Pondering The Catcher in the Rye

I started writing this the day the J.D. Salinger died, almost a week ago. I'm not as moved as I was at the time, but I still think this is a share-worthy post.

For some reason, I am wrapped up in the loss of J. D. Salinger. Not that his passing was tragic—if you make it to 91 in good health and good spirits, you certainly have lived a blessed life.

And his personal life certainly wasn’t something to be emulated—the two significant relationships in his life were with women whom he convinced to drop out of college to live with him (22 and 18 years old at the time, respectively), and he was 36 and 53 when he met each of them. He was certainly not a model husband or companion, and he often refused to take his ailing children to the doctor.

But this same man produced what is possibly the most important book written by an American since World War II. Though that statement remains disputable, this one does not: The Catcher in the Rye is the reason for young adult fiction as we know it today.

Perhaps it’s not the reason for such blockbuster crazes as Twilight or Harry Potter, but I’m not interested in blockbuster crazes. I am interested in YA writers who write for love of their young adult audience, who create beautiful, relatable works in the hope that a teenager might feel a little less alone and a little more understood. Think John Green (Looking For Alaska, Paper Towns), Jerry Spinelli (Maniac Magee, Stargirl), Judy Blume (Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret), Maureen Johnson (13 Little Blue Envelopes), Laurie Halse Anderson (Speak, Catalyst) and Stephen Chbosky (The Perks of Being a Wallflower).

All of these works (and countless more in the YA genre) touch on extremely edgy content: peer pressure, illness, divorce, drugs, gangs, crime, violence, and sexuality. Speak and The Perks of Being a Wallflower explore rape and child abuse. Many of the central issues that are found in YA books are not pretty. But therein lies the strength and importance of the genre; it confronts these issues and how they affect young people. The authors tell heartbreaking and beautiful truths about the human spirit through the lens of a flawed, adolescent character enduring them.

And Salinger was the author who made that possible.

Before Catcher was published, the typical young adult novel was either a “high adventure” book, like Swiss Family Robinson or Treasure Island (which are certainly excellent books, but not necessarily relatable for the modern, teenaged reader) or some incarnation of the following formula: male heroes were diamonds in the rough; female heroines were smart and “ill-bred” (normally because she was an orphan), so that her development mostly involves being raised in a proper home by a stern lady or couple who teach her manners, until she becomes an (no longer exceptional) adult (Think Anne of Green Gables (which remains a favorite of mine) and Pollyanna.)

Salinger introduced the teenaged antihero, one that we do not aspire to be like or aspire to be with. Most of the adults in my young adult fiction class complained that Holden Caulfield was a whiney, obnoxious kid. He is flawed and insecure, and though he tries throughout to book to find some sort of outlet for what he is feeling, he has absolutely no idea how to deal with being that way.

Which, I would argue, is exactly how roughly 99.9998% of Americans have felt at one time or another in their young adult lives.

Holden does physically what many of us did metaphorically in our young adulthood; he wanders from place to place and person to person, seeking solace from his pain and confusion. In his depression, he ends up in the company of several prostitutes and in a few bars.

This is where many people take issue with Catcher, and YA literature in general; many feel that adult themes have no place in a book geared toward people somewhere between childhood and adulthood. I personally think that teenagers themselves oughtn’t to end up in the situations that pop up in current YA literature (using drugs, binge drinking, sleeping around, etc) because I don’t think it’s healthy or productive. But I do not object to those situations being written into YA books.

Why? There is no better way to illustrate the fact that the characters are caught in the tension between innocence and experience, lost, lonely, and certainly confused as to what they want and what they need. So they seek something, anything, to distract them from their interior anguish.

So for the many who dislike The Catcher in the Rye (although I posit that they don’t like it because they’ve misunderstood it), remember that we owe a very important division of modern literature to the indomitable Mr. Salinger. He gave us Holden Caulfield and forged a whole new dimension of literature, where many a young adult reader could take refuge.


Some of the ideas expressed herein are inspired by/paraphrases of statements made by John Green, an American young adult fiction author.


Works Cited


Green, John. Vlog Brothers. 22 Jul. 2008. 29 Jan. 2010.
              http://www.youtube.com/user/vlogbrothers
Green, John. Vlog Brothers. 02 Aug. 2008. 29 Jan. 2010.
              http://www.youtube.com/user/vlogbrothers
Green, John. Vlog Brothers. 26 Aug. 2008. 29 Jan. 2010
              http://www.youtube.com/user/vlogbrothers.


*When you really like an author, especially one who keeps a video log, you feel really badly if you don’t cite his work!*

RIP, Mr. Salinger

The author of the (arguably) most imporant piece of American fiction in the past 100 years passed away today.

