Author J.D. Salinger died of natural causes today in his home in Cornish, New Hampshire at age 91. The notoriously reclusive author was renowned for his limited bibliography, including Franny and Zooey, Nine Stories, and especially Catcher in the Rye. In exploring the thoughts of rebellious teen Holden Caulfield, Salinger crafted the quintessential literary work on the angst of modern youths.
The influence of Catcher in the Rye has extended deep into the world of cinema, as well. Since the novel’s 1951 release, any number of films centered on an existential youth owes a debt to the tale of Holden Caulfield, including Rebel Without a Cause, The 400 Blows, The Last Picture Show, Ordinary People, Chasing Amy, Rushmore, The Squid & the Whale, Adventureland and countless others.
Though there has never been a film adaptation, the novel has inspired many attempts by such filmmakers as Sam Goldwyn, Billy Wilder, Elia Kazan, and Steven Spielberg as well as actors Marlon Brando, Jerry Lewis, Jack Nicholson, Tobey Maguire, and Leonardo DiCaprio. As a testament to the iconic character’s legacy, John Cusack reportedly lamented, upon turning twenty-one, that he was now too old to play Holden Caulfield.
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So sad! My favorite book, King Dork by Frank Portman, wouldn't have existed without Catcher in the Rye:
“Oh wait: I should mention that The Catcher in the Rye is this book from the fifties.
It is every teacher’s favorite book. The main guy is a kind of misfit kid superhero named Holden Caulfield. For teachers, he is the ultimate guy, a real dreamboat. They love him to pieces. They all want to have sex with him, and with the book’s author, too, and they’d probably even try to do it with the book itself if they could figure out a way to go about it. It changed their lives when they were young. As kids, they carried it with them everywhere they went. They solemnly resolved that, when they grew up, they would dedicate their lives to spreading The Word.
It’s kind of like a cult.
They live for making you read it. When you do read it you can feel them all standing behind you in a semi-circle wearing black robes with hoods, holding candles. They’re chanting “Holden, Holden, Holden…” And they’re looking over your shoulder with these expectant smiles, wishing they were the ones discovering the earth-shattering joys of Catcher in the Rye for the very first time.”
Farewell to the man who polluted the literary psycho-sphere with the sociopathic trappings of Holden Caulfield and good riddance to him (to which do I refer, all of you who-no doubt, are railing and rallying against one with the wherewithall to state the obvious-might inquire: the man or the myth?). My condolences to Mr. Salinger's family and loved ones, though through some knot of the Faites, I was spared the middle-school brainwashing of CIA indoctrination into obsessive adoration of “Catcher in the Rye.” Strange, that, at this exact instant, I feel an almost unavoidable urge to stop at the next booksellers shop I see and purchase myself a ragged copy of Salinger's “Catcher.”
And burn it.
You sir, are a sheep. A moronic narrow minded fool who can't see past his own nose.
You sir, are a sheep. A moronic narrow minded fool who can't see past his own nose.