Posted on 10/23/2004 6:55:30 AM PDT by jalisco555
Precisely how old I was when I first read "The Catcher in the Rye," I cannot recall. When it was published, in 1951, I was 12 years old, and thus may have been a trifle young for it. Within the next two or three years, though, I was on a forced march through a couple of schools similar to Pencey Prep, from which J.D. Salinger's 16-year-old protagonist Holden Caulfield is dismissed as the novel begins, and I was an unhappy camper; what I had heard about "The Catcher in the Rye" surely convinced me that Caulfield was a kindred spirit.
By then "The Catcher in the Rye" was already well on the way to the status it has long enjoyed as an essential document of American adolescence -- the novel that every high school English teacher reflexively puts on every summer reading list -- but I couldn't see what all the excitement was about. I shared Caulfield's contempt for "phonies" as well as his sense of being different and his loneliness, but he seemed to me just about as phony as those he criticized as well as an unregenerate whiner and egotist. It was easy enough to identify with his adolescent angst, but his puerile attitudinizing was something else altogether.
That was then. This is half a century later. "The Catcher in the Rye" is now, you'll be told just about anywhere you ask, an "American classic," right up there with the book that was published the following year, Ernest Hemingway's "The Old Man and the Sea." They are two of the most durable and beloved books in American literature and, by any reasonable critical standard, two of the worst. Rereading "The Catcher in the Rye" after all those years was almost literally a painful experience.
(Excerpt) Read more at washingtonpost.com ...
I know lots of people have a BIG problem with Henry Miller,
men and women alike, and I can see their POV, since he was a non-romantic misogynistic sort, chauvinistic, user of women,etc. etc.
But for me his honesty is SO bracing, like Orwell's in DOWN AND OUT IN PARIS AND LONDON. Jim Harrison I know about, but haven't read. He probably made more money from Hollywood from that Brad Pitt movie than he got from his publishers ever.
But do try to read Yates---the most underrespected and underrated writer of his generation. He recently died, not terribly old, but a heavy drinker and smoker for decades, in and out of rehab, you know the story of so many writers.....
Miller's BLACK SPRING belongs in a very select class of barely disguisable autobiographical novels, like the ones I metioned, plus Genet's Thief's Journal. Denis Johnson is probably the best out there right now, and gets better and better know every year. ANGELS is a great book. Hope somebody makes it into a movie someday and does real justice to it. John Huston, where are you when we need you?
I actually liked the movie, Legends of the Fall. It was also the longest piece of fiction Esquire ever ran -- and that's when Esquire was Esquire. Orwell is very good, but misunderstood by the left who don't seem to realize he was a rabidly anti-communist, though lived a spartan life. Not a big Denis Johnson fan. Read Jesus' Son and kinda yawned -- paging Dr. Benway, paging Dr. Benway.
I liked Bob Uecker's version better, "Catcher in the Wry."
I don't really know Yardley but I instinctively dislike him immensely; all this fuss about a boy (Holden - can you imagine, "Holden?") who can't even get a decent erection without blushing while, since his posturing and rambling and senseless dissembling Portnoy nearly matched the Apollo Missions' accomplishments on his bedroom ceiling (and failed only because of the limitations of gravity and his parents love of Victorian architecture) we're still to imagine that spermatamoza and Salmon share a common destiny?
Spermatozoa.
I would submit it might well be because it was the first book printed in about the fifty years preceding it that made the word "callow" a household term; I believe the author of this piece cleverly salted this peppery trail with this tidbit to see who suffered to the end of this tiresome and dreary cage-liner.
I have a love of the written word, the turn of a deft phrase, the excitement of being struck blindside by the twist upon the unsuspecting tongue but I do not parade in public my naked desperation to chase a long-departed train.
Well,isn't most of yesterday just unfinished tomorrows?
Isn't most of yesterday just an unfinished tomorrow?
Whenever I hear something about J.D. Salinger, I think about FIELD OF DREAMS...the James Earl Jones character who is supposed to be a J.D. Salinger type who is pissed off because everyone blames him for hating their parents!
You lucked out -- you read Catcher at just the right time. And may you have similar luck with books throughout your life.
And for the record, Golding never expected to win the Nobel Prize, while Burgess spent his entire life trying to snag one.
I haven't read that, but I am sure it is a lot more insightful.
Maybe it was just the comparison to Appointment. But to me, it seemed ponderous, unfocused, even preachy. Not on the scale of Ayn Rand, to be sure, but still not as ... readable ... as Appointment.
Yeah, okay. I can see that. Not as structured as Appointment or the majority of his short stories. He put the burden on poor Gloria and she wasn't up to the task. You should check out The Instrument -- basically O'Hara in decline, but still flashes of genius.
I doubt the victim will lodge a complaint against the offender.
Do you just dislike Victorian Lit? Tess is one of the greatest prose tragedies in English.
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