If this is uncouth of me, I am sorry. If this is too soon, I apologize. But a man died today who has managed to do something no other author ever has:
Make me throw a book in the trash – where it belonged.
I suffered through Catcher in the Rye. And trust me…I’ve felt as much angst and ennui as the next guy. But I can only use a word Salinger used far too often in his book to describe how I felt about this supposed classic:
So I never bothered with another word Salinger wrote. Working off the stopped clock principle, I am sure the man might have written something good somewhere.
Yet, I have no compulsion to ever find out.
So…rest in peace Mr. Salinger. You wanted seclusion in life. I promise not to trouble your pages now that you are dead.