Holden Caulfield. With his goddamn red hunting cap. He kills me. He really does. But I felt sorry as hell for him too. I really did. Not because he’s just a sixteen year old boy. And not because he’s some kinda phony, complaining about other people being phonies or anything. I’m not saying that. But you can’t kinda help to feel sorry for him. Because, you know, life is hard and all. Old Caulfield. He kills me, if you want to know the truth. He really does.
J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye is a bunch of fun. Chewing the fat over old Holden Caulfield. I can see why this novel is considered a classic. Because it is.
- Book read
- J.D. Salinger — The Catcher in the Rye
- First line
- If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.