Reading Journal 1: 1/13

"If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is," reading this book is, like, like reading the testament of a teenager who does not know exactly how to get his point across (the '40's male version of a Valley Girl)(Salinger 1). Simple run-on sentences litter the pages, as does "graphic" language and references to things that involve him (talked about as if the feelings, events, etc. are common knowledge); to references only people living in those times will fully comprehend ("...all that David Copperfield kind of crap," - an assumed reference to the long introduction in which Copperfield opens (the "Twilight" of the time))(1). Occuring as often, if not more than, punctuation marks, "and all that," "(it) really does," "I'm not kidding,"' these sayings sometimes make the book tiresome to read. Yet, the story of madness affecting a sixteen-year-old (though funny only half the time, despite several attempts to make light of the situation (though, when funny, you will L.O.L. (not J.K.'ing))), as told from the point of view of the afflicted, written from the pen of a near-thirty-year-old man (written so well and convincingly that those who do not know better may assume it to be a sort of biography), is well worth reading.
Salinger, J.D. The Catcher In The Rye. Boston: Little, Brown Books. 1945, 1946, 1951

Holden Caulfield despises the movies. His brother, D.B., "used to be just a regular writer" but "now he's out in Hollywood... being a prostitute." (Salinger 1, 2) Such a strong label/image for a Hollywood writer. Later in the book, for the details you must read, a confrontation leaves Holden on the ground because of a fist to the gut. The madness is really becoming evident halfway through the book (his imaginings rival the actual event I'm about to divulge, as he sometimes makes a sport of "horsing around") after admitting to being crazy, several times, Holden starts to pretend/act/believe: "[the man he got into a confrontation with put a] bullet in my guts...had plugged me...coming out of the...bathroom with my automatic in my pocket, and staggering around a little bit...I'd hold onto the banister and all, with this blood trickling out of the side of my mouth a little at a time. What I'd do, I'd walk down a few floors - holding onto my guts, blood leaking all over the place...he'd see me with the automatic in my hand and he'd start screaming at me, in this very high-pitched, yellow-belly voice to leave him alone. But I'd plug him anyway. Six shots right through his hairy belly," (21, 103-104). He qualifies this by commenting "The god*** movies. They can ruin you. I'm not kidding." (104)
Salinger, J.D. The Catcher In The Rye. Boston: Little, Brown Books. 1945, 1945, 1951.