What Serial Killer Read Catcher in the Rye

  The Catcher in the Rye

Jerome David Salinger

Since his debut in 1951 as The Catcher in the Rye, Holden Caulfield has been synonymous with "contemptuous adolescent." Holden narrates the story of a couple of days in his sixteen-yr-sometime life, just afterward he's been expelled from prep school, in a slang that sounds edgy even today and keeps this novel on banned book lists. It begins,

"If you really want to hear about it, the offset matter you'll probably want to know is where I was built-in and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, only I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. In the showtime place, that stuff bores me, and in the second place, my parents would have about two hemorrhages apiece if I told anything pretty personal almost them."

His constant wry observations about what he encounters, from teachers to phonies (the 2 of course are not mutually sectional) capture the essence of the eternal teenage experience of breach.

Jerome David Salinger

The Catcher in the Rye

TO MY MOTHER

1

If you really want to hear about it, the first thing yous'll probably want to know is where I was born, an what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. In the first place, that stuff bores me, and in the second place, my parents would have about two hemorrhages apiece if I told annihilation pretty personal about them. They're quite touchy about anything like that, peculiarly my father. They're nice and all--I'm not saying that--but they're also touchy every bit hell. Besides, I'thou non going to tell y'all my whole goddam autobiography or annihilation. I'll only tell you lot near this madman stuff that happened to me around final Christmas simply before I got pretty run-downward and had to come up out here and take it piece of cake. I mean that's all I told D.B. about, and he'due south my brother and all. He'south in Hollywood. That isn't also far from this crumby identify, and he comes over and visits me practically every week cease. He's going to drive me habitation when I go habitation next calendar month peradventure. He but got a Jaguar. I of those little English language jobs that tin do around ii hundred miles an hour. Information technology cost him damn near four thousand bucks. He's got a lot of dough, at present. He didn't use to. He used to be merely a regular writer, when he was abode. He wrote this terrific book of short stories, The Secret Goldfish, in instance you lot never heard of him. The best i in it was "The Secret Goldfish." It was about this little child that wouldn't allow anybody expect at his goldfish because he'd bought it with his own coin. Information technology killed me. Now he's out in Hollywood, D.B., being a prostitute. If there'south one matter I hate, it'due south the movies. Don't even mention them to me.

Where I want to start telling is the day I left Pencey Prep. Pencey Prep is this schoolhouse that's in Agerstown, Pennsylvania. Yous probably heard of it. Yous've probably seen the ads, anyhow. They advertise in virtually a thousand magazines, always showing some hotshot guy on a horse jumping over a argue. Like equally if all you ever did at Pencey was play polo all the time. I never even once saw a equus caballus anywhere almost the identify. And underneath the guy on the horse'due south picture, information technology always says: "Since 1888 we have been molding boys into splendid, clear-thinking young men." Strictly for the birds. They don't exercise whatever damn more molding at Pencey than they exercise at whatsoever other school. And I didn't know anybody there that was splendid and clear-thinking and all. Possibly two guys. If that many. And they probably came to Pencey that manner.

Anyway, information technology was the Saturday of the football with Saxon Hall. The game with Saxon Hall was supposed to be a very big deal around Pencey. It was the last game of the year, and you were supposed to commit suicide or something if old Pencey didn't win. I recollect around iii o'clock that afternoon I was continuing fashion the hell upwardly on tiptop of Thomsen Hill, right next to this crazy cannon that was in the Revolutionary War and all. Yous could meet the whole field from at that place, and you could see the ii teams bashing each other all over the place. You couldn't meet the grandstand likewise hot, only y'all could hear them all yelling, deep and terrific on the Pencey side, because practically the whole school except me was in that location, and scrawny and faggy on the Saxon Hall side, because the visiting team hardly ever brought many people with them.

There were never many girls at all at the football game games. But seniors were immune to bring girls with them. Information technology was a terrible school, no matter how you looked at information technology. I similar to be somewhere at least where you can see a few girls around once in a while, even if they're only scratching their arms or blowing their noses or even just giggling or something. Quondam Selma Thurmer--she was the headmaster's daughter--showed up at the games quite often, but she wasn't exactly the blazon that drove you lot mad with desire. She was a pretty nice girl, though. I sat next to her in one case in the autobus from Agerstown and we sort of struck up a conversation. I liked her. She had a big nose and her nails were all bitten downward and bleedy-looking and she had on those damn falsies that indicate all over the place, but you felt sort of sad for her. What I liked about her, she didn't give you a lot of horse manure about what a great guy her father was. She probably knew what a phony slob he was.

