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In Defense of the Catcher in the Rye
I just finished an enthralling re-read of one of the most divisive classics in the English language. The Catcher in the Rye is one of the most hated and most frequently banned books due to its foul language, its misanthropic narrator, its depressing storyline, and its otherwise “inappropriate” subject matter. It’s also one of the most widely assigned books on high school curriculums.
Now, I love The Catcher in the Rye. If I got my shit together long enough to create a List of Top Five Books of All Time, it would probably be on there. Hell, it’d be on my Top Three even. The reason I’m here rambling at you is because every time I see someone say in a book discussion, “I hate Catcher because of [insert your own myriad of criticisms here]” I feel motivated—no, obligated--to justify my love for this novel with a long-winded and emotional and scatterbrained response about Why This Book Is Awesome.
And so this post is just extrapolating on my love for this book so I can have it coherent and in writing. It’s in no way meant to change your negative opinions but it might help you gain some insight into why this book is as well-loved as it is. Let me say quickly that this entry does consist of a short discussion of possible sexual abuse (nothing graphic). So if this is a trigger for you, click back or proceed with caution. Also, all of my quotes are from the 1991 Little, Brown mass market paperback edition.
I’m going to start broad. The most commonly sited reason for hating this book is the narrator, Holden Caulfield. Holden is a depressed teenage boy with a foul mouth and next to zero positive opinions of anything or anyone. I’m here to tell you that I adore Holden as a character.
However, he sucks as a person. He’s incredibly judgmental of everyone—women, classmates, homosexual men, lowerclass people, people with harmless fetishes—the list goes on. Most people make the mistake of going into the book looking for a relatable protagonist. They come out and ask, “Man, was I supposed to like this guy?”
No. No you weren’t. Holden is quite possibly the most successfully executed example of an unreliable character to date. There are two key scenes which illustrate this. The first is the scene on the train just after he leaves Pencey, when he meets Ernest Morrow’s mother. For some context, he lies to her about his name, about her son who he describes to the reader as an asshole but to her as a prince, why his nose is bleeding, and then tops the conversation off by telling her that he’s leaving school early to have an operation performed on a brain tumor. Why does he lie about these things? Why, for fun.
Keep in mind that Holden is the one narrating this story to the reader and as such, it’s seen through his lens of biases and, yes, his lies. Once you take into account how flagrantly offensive or unfounded or just plain strange most of Holden’s opinions are, you get a true sense of how unreliable his narrative is. One of his favorite things to do is stereotype and pigeonhole people.
The second scene is when he meets Carl Luce for dinner for a “slightly intellectual conversation”. [page 136] Regardless, he’s rather disparaging of Carl Luce and Luce offers up a slightly different opinion of our narrator than what Holden would have us believe.
Keep in mind, this “intellectual conversation” consisted of Holden harassing Luce about his sex life.
And it’s funny that he should ask Holden about growing up, considering that’s one of the main themes of the story. Holden Caulfield is not just immature—he’s afraid of maturity. He’s on the precipice between childhood and adulthood and he’s scared to cross that line despite the fact that the world keeps pushing him forward. That’s what makes Holden relatable despite what a dick he is—most of us have felt the fear of the future, the fear of relying on yourself for the first time, the fear of taking a leap (or even baby steps) out into the world.
Some more than others. And Holden is so afraid of adulthood that he wants to save every kid from having to experience the loss of childhood innocence.
In fact, that’s exactly what “the catcher in the rye” is. Someone who exists to protect children from the inevitable onset of growing up. Here it is, the pivotal explanation scene where he’s explaining to his little sister the one thing that makes him happy.
I don’t think I have to talk about the implications here.
Why exactly Holden is so afraid of growing up is open for debate. Obviously, he thinks that growing up makes you phony. (In fact, children are about the one thing he doesn’t have anything negative to say about.) It could be the happy memories he associates with childhood—the museum is a pivotal place and is put there to illustrate exactly this.
The description of the museum actually goes on for about four pages and I encourage you to go back and read all of it. We’ve all felt nostalgia and it’s a powerful thing.
As for the reason for Holden’s fear, it could very well be regression due to the death of his little brother. There is a certain infamous scene which implies that sexual abuse could also play into the matter—Holden has awoke to one of his ex-teachers petting his head and he interprets it as a come on. The scene is made all the more squicky by the fact that a few lines prior to this, the teacher calls Holden handsome.
