Catcher in the Rye

Catcher in the Rye

By J.D. Salinger

Note #1: Never seen that cover, but I'd love to have a copy of it.

I've been a little reticent about writing a blogpost about Catcher in the Rye. It seems a little personal. Of all the books I've read, Catcher in the Rye and I have the closest relationship. It is not my favorite book ever written but it is close and it is the book I have read the most often (I think the last reading was my twelfth or something). I feel like I'm a bit too close to this story to write anything remotely coherent in blogpost so I'll refrain from that. But I can tell you exactly how my relationship with Holden Caulfield has changed over my years of reading.

I picked up my first copy of Catcher in the Rye at a used bookstore in Campbellville, Ontario when I was 16 years old. It was in an Anything for a Quarter box sitting outside the shop and didn't even have a cover. At the time I was only vaguely aware of the book as something iconic but I think the appeal lay solely in the fact that it was the only book in that box that wasn't a fifteen year old computer manual and I had a quarter in my pocket so... why the hell not, right?

Upon first reading, I didn't get it. It all seemed to be about some dumb, horny kid who doesn't care about school, goes to New York, does a bunch of weird stuff in a few bars, goes to a museum, then gets sick. I remember finishing and wondering what all the fuss was about. I also told myself that was the last time I would ever read that nonsense.

A couple of years later I found myself without a book to read or money in which to buy one (18 year old me does not use libraries). It was the summer before university and I wanted to intellectualalate and academicize myself before my sojourn into the world of higher education. For whatever, reason, the book clicked with me on that second reading. Perhaps it was because I had a couple of years under my belt and I had gone and done weird things myself (Sadly, none of them involved prostitutes in seedy hotel rooms). I found myself empathizing with Holden in a way I could not have a couple years prior. While I couldn't exactly understand his aversion to school or growing up, I could totally understand a lot of what made him tick. He was a kid who didn't get all this adult stuff. I totally understood what he was getting at. Holden was a telling it like it was. Adults were all fake and, while I didn't much care for his disregard for education, I could identify with his passionate dislike for those in positions of power.

I didn't pick the book up again for a decade. It wasn't until my first year in Taiwan that I returned to the football field of Pencey Prep. At the age of 28 I wanted to reach into the novel and slap the living daylights out of Holden. He seemed to me to be a sniveling, whiny, entitled little snot of a kid who, granted may have lost his brother and may have the most uncaring parents on the planet, but he just didn't seem to see all the advantages he was being given. He was allowing so much to slip through his fingers. He had no idea how hard it was all going to be once he was really out of school and none of these well-meaning people like Mr. Antolini and Mr. Spencer would be around to try and help him. I fell hard for Phoebe on this reading. I felt terrible for her and the influence he seemed to have on her. This reading really made me think about my own relationship with my own sister and how I might have warped her.

I've picked the book up over a half dozen times over the last three years as I have found it is a particularly excellent book to teach to Taiwanese high school students. The vocabulary isn't difficult (Holden has a very limited vocabulary) and the kids seem to relate to Holden's angst about school, parents, growing up and life in general. The students and I have a ball discussing and analyzing the bit when Holden describes his dream job of being the catcher in the rye who stops children from running off the cliff into the abyss. It is perhaps the best example of metaphor I have ever used as a teacher since it can be interpreted in so many interesting ways.

As for me, my recent readings of the novel have softened my opinion on Holden. I don't want to tear out his trachea anymore. In fact, I find that I have an unlimited ability to pity him. Talking and slapping would never do Holden any good, anyway. He's got the world figured out and there's very little anyone around him is going to say or do to tell him otherwise (Mr. Antolini comes closest but blows it by being A) drunk and B) creepy). I feel bad, but Holden is the sort that is going to have to learn life's lessons the hard way.