I’m standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go 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.
— Holden Caulfield, The Catcher in the Rye, by J. D. Salinger

Thankful

For a spirituality night this week, our exercise was to create a list of fifty things we are thankful for. Here's the one I came up with:

1. honey in my tea
2. homemade baked goods
3. a healthy, strong body
4. health insurance for when unexpected things happen to it
5. a community of amazing people to come home to every night
6. a big family back home
7. the best friends a girl could ask for cheering me on
8. parents who have always been committed to raising good people
9. two very different, but no less fantastic, siblings
10. the real presence in the eucharist
11. the holy rosary
12. spiritual reading a la Sheen and Merton
13. the collective works of Jane Austen
14. Jane Eyre
15. quirky reading, a la Christopher Moore and John Green
16. mozart
17. chopin
18. show tunes
19. pasta carbonara
20. growing our own parsley and basil in the backyard
21. homemade salad dressing
22. crockpot meals
23. la boheme
24. organic cotton yarn
25. foot rubs
26. hand lotion
27. herbal essences shampoo
28. yoga
29. new balance running shoes
30. sleepy monk organic coffee
31. ipod armbands
32. spanish rice
33. jewelry pliers
34. letters from home
35. care packages
36. emails/facebook messages from loved ones
37. patco subway rides to philly
38. jason robert brown musicals
39. josh groban
40. mocha breves
41. travel coffee mugs
42. breakfast for dinner
43. rowing machines
44. ferry rides
45. big hugs
46. cheek kisses
47. new stationary
48. the hallmark aisle of the supermarket
49. village thrift sweaters
50. suede high heels

Lest I forget

When you start to burn out a little, eventually you come across something that reminds you of why you love what you do. This is the final paragraph of Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own. If you haven't read it, this may or may not speak to you. If you have, it ought to give you chills.

I told you in the course of this paper that Shakespeare had a sister; but do not look for her in Sir Sidney Lee’s life of the poet. She died young—alas, she never wrote a word. She lies buried where the omnibuses now stop, opposite the Elephant and Castle. Now my belief is that this poet who never wrote a word and was buried at the cross–roads still lives. She lives in you and in me, and in many other women who are not here to–night, for they are washing up the dishes and putting the children to bed. But she lives; for great poets do not die; they are continuing presences; they need only the opportunity to walk among us in the flesh. This opportunity, as I think, it is now coming within your power to give her. For my belief is that if we live another century or so—I am talking of the common life which is the real life and not of the little separate lives which we live as individuals—and have five hundred a year each of us and rooms of our own; if we have the habit of freedom and the courage to write exactly what we think; if we escape a little from the common sitting–room and see human beings not always in their relation to each other but in relation to reality; and the sky. too, and the trees or whatever it may be in themselves; if we look past Milton’s bogey, for no human being should shut out the view; if we face the fact, for it is a fact, that there is no arm to cling to, but that we go alone and that our relation is to the world of reality and not only to the world of men and women, then the opportunity will come and the dead poet who was Shakespeare’s sister will put on the body which she has so often laid down. Drawing her life from the lives of the unknown who were her forerunners, as her brother did before her, she will be born. As for her coming without that preparation, without that effort on our part, without that determination that when she is born again she shall find it possible to live and write her poetry, that we cannot expect, for that would he impossible. But I maintain that she would come if we worked for her, and that so to work, even in poverty and obscurity, is worth while.

Checklist

Meet with advisor to discuss finer points of thesis- check.

Submit thesis.

Present music seminar class with a crash course in Indian music theory & sitar music- check.

Paper on the evolution of the zither via acculturation along the Silk Road... erm, due Tuesday...

Submit two final papers for 16th and 17th century fantasy class- check.

Music for Mass Sunday, Thursday and Friday- half-check (it's not Sunday, Thursday or Friday yet).

Packing for Mexico-- must find work gloves and sunscreen!!! Lots and lots of sunscreen!

But... I'm done with classes for the quarter! Boo-yah!

I didn't know I was so nervous until I had nothing to worry about anymore

So I'm taking my senior seminar this quarter, and I think part of me has been scared to death ever since I signed up for it.

I didn't worry out loud, or even to myself, because it feels like such an important class that if I don't have at least a little confidence in myself, I won't be able to pull it off. But the whole time, I think I've been desperately afraid that I was in way over my head.

That's why today, when I got my first graded assignment back, I was absolutely ecstatic. And relieved. The fear that I wasn't ready for this course has been dispelled; the professor actually used the words "superb" and "excellent." Wow. I was hoping for a mere "passable" or "maybe-you-won't-fail-miserably," probably because I've never taken a course like this before. I'm walking on air right now.

