Cosmopoetica

I was excited to discover that– serendipitously– an online book discussion group was going to be discussing Catcher in the Rye just as I was finishing my re-reading. Unfortunately, the second thread in the conversation revolved around whether or not Holden was “clinically depressed” and how much better it would have been for him if he’d had access to today’s anti-depressants… and perhaps “group therapy with his cold, distant parents.” I ran screaming from the virtual room at that point, fearing the almost inevitable self-help generation speculations about incest between Holden and Phoebe and the likely feminist attacks on Salinger.

No matter– I loved this book more the second-time than I did the first time I read it, back when I was Holden’s age… (more…)

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Re-reading Catcher in the Rye for the first time in a couple of decades. What a splendid book. Like many youngsters, I used to identify with Holden. Now I recognize the strange blend of a character that is at once believable and yet wholly unrealistic… both because he is possessed of remarkable insight into human nature (and follies).

Life is a game, boy. Life is a game that one plays according to the rules.”

“Yes, sir. I know it is. I know it.”

Game, my ass. Some game. If you get on the side where all the hot-shots are, then it’s a game, all right—I’ll admit that. But if you get on the other side, where there aren’t any hot-shots, then what’s a game about it? Nothing. No game.

Indeed…

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