To me, Holden is and remains entirely disconnected from the world around him. He, at no point during the relation of the narrative, recognizes that he represents so many of the qualities he describes as phony. He is both a child and a man and totally disaffected. He's completely innocent and understands nothing about the world that is rapidly changing around him. He is caught up in a maelstrom of emotions and trauma, most likely stemming from Allie's death and cannot seem to move forward with his life. His academic, social and eventual physical failure are entirely due to his refusal to grow up despite the fact that everyone and everything around him is screaming at him to do just that. And after all the madman stuff that happened around that Christmas, he learns exactly what you should be expecting him to learn.... Absolutely nothing.

Like no other character in literature, Holden simply breaks my heart every time I read his story.

At this point, when I read Catcher in the Rye I find myself asking a very singular question: What became of Holden?

Son of Rage and Love

Son of Rage and Love

By Thomas Raymond

A couple of weeks back when I reviewed the Hunger Games I got a little nasty on the subject of Young Adult fiction. I didn't (and still won't) say that I dislike the genre, but it bores me to tears more often than not. A few days later I got an email from Thomas Raymond, the author of the YA novel The Son of Rage and Love. Raymond agreed with me on many of my points about the formulaic nature of YA novels and assured me that his novel was different.

Turns out he was right. (Well, he would know... he wrote it, after all).

The Son of Rage and Love is about Daniel the 12 year-old son of an irresponsible C-list celebrity named Maya. Due to her career (and drinking problems), Daniel and his sister are being raised by their over-bearing grandmother. Daniel has been diagnosed as ADHD and takes medication to maintain his mood though the pills he takes cause all sorts of side effects such as hallucinations and paranoia. A steady diet of television, video games and structured time-wasting organized by his materialistic grandmother keeps Daniel out of trouble. Daniel's sister has spent years in therapy in order to prepare her for the career in acting she does not want. Needless to say, the sedated calm (or fog, as Daniel refers to it) that envelopes the household is a virtual prison for Daniel and his sister. That is, until a publicity gaffe forces Maya to adopt a precocious 13 year-old Haitian orphan named Jean-Maurice in order to rescue her ailing career. That's when the house of cars comes tumbling down.

The Son of Rage and Love is a breath of fresh air in the YA fiction genre for a few reasons. First and foremost, there are no wizards or vampires and it doesn't take place in a dystopian future. The protagonist does not possess a superpower and the ending is not a neither a neat little ball nor the launching point for a sequel. In fact, The Son of Rage and Love has more in common with Ken Kesey's celebrated novel One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and anything published in the Young Adult genre over the past few years. That's a step in the right direction, if you ask me.

In the Grandmother, Raymond has created an antagonist for the ages. Part Nurse Ratched, part Joan Crawford a la Mommy Dearest, the Grandmother is so unlikeable that the reader would cheer for Voldemort himself to strike her down. I'm always on the lookout for strong, memorable characters and if this book had one it was Grandmother (though I must admit that I have strong affinities toward bad guys). Sometimes a novel needs an over-the-top antagonist to tie all the themes together in a nice little package. Daniel's grandmother is precisely that character.

But the real reason this book succeeds is the themes it addresses throughout, many of which affected me personally as many of them are precisely the reasons why I have decided to live overseas, away from North America. Raymond explores the issues of over-medication (and unnecessary medication) of children and adolescents, the slippery slope of child psychology, the perils of a sedentary lifestyle, the cult of celebrity, the pratfalls of the Nouveau rich, alcoholism, pornography, latent violence, loneliness and social isolation. By introducing a character from a third world nation Raymond makes the unique decision to magnify the problems in North America rather than focus on the problem of poverty in Haiti. Not that poverty in Haiti isn't a problem, but having Jean-Maurice juxtapose a life in poverty against the complex anxieties of modern living in America is a novel approach.

Without being heavy-handed, Raymond weaves these concepts into the narrative. There is no preaching. There is no editorializing. These problems just are, as they would be in Daniel's life. And since Daniel's existence is both limited and encompassed in a narcotic haze, one cannot expect him to have strong opinions about his life (or anyone else's for that matter). Daniel is smart enough to understand that these problems exist but like most normal 12 year-olds not named Harry Potter or Katniss, he feels (and ultimately is) powerless to do anything about them.