This is not to say that I don't need to continue to be diligent, or that I don't have to work hard, but it's really nice to hear that I'm on the right track and doing well.

Hark! An idea!

Grab it and run! Run, Molly, run!

We have been assigned a "creative project" in one of my English classes in lieu of an actual final. Sounds a little lame in my opinion, but seeing as it means that I have one less exam to take, I shouldn't complain.

My original plan was to take a long hard look at Looking for Alaska (by John Green. Brilliant book; funny in its delivery, sympathetic to the trial that is teenaged angst, doubly so to those of us who were the nerdy smart kids, poignant, sweet, and smart. Check out his website. Seriously, I'd chase this guy if he weren't married already...) and make a scrapbook of it (can't tell you too much about it because I don't want to spoil it).

But even as I critically reread it, looked for ideas ans clues, I realized that 1) to make a cheesy scrapbook out of such a well-written book is to rob it of all of the virtues extolled above; 2) it would hardly count for a decent project; if I were the professor I wouldn't give it an A; and 3) scrapbooking, while fun, is expensive. And I am poor. Quite poor. Like, college-student-with-no-beer-in-the-fridge-because-it's-superflous poor. I can't afford to make a scrapbook that will look nice, and it would suck to spend that much time and money on a project that I know is a really half-assed idea (read: not creative, a mere rehash of someone else's great idea).

So in short, I scrapped the scrapbook, and that left me with no other ideas and six days until the project is due.

But fear not! For behold I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall be to all people! For unto you... (oh, wrong story...)

Anyway, fear not! For included on the list of acceptable mediums for this project is "writing a short story!" And my friends, I can write a short story! Moreover, writing is free! All you need to buy is coffee and various calorie-laden foods to keep you awake and focused!

And furthermore. I had an idea for one in August and just sat down and started writing it. Started, but never finished. But it deals with young adult themes, which is the sole criterion of this project. And if I do say so myself, it's a decent story. And it's already four pages long, so I don't have to scramble for a new idea.

Who's have thought that insomnia-induced, late-night writing over the summer would result in a final project four months later? My guardian angel's a thinker, I tell you...

The Gardener, by Rudyard Kipling

One of my professors read us this short story on Monday. I found it online because I wanted to reread it. If you have 30 minutes or so, here's a link to it .

It requires more than one read because you figure it out at the end.

It'll break your heart, but oh, it's a beautiful story.

Stargirl

"I’ve always loved the idea that Iceland has officially sanctioned enchanted places. I think that’s pretty cool. Who’s to say what’s real and what’s not?

"Sometimes I think that our senses are as much blinders as they are revealers,and I like to think that just beyond the edge of what we can see, and where we can reach, are other things. And it is in trying to get in touch with those other things that one writes in a way that we come to call poetry, or enchanting, or whatever, but that’s all it is. For me it probably comes into play more with Stargirl than with any other story, because Stargirl… for the most part, is not identified by others, except by me, as a story about a childhood recollected. Stargirl is, in my view, about someone who is perhaps a throwback to the way we were, or maybe, someone who is one half-step ahead of the rest of us, and someone to whom the rest of us, hopefully, someday, will catch up.”
~ Jerry Spinelli, in an interview with Mary Cappello, City Center Philadelphia, April 15, 2007

So, for all the people to whom I have not bragged about my sister, Maddie is a lighting intern at the Seattle Children's theatre this summer. A lighting designer came up with the sets, but Maddie hanged them. And she's the light board operator for several of the children's shows. I finally went to one last night, Stargirl. It's a play based on a book by Jerry Spinelli. He also wrote Maniac Magee, a book that I loved when I was younger. Everyone should read it; the play itself was adorable. Poignant and very sweet, albeit bittersweet at times. That was the whole point. The sequel's coming out in two days or something, Love, Stargirl. I want to read both now. This is what I get for loving young adult fiction.

In other news, the cold that has plagued me for four solid weeks is still showing no signs of going away. It gets pretty bad at night, so I plan to go to the doctor and see what's up. I can't afford to have such sudden bouts of low energy- I need to get better!

The Final Installment of the Epic Tale of Harry Potter: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Well done, Ms. Rowling. Well done.

"Irate Potter fan murders co-worker"

That's what the headline of The Everett Herald is going to read if a rather tactless coworker of mine was correct in his spoiling of the final book of the series.

It began innocently enough- he asked me what my weekend plans were, and I said I was going to the midnight release of Deathly Hallows (An aside: I'm not a cape-wearing, made-up-with-a-lightning-shaped-scar sort of fan. I go to the midnight releases because someone else in the world might know how it ends before I do, and I just can't have that...). He smiled that I was so excited and then, I believe as a joke, made a declarative statement that gave a definitive ending to the book.

