character is a conceited, jaded, nothing brings him joy type of person. Everything he perceives has a mocking voice-over in his head and he tired me out despite this being only a short work.

He is super fickle, one moment he loves something, two sentences later it kills him, one moment he has an urge to marry a girl, two pages further he hates her guts.
Also the amount of times he goes to somewhere or wants something and then he arrives there and he’s “just not in the mood” and nothing ends up happening just kills me. Multiple times this is the case, really, it is a wonder he goes ice skating somewhere halfway the book and actually does that.
He constantly repeats and speaks against himself, making the whole book feel both frantic and inert, maybe a bit manic depressed even.

In the end the depiction of Holden his struggle with life just feels overdone, and hardly warranted given all the privileges he has as a white, upper class male with a rich father in the 50's. Combined with a lack of a redemptive finale or any development in his character, I can't rate this higher than 1 star.

The story of this madman stuff that happened to the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life just before he came out to this crumby place not too far from Hollywood where his brother—author of of the terrific book of short stories, The Secret Goldfish—prostitutes himself in the film industry. Just don’t expect his whole goddamn autobiography—none of that David Copperfield where was he born and what was his lousy childhood like kind of crap—or anything. He’s quite illiterate, but he reads a lot. He’s quite a heavy smoker, but he’s pretty healthy though. That is until he practically got t.b. and came out here for all these checkups and stuff, having been kicked out of Pencey Prep, which was full of a bunch of goddamn phony bastards anyway. (I thought I was over this book, having been briefly obsessed with it in high school, but as it turns out, I'm not. Thank God.)

In a book that many deem a literary classic, J.D. Salinger takes the reader on a ride through a few days of an adolescent’s life at the age of sixteen. Holden Caulfield has just been told that he’s flunked out of another preparatory school and must make the journey home to relay this to his parents. However, as this is not the first time, he is in no hurry to do so, and thus begins the meandering trip back to admit failure. In a narrative told from Caulfield’s perspective, the reader learns much about this boy as he wanders aimlessly around campus and eventually makes his way back to New York City. With a mixture of present-day happenings and tangential flashbacks, the reader sees Caulfield as a man who has seen much, but also knows very little. Salinger allows the slowly-developing narrative to continue, while Caulfield discovers just how much of the world is still unknown, all while he worries about how to tell his family the news that he is academically useless. By the time he reaches home, Caulfield has one last chance to shape his story, but even then, his younger sister steals the spotlight and recounts some of her own drama. Surely, this family loves being vapid and speaking in tangential styles that drown out any hope of understanding a topic at hand. Salinger must have a message here and literary critics found it, sipping from the proverbial Kool-Aid in droves. For me, it sets the bar quite low for what might be called classical literature. This may best be read with a glass of rye, for only then will you catch its meaning.

I have long debated with people about what makes a novel “a classic”. Interestingly enough, no one can really tell me enough to sway my opinion. I am left to wonder if Salinger simply wrote at a time when it was ‘en vogue’ to be tangential and superficial, thus making this the cornerstone of something stellar. My father, who was an English teacher, would surely have some answers for me, though I am at a loss to think about how even he might help remove me from the paper bag in which I found myself. His passing years ago does little to help me now (and I am beginning to write tangentially, which is solely the fault of this book!). Holden Caulfield comes across as a typical teenage boy of the time (post-war), who is trying to make his mark on the world. He struggles with defining himself and those around him, wanting to fit in and yet differentiate himself significantly. While he accomplishes little on his meandering journey from school to the family home, Caulfield is able to show the reader that he has grit and determination, even if it comes across as less than important. Many of the others who cross paths with Caulfield serve as signposts in his narrative, wallflowers when he needs them to be and actively helping to formulate the story when necessary. I had little connection to any of them and found Salinger wanted it that way. The story was nothing worth noting and I am sure I will be scorned for missing many of the nuggets embedded into the tale. That said, when I hear classic, I expect much more than I got and while i cannot take away from J.D. Salinger, I am left to wonder if I was too sober and too grounded to accept this for what it should have been. It may not have been drivel, but the only classic aspect of it was that I was not forced to spend hours of my time for nothing.

Kudos, Mr. Salinger, for being able to bask in the limelight. I missed the mark and I am sure others will educate me. Thank goodness book club does not meet for a while, as I may have my literary epiphany by then and forget the train wreck I currently feel this to have been.

This novel fulfils the March 2019 requirements of Mind the Bookshelf Gap Reading Group. https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/...

Love/hate the review? An ever-growing collection of others appears at:
http://pecheyponderings.wordpress.com/

A Book for All Seasons, a different sort of Book Challenge: https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/...