What I think this novel delivers is a dose of critical thinking to young readers. Raymond has forced his readers to look at their own lives and the lives of their friends and family. Are we over-medicating our youth? Are were over psycho-analyzing our youth? If so, for whose benefit? Our kids or ourselves? Do we focus too much on the cult of celebrity? Why do their personal lives matter so much to us? The list of questions Raymond attempts to raise is interesting and IO wonder whether this would be an interesting book to study with a class of 11 or 12 year old kids.

If I had one complaint about the novel is that Raymond is long on the set up and a bit short on the follow-through. At 159 pages, The Son of Rage and Love could have been a little longer if it meant a bit more focus on the climax. I felt that the novel ended just a bit too abruptly and would have liked a little more in terms of elaboration. Still, I appreciate that this novel attempts to deal with adolescent adventure in a more realistic fashion and often reality isn't the storybook ending we expect after hundreds of hours of television, movies and video games. So, it's all good.

Anyway, if you are a fan of YA fiction (or even if you aren't) check this one out. Even if you aren't it has enough elements of classic adult fiction to keep you going. As I mentioned before there was so much about this book that reminded me of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest and if that isn't endorsement enough, I don't know what is.

One word review: Refreshing.

The Hunger Games

The Hunger Games

By Suzanne Collins

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen to the very last blog post about the Hunger Games on the Internet! After over 100,000,000 reviews and blog posts since its publication in 2008, The Hunger Games has finally reached the most distant corner of the earth (where I am) and cyberspace (um... where I am). Message to Suzanne Collins: This is the end of the line, sister! It's all downhill from here. Once I've got my grubby hands on something you can be damned sure that you have reached saturation point.

I feel sort of funny about this blog post given that I am not going to cover any new ground concerning this epic dystopian best-seller and I'm not going to waste time summarizing the plot. If you are reading this I can infer that either A) you have read it and want to read what I have to say or B) have not read it, have no intention of reading it and stumbled upon this blog by some strange configuration of keywords involving zombies. Sorry Mr. B, there will be no zombies in this blog post.

I am also not going to spend a lot of time talking about how Collins has liberally collected her inspiration from other sources: most obviously Stephen King's short story The Running Man, the Greek myth of Theseus and insipid reality television. This is common enough knowledge and hardly ground-breaking territory. And while I'm not going to attempt to compare The Hunger Games to a Greek myth, Suzanne Collins did an admirable job of updating and improving King's premise for a younger audience. Nice work, Ms. Collins!

Long story short: I liked The Hunger Games. I didn't love it, but it was really good (I stayed up really late twice to finish it). I didn't much enjoy the love story. I would have preferred a more ruthless Katniss winning the games on her own but this is YA fiction and there really must be some remnants of humanity. I thought the love story really hampered the book, slowed it down to a crawl in a few places and compromised the ending enough that I'm not at all excited about reading the second book, but I digress. I'm not here to talk about The Hunger Games. We're all sick of that.

So let's stir up a little controversy, shall we?

I thought that this would be a perfect opportunity to weigh in about Joel Stein's controversial editorial entitled "Adults Should Read Adult Books," that appeared in the New York Times a few months ago where he railed against adults who read Young Adult (YA) fiction. In his now infamous editorial, Stein writes that "the only thing more embarrassing than catching a guy on the plane looking at pornography on his computer is seeing a guy on the plane reading The Hunger Games.” and goes on to note that he’ll "read The Hunger Games when {he} finishes the previous 3,000 years of fiction written for adults."

First, I like Joel Stein. I make a point of reading his column in Time. I like his sense of humor and his Jesse Ventura-esque attitude of calling 'em like he sees 'em. It's that attitude that has won him a lot of fans (like myself) and quite a few detractors, most notably after a column about immigration in which he lamented the influx of Indians into his hometown. Certainly Joel Stein is no stranger to controversy, but one has to admire his willingness to say things other might not have the gumption to say. Few writers in this day in age will do that, and that's a shame. A little controversy never hurt anyone.

