Can I hate Catcher in the Rye?
YES, but…
I didn’t have time to reread Catcher in the Rye in the two days since J.D Salinger’s death, but I recalled that 7 years ago when I first read his coming of age novel of a 17 year old boy, I remember hating it. Which, is exactly the opposite reaction that most everyone I know experiences.
”.. . 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.” — Catcher in the Rye… literally
Let me rephrase for a second. I don’t hate Catcher in the Rye as a novel, as I appreciate any piece of literature that has the ability to foster a strong reaction in me, albeit positive or negative, I hate Holden Caufield.
Entitled, indulgent, and socially inept our little Master of the Universe believes that he is carving out a new reality in a world made of phony people. However, instead of forging a path towards greater enlightenment, the reader is bogged down by his intolerance and failed attempts at conquering mature situations— he cant get through a dinner or date without offending the accompanying party. Holden behaves as a privileged youth who has read about adult situations, and tries his best to insert his name into the blank spaces of dramatic tableaux. His efforts are no doubt transparent, as those he encounters find him as full of shit as I do, somethings that satisfactorily manifests itself into a well aimed punch to the face by the elevator operator/ pimp Maurice. (I do love that scene)….
.
Maybe that’s what we are supposed to identify with here, the struggle of how we see ourselves as adults, and how we see ourselves taking up these roles that represent maturity. It invokes something along the lines of that awkwardness that surrounded the first time you sat alone at a bar…and how something about it seemed unnatural and forced, as you sipped your scotch because that’s what you remember your Dad drinking. I just don’t see how a megalomaniacal narcissist should be something people respect as the penultimate anti-heroic literary character. But then I look at where I live. Everyone is in their 20’s, went to some private school with a manicured lawn in Pleasantown, and now works some design job supplemented by their parent’s money. We all drink more than we should, adapting to some blue-collar lifestyle we’ve already classed ourselves out of by birthright. What disenfranchised niche are we trying to fit? Products of the ‘Lost Generation’ no doubt.
We walk around with an entitled chip on our shoulders, in competition to ask a question more provoking than, “where do the ducks go in central park in winter?” If I were Holden’s cab driver, I would be pretty damn irritable too. Your thoughts are not original, you are not a philosopher, and your question is dumb, obviously they migrate. The act of asking such a banal question makes you an asshole who’s trying to elicit a response that errs on the side of metaphysical, but falls flat into the realm of the trite and is a forced parody of the depth you want to inspire. Ugh.
Now to take a step back… what if My dislike for Holden stems out of personal insecurity.. that I might be a phony, someone too normal and boring to appreciate his bluntness and irrevocable anger. But then I remember that Holden can never really ‘free himself’ from the society he hates because his judgements are too superficial to be taken seriously. Thus making me at my most normal, more real than anything Holden could ever find.* Without his sister Phoebe, he’s settled for a life of perpetual discontent. She is definitely my favorite character in the novel, acting as the foil to Holden’s immaturity, and his metaphorical “green light’ in the distance. And, as opposed to our cantankerous protagonist, I find myself identifying more with her pragmatic nature and overall intolerance of Holden’s buffoonery, than with his stubbornness. She is also, perhaps more so than the narrator, the only one who can see Holden’s anger at the world as his own dissatisfaction with himself. (aww)
And finally, the one thing I remember truly liking in the book besides the use of a Carousel, was the Part when little virgin Holden thought his old teacher, Mr. Antolini, was molesting him.. because well, don’t we all love jumping to those conclusions a little too quickly.
So R.I.P J.D Salinger I’m sorry i don’t like your literary anti- hero, but I’m still willing to give Franny and Zooey a try.
* It just struck me as funny that Holden is a fictional character who judges phoniness, while he himself does not eveen exist. Ha ha. — you’ve won this one Salinger..