" سقوطی که من ازش حرف میزنم و گمونم تو دنبالشی، سقوط خاصیه، یه سقوط وحشتناک. مردی که سقوط میکنه حق نداره به قهقرا رسیدنشو حس کنه یا صداشو بشنوه. همین طور به سقوطش ادامه میده. همه چی آماده س واسه سقوط کسی که لحظه ای تو عمرش دنبال چیزی میگرده که محیطش نمیتونه بهش بده یا فقط خیال میکنه که محیطش نمیتونه بهش بده. واسه همینم از جستجو دست میکشه. حتا قبل اینکه بتونه شروع کنه دست میکشه. متوجه میشی؟"



چیزی که تو تک تک جملات کتاب مشهوده، تنفر هولدن از آدما و دنیای اطرافشه و وقتی فیبی ازش میپرسه که آیا اصلا چیزی هست که هولدن دوسش داشته باشه هولدن کلی میره تو فکر و تهشم میگه دوس دارم ناتورِ دشت باشم که صرفا یه رویاست و فکر میکنم اگر حتا واقعا ناتور دشت هم بشه از اونم بیزار خواهد شد :) همونطور که با اینکه فیبی رو خیلی دوس داره و دل دل میکرد ببینتش، بعدِ دیدنش نمیتونست از فیبی هم متنفر نباشه هر چن دیقه یه بار یه حس تنفری نسبت بهش پیدا میکرد!
نمیدونم این حجم از تنفر در وجود هولدن از کجا نشات میگیره ولی درکش میکنم - منم از خیلی از آدما متنفرم و گاها توضیحی هم براش ندارم! -

یه چیز دیگه ای که درمورد کتاب واقعا دوس داشتم نحوه ی تموم شدنش بود! هولدن از اینکه همه ی اینا رو تعریف کرده بود پشیمون بود!

A spell in the army would do that young man a power of good! Or maybe a couple of bags of heroin. Anything to stop that whining voice....

As a child, we are protected from life. There really aren’t many choices available, and we are certainly sheltered from a lot of the harder parts of life. It seems like children don’t feel the need for meaning quite like adults do- maybe because they aren’t forced to face the daily grind. There’s boredom, but that is not what I am talking about. Kids don’t really have to compromise like adults do. As you enter adulthood you could start to see things and people as phony or fake. Maybe not people, but certain tasks or events certainly are. There’s a constant struggle in all of us between the meaningful and the mundane; the temporary and the eternal. There is a conflict, simply of time and energy. We desire the intentional and struggle towards spirituality; all while trying to earn a paycheck, wash our dishes, and sleep each night. It kind of reminds me of what I picture an AA meeting to look like. I think, rarely could someone find a place where people are more vulnerable, open, and honest with each other. Even if they win over addiction… how could life ever feel as full after that brief moment shared with others who completely understand? At the same time, the point of those meetings is to help people live- not just free from drugs, but maybe free to live in the mundane? Free to enjoy the dance of life, the needs of the soul balanced with the chores too. This doesn’t have to be depressing, but it does require compromise- or a sense of a time and place for everything- including the day-to-day.


Catcher in the rye touches on some of these questions. Holden struggles with growing up. He sees everything as meaningless and adults as predictable and fake. I think he is mourning the loss of his innocence… maybe not just right from wrong, but the loss of dreams growing up seems to require. Holden, while at the museum that is exactly the same as it was when he was a kid says he likes it, because each time you visit "the only thing that would be different would be you…" and goes on to say "certain things they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone. I know that's impossible, but it’s too bad anyway." One thing I thought of to help explain Holden's struggle with growing up is this: Coffee. When I was a kid, I used to smell my dad's coffee- that strong sugary-sweet smell of roasted beans. You wait for your chance to be let in on this excellent secret. Thinking it is just the caffeine that is preventing your parents from giving you a taste. Finally, they do and then all your dreams of that sweet flavor come crashing down! It's wrecked! Coffee isn't at all what you thought it was! That is, until the day you give it another chance, you start to be able to smell and taste the different tones coffee has. You can appreciate it for its varied, and almost living flavors. You see… Coffee isn't bad- it just wasn't what you always thought. The key is in finding the hidden flavors and getting over the fact that it will never taste as sweet as it smells. I think Holden struggled with the initial shock, that although life is more bitter than it "smells", or than you think it will be, there are the hidden joys and sweet flavors that make it almost better!