Second, I must admit that I rarely read Young Adult fiction. I simply don't enjoy it. I remember when I was a young adult (back in the late 80s and early 90s), I made the jump from children's books to adult novels pretty quickly. I found that YA novels (at the time, possibly) were insulting to my intelligence and tended to gloss over issues I was interested in reading such as pain, loss, misery and other jovial subjects that 13 year old boys love to read about. I have always hated the happy ending (my mother calls me morbidly masochistic and I'm inclined to agree with her). It's hard to find a Beverly Cleary book where everyone dies at the end. I don't like YA fiction.

Still, I have read my share of it. I've read all the Harry Potter novels, the first Twilight (though you'd have to administer the Ludovico Technique to get me to read any more of that drivel), a bunch of Louis Sachar and a few others I can't recall at the moment and don't have the energy to go find. I've enjoyed a few of them as well. But they are what they are. Short books intended for a less-mature audience that tend to have formulaic narratives. If I read two or three of these in a row, I'd go bonkers. But I don't like romance novels or Tolkien-style fantasy either, so it's just a personal preference and not a declaration of war. Relax.

All that hat being said, Stein's editorial really enflamed the ire of readers, especially readers of YA fiction and especially the adult readers of YA fiction. There was a tempest in a teacup for a few days concerning Stein's comments and I simply couldn't understand why.

This is how I felt about Stein's editorial: I laughed. I laughed in the same way one laughs when someone says something funny about their nationality ("Canadians are the new Americans") or job ("those who can't do, teach"). I laughed in the same way when my sister calls me a nerd and tells me the only reason I have a blog is because I miss writing book reports in high school. I'm a grown man who likes zombie movies, cheesy 80s metal and stupid computer games, all of which, I must admit, are easy targets. In other words, lighten up people! It's only Joel Stein! The last time I looked, Joel Stein wields no more or less power over the media than anyone else, bloggers included. His opinion matters as much as mine or yours. No need to get the feathers ruffled. He's making fun of you, and you deserve it! Like Trekkies, Comicon attendees, evangelical Christians, and English teachers in Asia everyone is susceptible to a little ribbing. It's healthy. Because if we can't make fun of ourselves, what else is there?

For the record, I disagree with Stein on his point. I remember when I worked in publishing a few years back, the statistic that got bandied about was that 30% of the population (in Canada) buy 95% of all books. I'm bastardizing that statistic something fierce, but the point remains: Not enough people read. With television, Internet, video games and any number of other distractions competing for our leisure attention, books, which are a longer and more intellectually demanding form of recreation, are a huge investment over the instantaneous gratification that comes from other forms of entertainment. Books are a hard sell.

So I'm of the opinion that anything, ANYTHING that gets people to pick up a book and read is an improvement over no book at all. If that means the 43-year old father of three has his nose in Twilight on the subway rides to and from the office (while moving his mouth while he reads), so be it. He's reading! That's great! If a 60-year old librarian from Poughkeepie, New York is neck deep in the Percy Jackson series, am I going to laugh at her? No. I'm not like that. Is it OK for Joel Stein to laugh at her? Sure. Why not? I mean the man wrote for Martha Stewart for Pete's sake! There's no living that down.

But that's not the point. The point is, we all need to lighten up. Unless you are involved in The Hunger Games in which case, keep your head on and for the love of God, don't light a fire!

The Phantom Tollbooth

The Phantom Tollbooth

By Norton Juster

This was a "desperation book."

Let me explain. As a resident of a small town on a non-English speaking island in Asia, I rely on a variety of factors to get books in my hands. Whether it is trips to the big city, shipments from home, overseas orders or loans from friends, getting books is not as simple as walking into the local bookstore and finding my next read. As of the writing of this blog post, there are no English bookstores within 300 km of my house.