The reason I was standing fashion upward on Thomsen Hill, instead of downwardly at the game, was because I'd only got back from New York with the fencing squad. I was the goddam manager of the fencing team. Very big deal. We'd gone in to New York that morning for this fencing meet with McBurney School. Only, nosotros didn't have the meet. I left all the foils and equipment and stuff on the goddam subway. It wasn't all my fault. I had to keep getting upward to look at this map, so we'd know where to get off. So we got back to Pencey effectually 2-thirty instead of around dinnertime. The whole team ostracized me the whole way dorsum on the train. Information technology was pretty funny, in a way.

The other reason I wasn't down at the game was because I was on my way to say good-by to one-time Spencer, my history teacher. He had the grippe, and I figured I probably wouldn't come across him once more till Christmas vacation started. He wrote me this note saying he wanted to see me before I went home. He knew I wasn't coming back to Pencey.

I forgot to tell you about that. They kicked me out. I wasn't supposed to come back afterward Christmas holiday on account of I was flunking iv subjects and non applying myself and all. They gave me frequent warning to commencement applying myself--peculiarly effectually midterms, when my parents came upwardly for a conference with old Thurmer--but I didn't practise information technology. So I got the ax. They give guys the ax quite frequently at Pencey. It has a very proficient academic rating, Pencey. It actually does.

Anyhow, it was Dec and all, and it was cold equally a witch'south teat, especially on top of that stupid hill. I only had on my reversible and no gloves or annihilation. The week before that, somebody'd stolen my camel's-hair coat right out of my room, with my fur-lined gloves right in the pocket and all. Pencey was full of crooks. Quite a few guys came from these very wealthy families, simply it was full of crooks anyway. The more expensive a school is, the more than crooks information technology has--I'k non kidding. Anyway, I kept standing next to that crazy cannon, looking down at the game and freezing my ass off. Only, I wasn't watching the game as well much. What I was really hanging around for, I was trying to experience some kind of a proficient-by. I mean I've left schools and places I didn't even know I was leaving them. I hate that. I don't care if it'southward a sad practiced-past or a bad goodby, but when I leave a identify I like to know I'grand leaving information technology. If you don't, you feel even worse.

I was lucky. All all of a sudden I thought of something that helped brand me know I was getting the hell out. I suddenly remembered this time, in around October, that I and Robert Tichener and Paul Campbell were chucking a football around, in front of the bookish building. They were prissy guys, particularly Tichener. Information technology was just before dinner and it was getting pretty dark out, but we kept chucking the ball effectually anyway. Information technology kept getting darker and darker, and nosotros could hardly see the

ball any more than, but we didn't want to terminate doing what we were doing. Finally we had to. This instructor that taught biology, Mr. Zambesi, stuck his caput out of this window in the academic building and told united states to go back to the dorm and get fix for dinner. If I get a chance to think that kind of stuff, I can get a good-by when I need one--at to the lowest degree, well-nigh of the fourth dimension I tin. As presently every bit I got it, I turned around and started running down the other side of the loma, toward old Spencer's business firm. He didn't live on the campus. He lived on Anthony Wayne Avenue.

I ran all the way to the main gate, and and then I waited a 2nd till I got my jiff. I have no current of air, if yous desire to know the truth. I'yard quite a heavy smoker, for one thing--that is, I used to be. They made me cut information technology out. Another thing, I grew six and a half inches last year. That'due south too how I practically got t.b. and came out hither for all these goddam checkups and stuff. I'm pretty healthy, though.

Anyway, every bit soon as I got my jiff dorsum I ran across Route 204. It was icy every bit hell and I damn virtually fell down. I don't even know what I was running for--I guess I only felt like it. After I got beyond the route, I felt like I was sort of disappearing. It was that kind of a crazy afternoon, terrifically common cold, and no lord's day out or anything, and you felt like y'all were disappearing every time you crossed a route.