This book doesn’t really set out to answer any of the questions it raises. Holden experiences the extremes of entering into adulthood and relates it in a way everyone, maybe especially, teenagers can understand. He is a flawed character who is desperate and depressed. As the reader, you can see why he feels the way he does, as he explains it so well you almost feel it with him. However, you can also see the flaws in his thinking. The author doesn't romanticize Holden's life, you don't read it thinking he has some special key to life that we all need. You simply feel his struggle to fit in and hope eventually he can learn to play the game and see the beauty that is there, hidden a little.

I've heard about this book for a good portion of my life but I'm not even sure what I read. Fast read, definitely but didn't do any impact whatsoever for me. As famous as it is I had hoped for at least some strong opinion. But this was more of a "meh" read. Perhaps I'll read this on a later day and get another result

This is probably the only book out of my favorites that I would not immediately jump to defend when somebody criticized it. I totally get why some people dislike it as much as they do. It's not for everyone. Holden Caulfield can be a pain in the ass and the writing style is very different, so I get why it just didn't work for some people.
But for me it just clicked. I have a lot of memories and "first experiences" attached to this book, it was the first book I read in English for example (while constantly looking up words in my Dad's old German edition :D). It was also the first book that showed me how fun classic literature can be, and how much fun it can be to take apart and analyze literature. Back when I was 14, I also identified with Holden Caulfield on so many levels. I found it absolutely fascinating how a teenager who grew up in such a different time and under completely different circumstances could have so many of the same thoughts that I had. That's still one of my favorite aspects of literature to this day by the way - the ability to make us feel connected to people we would never expect to connect with.
So, yes. This book means a huge deal to me, even though it's not something I would ever actually recommend. :D Does anybody else have this slightly weird relationship with a book? Let me know!

Edit: stop liking and commenting on this review. It's 2021. And the book is still shit.
Edit 2: overall, the unhinged reactions to this review i wrote as a junior in high school says MUCH more about the GoodReads community than it does about my IQ or my ability to analyze literature. to the people frothing at the mouth over this: please go and touch grass.

If I could give this book a zero, I would. I absolutely hated it. Generally, I don't hate books, either. Usually it's a very strong dislike, and generally, I give them a second chance. But no, I will never be reading this book again.

In my opinion, Holden is the worst character in the English language. Salinger tried just too damn hard to make him 'universal', to the point where he becomes unrealistic. His train of thought is annoying and repetitive, and God, those catchphrases of his. Can someone shut this kid up? Holden is almost the anti-Gary Stu. Nearly every thing's wrong with him. The one good thing about him being his love for his younger sister.

The plot is one of the worst I've ever read. It's boring, and it, like Holden, is unbelievably and painfully repetitive. Holden calls up an old friend, has a drink. Holden calls up a girl, has a drink. Holden dances with a girl. Then he drinks. Was there a climax to this book? I must have missed it. Maybe it was Holden nearly freezing to death (um, what?) in Central Park? No, no, maybe it was when Holden called up that hooker! Maybe not. The plot is so fuzzy and flat I couldn't tell when to peak my interest.

And that's just it, it never did.

So buh-bye, Holden! Your book's been gathering dust on my shelf for the past two years and it'll stay that way. Until I decide to sell it, of course.

There’s this book that everybody keeps saying you gotta read. Its like you don’t have any choice, which kills me. I think we should always have a choice, but OK, I kind of understand that somebody is always going to choose something for somebody else if they can. I have this roommate who wouldn’t agree with that, but she is one of those pretty girls who always stands in front of the mirror combing her hair, so we aren’t gonna ask her what she thinks because, hey, she isn’t going to answer us. She is busy doing her hair. She’d say no one really HAS to read anything and so she never does. She kills me. I’m not kidding, she does.

Anyway, about that book, it was OK and I’m not saying it wasn’t. Well, I was a little drunk when I read it, but I can read even when I am drunk, while my roommate can’t even read when she is sober. The thing is, I heard everybody was harassing this guy that wrote that book so much that he had to hide away and avoid them for years. And, hey I thought it was a pretty good book. I didn’t like it but I would be happy to read it again. The characters weren’t like real people, well, some of them were, but anyway, why give this guy such a hard time even if you did think it was the best book ever? People who do that kill me. It could make you puke.

When I finished reading the book I was wanting to cry and I don’t know why. I wasn’t feeling sad or lonely, so it didn’t make sense. I guess I was thinking a bit about how much more I might have liked that book if I had read it when I was young like all the other people I know did. And, they all think it was great, and not just good but really great, even though I’m not sure why. But that isn’t to say I don’t think it was great, because I might.

Did I enjoy this? No. Did I connect to any of the characters? Also, no. But did I appreciate all this was trying to do and look up different aspects that were revealed, through and beyond the actual story told? Yes and yes.