All is not entirely lost for this forgotten little town. I'm helping amass books for an English library in town. Great for the English readers in town, but not so much for me. A quick glance through the 800 books we have collected reveals that I have either read them or they are written by Sophie Kinsella or Stephanie Meyer. Sure, I get first crack at new donations, but donations are few and far between, and one has to fill the hours of reading between boxes of books. I don't care what you think. It will be a cold day in hell before I read Eat, Pray, Love.

Yeah, I know. I might be the quintessential target market for the Kindle or E-Reader. I could download books and never worry about availability. I know. It'll probably happen, but I'm resisting. I like the way books smell and feel. Until they can recreate the aroma and texture of the book, I'm staying with paper.

So anyway...

I keep a personal reading pile at home. It's a small shelf. I go through deluge and dearth. Sometimes I have 8-10 books on my shelf that I can't wait to read. Other times I have nothing on hand whatsoever. Currently I have three. Since I have a rule that I always start a book on the same day I finish one, book availability can be problematic. Case in point, The Phantom Tollbooth.

I finished my previous book rather unexpectedly a few days back. I was out of the house and wouldn't be back until late, but I wasn't busy (I like far enough out of town to make return trips home very inconvenient). I had a few hours to kill between classes and whatnot and I was completely want for something to read. Since the cereal boxes in my town are written in Chinese and I haven't seen an English newspaper in a 7-11 in a few years, I was caught in desperate measures.

I scanned through the books at the library. Absolutely nothing stood out to me as something I could sit down and read on a hot summer day. Try as I might, I could not muster the energy to open The Pickwick Papers or The World Is Flat. I wandered out of the library and into my classroom where I noticed a forgotten copy of The Phantom Tollbooth.

A student of mine had brought it in and asked if I had ever read it. I hadn't. He noted that it seemed good, but he had had a hard time understanding it as a second language learner. He has subsequently left it in class and gone on vacation for a couple of weeks, so I picked it up.

My rationale was that if The Phantom Tollbooth truly did suck, it was a quick read with illustrations along the way. I'd be through the book in no time, but it would take me long enough to get home and pick up one of the remaining books on my reading shelf (which is depleting at an alarming rate, I might add). A stopgap solution.

I should mention that I don't read a lot of children's fiction. Sure, I like Roald Dahl and Louis Sachar and I admit that I did love the Harry Potter series but I'm not one of those adults fixated on YA fiction. No arrested development here. I prefer a good Salman Rushdie to Redwall any day. But I'm no book snob. In desperate times, I'll read (almost) anything and I realize that YA fiction is an essential genre for instilling kids with the habit of reading (although I think the genre has wholly too many vampires). It just doesn't interest me anymore. Imagine that. YA fiction not suitable for old man. Shocking developments in cultural anthropology.

So I read The Phantom Tollbooth.

It's a book I probably should have read when I was younger, but it somehow snuck past me through my childhood and adolescence. It's the sort of book I would have devoured at the age of ten or eleven when I was reading in trees and eating grass. Lots of word play (maybe a bit too much Mr. Juster... I think you think kids know more than they actually do), some cool characters, a plot that rambles on unconcerned with tying up loose ends (what happened to Faintly Macabre?) and a hero named Milo (that's my dog's name!). It's also got some really nice illustrations by Jules Feiffer and a map. Books with maps are almost always awesome.

Do I recommend this book? If you are ten or eleven years-old and wear glasses and don't fit in at school and like reading a lot and really like The BFG and think puns are funny? Yes. If you aren't ten or eleven years-old and don't mistakingly wear your pajamas to school and enjoy going to work and prefer reading in armchairs and really liked Cloud Atlas and think irony is funny then you have probably read this book a few times under other names. It's not as good this time.

Sometimes, revisiting your childhood makes you realize why growing up was actually a pretty cool thing after all.

Nice book. No thanks.