The Catcher in The Rye

I didn’t read this book. I gobbled it up with the intensity of a starved alien from weird-planet-where-they-eat-words.

Okay, it’s completely brilliantly written. So simple and so arresting, thought-provoking that words fail me when trying to describe it.

Favourite quote:

What really knocks me out in a book is that, when you’re done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it is a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it.

I think I’m going to think of books in those terms from now on. How extra-ordinarily insightful would the author have to be, and how likable himself, to produce a character as likable, as understandable as Holden!

I don’t know. I think this is my new favourite book. I can’t pick between this and Perks of Being a Wallflower. (

 Did you know, though, that Perks… was inspired by this book? And that this book was Stephen Chbosky’s favourite book? YES! Now, all loyal (and imaginary) readers will see that it must take, at the very least, a minor phenomenon to inspire work as amazing as Perks of Being a Wallflower. I expect to see the shops being raided and stormed as you all rush to the shops to buy this book. And read it. And hug it and sleep with it under the pillow. Treat it as you would, the tender and loving missive of a faraway lover, even if it’s actually in the voice of a 16 year old boy. And/or eat it.

That’s that. Read. Book. Else, sob with regret on death bed. (Damn, regret has two syllables. Ah, well.)


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