Keep in mind that Holden, in keeping with his status as an unreliable narrator, is horribly prone to exaggeration. However, whether “twenty times” is actually twenty times or just once, it does imply some sort of experience he’s not willing to divulge. However, given Holden’s tendency to overreact, it’s left very open as to whether this experience is as innocent as being patted on the head in his sleep (whether or not this was an innocent gesture is also open to debate) or something much more serious. Notably, Salinger illustrates earlier in the novel that Holden has a warped sense of what is perverted—in this case, it was a man dressing in women’s underwear and couple spitting water into each other’s mouths.
This scene is left quite ambiguous and I like that. I like uncertainty. I like a good unreliable narrator, excellent symbolism (oh red hunting hat, you are what literary dreams are made of), and the ability to make you sympathize with a character who’s an asshole. And I love Holden’s unique voice and verbal tics. Hate him or not, you can’t accuse Holden of being a flat character, and anyone who has read any of my book reviews knows how important characterization is to me. Catcher is the textbook for first person done right.
What’s more, as depressing as this book is, it ends on a hopeful note. Holden makes peace with the fact that he has to grow up and he passes his status as the catcher in the rye onto Phoebe. It’s mentioned that he’s starting a new school in September. Hopeful isn’t something that most people would be willing to label The Catcher in the Rye, but it is. Or, at the very least, it gave me hope.
Wow. It’s nice getting all that out. And it’s also four in the morning and my brain is wobbling a bit. There could very well be an extra thousand or so words added to this entry by the end of the week since there’s so much I love about this book and so very much that I’m at a loss for at the moment. I hope this entry has been enlightening or, at the very least, interesting.
Stay well, friends.
Now, I love The Catcher in the Rye. If I got my shit together long enough to create a List of Top Five Books of All Time, it would probably be on there. Hell, it’d be on my Top Three even. The reason I’m here rambling at you is because every time I see someone say in a book discussion, “I hate Catcher because of [insert your own myriad of criticisms here]” I feel motivated—no, obligated--to justify my love for this novel with a long-winded and emotional and scatterbrained response about Why This Book Is Awesome.
And so this post is just extrapolating on my love for this book so I can have it coherent and in writing. It’s in no way meant to change your negative opinions but it might help you gain some insight into why this book is as well-loved as it is. Let me say quickly that this entry does consist of a short discussion of possible sexual abuse (nothing graphic). So if this is a trigger for you, click back or proceed with caution. Also, all of my quotes are from the 1991 Little, Brown mass market paperback edition.
I’m going to start broad. The most commonly sited reason for hating this book is the narrator, Holden Caulfield. Holden is a depressed teenage boy with a foul mouth and next to zero positive opinions of anything or anyone. I’m here to tell you that I adore Holden as a character.
However, he sucks as a person. He’s incredibly judgmental of everyone—women, classmates, homosexual men, lowerclass people, people with harmless fetishes—the list goes on. Most people make the mistake of going into the book looking for a relatable protagonist. They come out and ask, “Man, was I supposed to like this guy?”
No. No you weren’t. Holden is quite possibly the most successfully executed example of an unreliable character to date. There are two key scenes which illustrate this. The first is the scene on the train just after he leaves Pencey, when he meets Ernest Morrow’s mother. For some context, he lies to her about his name, about her son who he describes to the reader as an asshole but to her as a prince, why his nose is bleeding, and then tops the conversation off by telling her that he’s leaving school early to have an operation performed on a brain tumor. Why does he lie about these things? Why, for fun.
Then I started reading this timetable I had in my pocket. Just to stop lying. Once I get started, I can go on for hours if I feel like. No kidding. Hours. [page 58]
Keep in mind that Holden is the one narrating this story to the reader and as such, it’s seen through his lens of biases and, yes, his lies. Once you take into account how flagrantly offensive or unfounded or just plain strange most of Holden’s opinions are, you get a true sense of how unreliable his narrative is. One of his favorite things to do is stereotype and pigeonhole people.
The second scene is when he meets Carl Luce for dinner for a “slightly intellectual conversation”. [page 136] Regardless, he’s rather disparaging of Carl Luce and Luce offers up a slightly different opinion of our narrator than what Holden would have us believe.
“Listen. Let’s get one thing straight. I refuse to answer any typical Caulfield questions tonight. When in hell are you going to grow up?” [page 146]
Keep in mind, this “intellectual conversation” consisted of Holden harassing Luce about his sex life.
And it’s funny that he should ask Holden about growing up, considering that’s one of the main themes of the story. Holden Caulfield is not just immature—he’s afraid of maturity. He’s on the precipice between childhood and adulthood and he’s scared to cross that line despite the fact that the world keeps pushing him forward. That’s what makes Holden relatable despite what a dick he is—most of us have felt the fear of the future, the fear of relying on yourself for the first time, the fear of taking a leap (or even baby steps) out into the world.