Boy, I rang that doorbell fast when I got to erstwhile Spencer's business firm. I was really frozen. My ears were hurting and I could hardly move my fingers at all. "C'mon, c'mon," I said right out loud, about, "somebody open the door." Finally old Mrs. Spencer opened it. They didn't have a maid or annihilation, and they always opened the door themselves. They didn't have too much dough.

"Holden!" Mrs. Spencer said. "How lovely to meet you! Come up in, dear! Are you lot frozen to death?" I recall she was glad to see me. She liked me. At least, I think she did.

Boy, did I make it that business firm fast. "How are you, Mrs. Spencer?" I said. "How's Mr. Spencer?"

"Let me take your coat, love," she said. She didn't hear me ask her how Mr. Spencer was. She was sort of deafened.

She hung up my coat in the hall cupboard, and I sort of brushed my pilus back with my hand. I article of clothing a crew cutting quite frequently and I never have to rummage it much. "How've you been, Mrs. Spencer?" I said once again, only louder, so she'd hear me.

"I've been only fine, Holden." She closed the closet door. "How have you been?" The way she asked me, I knew right away old Spencer'd told her I'd been kicked out.

"Fine," I said. "How's Mr. Spencer? He over his grippe yet?"

"Over it! Holden, he's behaving similar a perfect--I don't know what... He's in his room, beloved. Go right in."

2

They each had their own room and all. They were both around seventy years one-time, or even more than that. They got a bang out of things, though--in a one-half-assed way, of grade. I know that sounds mean to say, but I don't mean it mean. I just hateful that I used to remember about old Spencer quite a lot, and if y'all thought about him too much, you wondered what the heck he was still living for. I mean he was all stooped over, and he had very terrible posture, and in class, whenever he dropped a slice of chalk at the blackboard, some guy in the first row always had to get up and pick information technology up and hand it to him. That's awful, in my opinion. Merely if yous thought most him just enough and not likewise much, y'all could figure information technology out that he wasn't doing too bad for himself. For instance, one Sunday when another guys and I were over at that place for hot chocolate, he showed us this old beat-up Navajo blanket that he and Mrs. Spencer'd bought off some Indian in Yellowstone Park. You could tell one-time Spencer'd got a large blindside out of buying information technology. That's what I mean. You lot take somebody quondam as hell, like one-time Spencer, and they tin can go a big bang out of buying a blanket.

His door was open, merely I sort of knocked on information technology anyway, merely to be polite and all. I could see where he was sitting. He was sitting in a big leather chair, all wrapped up in that blanket I just told you nearly. He looked over at me when I knocked. "Who's that?" he yelled. "Caulfield? Come in, male child." He was ever yelling, exterior form. It got on your nerves sometimes.

The minute I went in, I was sort of sorry I'd come. He was reading the Atlantic Monthly, and at that place were pills and medicine all over the place, and everything smelled like Vicks Nose Drops. It was pretty depressing. I'm non likewise crazy about sick people, anyway. What made it even more depressing, erstwhile Spencer had on this very distressing, ratty old bathrobe that he was probably born in or something. I don't much like to see old guys in their pajamas and bathrobes anyway. Their bumpy old chests are e'er showing. And their legs. One-time guys' legs, at beaches and places, always look and so white and unhairy. "How-do-you-do, sir," I said. "I got your notation. Thanks a lot." He'd written me this note asking me to stop past and say good-by earlier vacation started, on business relationship of I wasn't coming back. "You didn't have to exercise all that. I'd have come over to say practiced-by anyway."

"Have a seat in that location, boy," old Spencer said. He meant the bed.

I sat down on it. "How's your grippe, sir?"

"M'male child, if I felt whatever meliorate I'd have to send for the dr.," old Spencer said. That knocked him out. He started chuckling similar a madman. Then he finally straightened himself out and said, "Why aren't you downwards at the game? I thought this was the day of the big game."

"It is. I was. Only, I simply got back from New York with the fencing team," I said. Male child, his bed was like a rock.

He started getting serious as hell. I knew he would. "And then you're leaving us, eh?" he said.

"Yes, sir. I guess I am."

He started going into this nodding routine. You never saw anybody nod every bit much in your life as old Spencer did. You never knew if he was nodding a lot because he was thinking and all, or just considering he was a nice old guy that didn't know his donkey from his elbow.