He quickly covered that he's only heard that on the radio. Now, a particular radio station in Seattle is actually in hot water for having looked up the ending online and blurting it out over the airwaves. So my co-worker may have just told me the ending to the series.

If he was right, I'm going to club him over the head with a hardback copy of the book.

Books, like roads, are all about the journey, not the destination. When you know where you're going, the journey means so much less to you. I really hope he was joking. Or misinformed.

110° In The Shade

Blimey, it's hot.

Although it isn't really 110° in the shade. That's the name of a musical that I learned a fun, "dramatic" song from.

I knew my blog was going to get boring once I started work- there's so little to write about! But I'll try. Thoughts in bullet points:

• Ichiro Susuki earned the MVP award at the All Star game yesterday. He was was the first player ever to hit an inside-the-park home run at an All Star game. Actually, it was his personal first, too. My mom made this very astute observation: Does anyone else think it's ironic that the Japanese sensation's MVP prize was a really crappy American-made truck?
• The last Harry Potter book is coming out soon! I'm rereading the sixth one, in order to refresh.
• My dad and his godson, John, are up at Mt. Baker this week, fishing. Tomorrow night my brother and sister and I are going to go up and join them. We used to go every summer, when I was little. Although back then I didn't actually fish when we were in the boat. Holding a living thing as it dangles by its mouth from a sharp object never appealed to me very much. I used to sit in the boat and read while 10 or so of my cousins and three of my uncles would fish around me. Methinks that tradition is going to continue. I always loved being out there with everybody, but I hate actually catching fish.
• Ditto for eating the fish we caught/will catch. Seafood doesn't sit well with me. I, sired by a Bostonian and fruit of a Seattlite's womb, cannot eat fish. Joe's always joked that I'm not really related to anyone in this family (his proof being my hair color); considering my reaction to seafood, I'm being to wonder about that...
• One of my daily joys this summer is following Tuan's blog- his time in India sounds amazing! Although it makes me question the content of my own blog (what did Tuan do today? He brought food to the needy in India and nurtured his spiritual life. What did I d0? I held a sign... I'm not changing the world much...)
• Speaking of folks from B'ham, I spent about half of last week up on Catholic Row with my lovely NCCM cohorts. Highlights included a barbecue, learning how to use a Nintendo system (picture Patrick asking in a slightly incredulous voice, "Molly, have you ever played a video game before?" "No." For a nanosecond, the room was perfectly silent...), Mass with Fr. Qui-Tac at the Newman center, and dinner afterwards at Boomer's. I was so happy to see everyone- it made my week, truly.

This incredibly random, nonlinear, and ill-structured blog is brought to you by hypoglycemia and stifling heat. Thank you very much. Goodnight.

OK, so it's been a while

Sorry for the long lack of updates, folks. Going home, unpacking, running around to start the new job. You know how it is.

Speaking of which, my new job is nice. It's my first job that wasn't customer service oriented- (read: For the first time in a while, I'm not running my ass off all day, being a complete sycophant at the expense of my own dignity, pride, and self-respect. There's a difference between being a humble servant and being exploited). Thus far I've just hung out and held a stop sign for the brush cutters, but what's funny is that more time and energy go into preparing the work site (setting up warning signs and such) than actually working in the work site. Then again, I am still used to a job where I'm supposed to at least look like I'm busy, even when I'm not working. On the road crew, our proverbial customers (drivers) don't want or need to see us out and about because it impedes their commute (which is fair enough). So not a lot of time is spent on the road, even if we get a lot of work done.

It only gets scary when people blow past all three blazing orange signs that warn about a flagger ahead and come straight at me at 35+ mph and 1) slam on their brakes and call out in a slightly apologetic, slightly exasperated tone, "Oh, sorry, I didn't see you" or "Wow! That was a surprise!" (what, the three signs, my stop pole, hard hat and glowing vest didn't give me away?) or 2) don't stop at all, which allows for the possibility of a head-on collision in the one remaining lane. My heart has leaped into my throat a few times when people have neglected to stop- a car could be coming straight at them from the other end of the work site. Yikes.

Not a whole lot else to report. I've been reading and hitting the gym during my off hours. I read The Kite Runner- good book. I've just started The World's First Love, the one by Archbishop Sheen about Mary. Many of my friends have read it and recommend it highly, and so far it's really good.

Taking the plunge

Off I go in a few minutes to a reading for a creative writing class.

Yes, I signed up to read. Yes, my palms are already sweaty.

It's not reading a poem in public that scares me- it's reading my own poetry in public. Thankfully some friends of mine are in the morning class, and they will be there, as well. So there will be a lot of built-in emotional support.