Some more than others. And Holden is so afraid of adulthood that he wants to save every kid from having to experience the loss of childhood innocence.
Somebody’s written “Fuck you” on the wall. It drove me damn near crazy. I thought how Phoebe and all the other little kids would see it, and how they’d wonder what the hell it meant, and how they’d think about it and maybe even worry about it for a couple of days. I kept wanting to kill whoever’d written it. I figured it was some perverty bum that sneaked in the school late at night to take a leak or something and then wrote it on the wall. I kept picturing myself catching him at it, and how I’d smash his head on the stone steps till he was good and goddam dead and bloody. [page 201]
In fact, that’s exactly what “the catcher in the rye” is. Someone who exists to protect children from the inevitable onset of growing up. Here it is, the pivotal explanation scene where he’s explaining to his little sister the one thing that makes him happy.
“You know that song ‘If a body catch a body comin’ through the rye’? I’d like—“
“It’s ‘If a body meet a body comin’ through the rye’!” old Phoebe said. “It’s a poem. By Robert Burns.”
“I know it’s a poem by Robert Burns.”
She was right though. It is “If a body meet a body coming through the rye.” I didn’t know it then, though.
“I thought it was ‘If a body catch a body,’” I said. “Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody’s around—except me. And I’m standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to fall 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. I know it’s crazy, but that’s the only thing I’d really like to be. I know it’s crazy.” [page 173]
I don’t think I have to talk about the implications here.
Why exactly Holden is so afraid of growing up is open for debate. Obviously, he thinks that growing up makes you phony. (In fact, children are about the one thing he doesn’t have anything negative to say about.) It could be the happy memories he associates with childhood—the museum is a pivotal place and is put there to illustrate exactly this.
You could go there a hundred thousand times, and that Eskimo would still be just finished catching those two fish, the birds would still be on their way south, the deers would still be drinking out of that waterhole, with their pretty antlers and their pretty, skinny legs, and that squaw with the naked bosom would still be weaving that same blanket. Nobody’d be different. The only thing that would be different would be you. [page 121]
The description of the museum actually goes on for about four pages and I encourage you to go back and read all of it. We’ve all felt nostalgia and it’s a powerful thing.
As for the reason for Holden’s fear, it could very well be regression due to the death of his little brother. There is a certain infamous scene which implies that sexual abuse could also play into the matter—Holden has awoke to one of his ex-teachers petting his head and he interprets it as a come on. The scene is made all the more squicky by the fact that a few lines prior to this, the teacher calls Holden handsome.
Boy, I was shaking like a madman. I was sweating, too. When something perverty like that happens, I start sweating like a bastard. That kind of stuff’s happened to me about twenty times since I was a kid. I can’t stand it. [page 193]
Keep in mind that Holden, in keeping with his status as an unreliable narrator, is horribly prone to exaggeration. However, whether “twenty times” is actually twenty times or just once, it does imply some sort of experience he’s not willing to divulge. However, given Holden’s tendency to overreact, it’s left very open as to whether this experience is as innocent as being patted on the head in his sleep (whether or not this was an innocent gesture is also open to debate) or something much more serious. Notably, Salinger illustrates earlier in the novel that Holden has a warped sense of what is perverted—in this case, it was a man dressing in women’s underwear and couple spitting water into each other’s mouths.
This scene is left quite ambiguous and I like that. I like uncertainty. I like a good unreliable narrator, excellent symbolism (oh red hunting hat, you are what literary dreams are made of), and the ability to make you sympathize with a character who’s an asshole. And I love Holden’s unique voice and verbal tics. Hate him or not, you can’t accuse Holden of being a flat character, and anyone who has read any of my book reviews knows how important characterization is to me. Catcher is the textbook for first person done right.
What’s more, as depressing as this book is, it ends on a hopeful note. Holden makes peace with the fact that he has to grow up and he passes his status as the catcher in the rye onto Phoebe. It’s mentioned that he’s starting a new school in September. Hopeful isn’t something that most people would be willing to label The Catcher in the Rye, but it is. Or, at the very least, it gave me hope.
I felt so damn happy all of a sudden, the way old Phoeba kept going around and around. I was damn near bawling if you want to know the truth. I don’t know why. It’s just that she looked so damn nice, the way she kept going around and around, in her blue coat and all. God, I wish you could have been there.
Wow. It’s nice getting all that out. And it’s also four in the morning and my brain is wobbling a bit. There could very well be an extra thousand or so words added to this entry by the end of the week since there’s so much I love about this book and so very much that I’m at a loss for at the moment. I hope this entry has been enlightening or, at the very least, interesting.
Stay well, friends.