"What did Dr. Thurmer say to you, boy? I understand you had quite a lilliputian chat."

"Yep, nosotros did. Nosotros really did. I was in his office for effectually 2 hours, I guess."

"What'd he say to you?"

"Oh... well, well-nigh Life being a game and all. And how y'all should play it according to the rules. He was pretty squeamish most it. I mean he didn't hit the ceiling or annihilation. He just kept talking well-nigh Life being a game and all. You know."

"Life is a game, male child. Life is a game that one plays according to the rules."

"Yeah, sir. I know it is. I know it."

Game, my ass. Some game. If you become on the side where all the hot-shots are, then it's a game, all right--I'll admit that. Merely if yous get on the other side, where there aren't whatsoever hot-shots, so what'due south a game about it? Nothing. No game. "Has Dr. Thurmer written to your parents nonetheless?" erstwhile Spencer asked me.

"He said he was going to write them Monday."

"Have you yourself communicated with them?"

"No, sir, I haven't communicated with them, considering I'll probably encounter them Wednesday night when I go habitation."

"And how do you lot think they'll take the news?"

"Well... they'll exist pretty irritated virtually it," I said. "They really will. This is nearly the fourth school I've gone to." I shook my head. I shake my caput quite a lot. "Boy!" I said. I as well say "Male child!" quite a lot. Partly considering I have a lousy vocabulary and partly because I act quite young for my age sometimes. I was sixteen and then, and I'one thousand seventeen now, and sometimes I act similar I'm about thirteen. It's really ironical, because I'thou six foot ii and a one-half and I accept greyness hair. I really do. The 1 side of my head--the right side--is full of millions of gray hairs. I've had them ever since I was a kid. And yet I nevertheless act sometimes similar I was but near twelve. Everybody says that, especially my begetter. It'due south partly true, besides, but it isn't all truthful. People always think something'south all true. I don't give a damn, except that I get bored sometimes when people tell me to act my age. Sometimes I act a lot older than I am--I actually practice--only people never detect it. People never notice annihilation.

Quondam Spencer started nodding once more. He as well started picking his nose. He fabricated out similar he was but pinching information technology, simply he was actually getting the one-time pollex right in in that location. I approximate he thought it was all right to do because it was only me that was in the room. I didn't intendance, except that it's pretty disgusting to scout somebody pick their nose.

Then he said, "I had the privilege of meeting your mother and dad when they had their little chat with Dr. Thurmer some weeks ago. They're grand people."

"Aye, they are. They're very nice."

Yard. There'due south a discussion I really detest. It'due south a phony. I could puke every fourth dimension I hear it.

And so all of a sudden quondam Spencer looked similar he had something very good, something precipitous as a tack, to say to me. He sabbatum up more in his chair and sort of moved around. It was a false alarm, though. All he did was lift the Atlantic Monthly off his lap and try to chuck it on the bed, next to me. He missed. It was only nigh two inches away, but he missed anyway. I got upwardly and picked information technology upwardly and put information technology down on the bed. All of a sudden and so, I wanted to get the hell out of the room. I could feel a terrific lecture coming on. I didn't mind the idea so much, merely I didn't experience similar existence lectured to and smell Vicks Nose Drops and await at old Spencer in his pajamas and bathrobe all at the same time. I really didn't.

It started, all right. "What'southward the affair with you, boy?" old Spencer said. He said it pretty tough, likewise, for him. "How many subjects did you carry this term?"

"V, sir."

"Five. And how many are you failing in?"

"Four." I moved my ass a picayune bit on the bed. It was the hardest bed I ever sat on. "I passed English language all right," I said, "because I had all that Beowulf and Lord Randal My Son stuff when I was at the Whooton Schoolhouse. I mean I didn't take to practise any work in English at all hardly, except write compositions once in a while."

He wasn't even listening. He inappreciably ever listened to y'all when you said something.

"I flunked you lot in history because yous knew admittedly zilch."

"I know that, sir. Male child, I know it. You couldn't aid it."

"Absolutely nix," he said over again. That'south something that drives me crazy. When people say something twice that mode, later on y'all admit it the first time. Then he said it three times. "But absolutely nothing. I doubt very much if you opened your textbook even once the whole term. Did you? Tell the truth, male child."

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