Compairing J.D. Salinger and Holden Caulfield

J.D. Salinger (author of The Catcher in the Rye) and Holden Caulfield (protagonist of The Catcher in the Rye) have many unique similarities. Some examples of these similarities include: they both wanted to live reclusively, they were both unsure about their own religious beliefs, they had influential English teachers, and neither did well in school.
J.D. Salinger and Holden Caulfield both wanted to live reclusively. After the success, controversies, and general attention that involved his main novel, The Catcher in the Rye, Salinger opted to abandon nearly everything and live reclusively. He managed to convince Claire Douglas, who later became his wife, to go along with him. Salinger did not participate in an interview for the last thirty years of his life. In Holden’s case, he wanted to live reclusively but he never achieved it entirely – he was not physically a recluse, but through his thoughts he was one. His desire to physically become a recluse was portrayed through the fantasies that he had. The first one involved taking Sally Hayes with him and living in a cabin next to a forest. The second one was a lot like the first one, with the exceptions that he does not take Sally with him, he pretends to be deaf-mute (in order to not interact with society), and if by any chance he gets married and has kids, he would hide the kids from society and teach them the simple things that they need to know – such as reading and writing – by himself.
The difficulty that J.D. Salinger and Holden Caulfield have of figuring out their religion is one of their similarities. Salinger’s wife, Claire Douglas, claims that he changed religion quite often. When young, Salinger was taught Judaism but later he found out his parents were not actually Jewish. When an adult, he proceeded to practice many different and rare religions and spiritual beliefs such as Kriya yoga, Christian Science, acupuncture, macrobiotics, and Dianetics. Claire Douglas hypothesized that he changed religions often because “it was to cover the fact that Jerry had just destroyed or junked or couldn't face the quality of, or couldn't face publishing, what he had created." Holden’s struggles to figure out his religion where introduced when he was talking to the nuns. He does not think he is a true Catholic because he never attends church and he hates all of the apostles. However, he has read the Bible, and he does believe in Jesus. Holden’s religious struggles continue even further when he talks about how, for Catholics, it is a mayor difficulty to become friends with someone who is not Catholic like they are.
Another similarity between J.D. Salinger and Holden Caulfield is that they both had very influential English teachers. For J.D. Salinger it was Whit Burnett. He was the instructor of his writing class at Columbia University. Whit Burnett published one of Salinger’s stories in Story magazine, a magazine that Burnett edited for a long time. Whit Burnett mentored J.D. Salinger for many years, but the connection was lost when Salinger was drafted into World War II. For Holden Caulfield, it was Mr. Antolini. Antolini was one of Holden’s teachers when he attended Elkton Hills. Despite leaving Elkton, he kept Mr. Antolini’s number in his address book. After being kicked out of Pencey, Holden calls Antolini and eventually visits him. He provides him with some sage advice on how he must try harder in school, and how he should begin to measure the size of his brain so that he knows what type of thoughts his brain is capable of processing. Although this appeared to be completely overlooked by Holden when he leaves Mr. Antolini’s apartment, Holden began to think about what Mr. Antolini had advised him when he has second thoughts about leaving the apartment thinking Antolini was a flit.
Lastly, J.D. Salinger and Holden Caulfield both struggled to do well in school. The vast majority of J.D. Salinger’s schools attended (eventually dropped out of) came when he was studying in universities, unlike Holden. Salinger was expelled from one school, attended another, and then graduated from high-school. However, when he was enrolled in university, he dropped out in the spring. He later attended four different universities. Holden has attended four different high-schools up to this point, his academic future in terms of if he will be kicked out of his most recent school, is still unknown. Holden was kicked out of Whooton School, Elkton Hills, and most recently, Pencey Prep. According to Mr. Antolini, one of Holden’s former teachers, Holden is a bright student that is capable of accomplishing good grades in school, but he struggles because he does not try hard enough due to the fact that he is surrounded by “phonies,” which can be traced back to the amount of expensive schools that he has attended because of his parents’ wealth.
J.D. Salinger and his infamous character, Holden Caulfield, have various similarities which include the fact that they both lived reclusively, they both struggled to find out their religion, they both had influential English teachers, and they both switched schools often because they didn’t get good grades. With so many similarities between the character of a novel and the author of the novel, it brings us to believe that Holden Caulfield is not such a fictional character after all....

A Boy's Tirade

I was at that bar, right next to the skating rink, when a young man and a girl walked in. I figured the the girl was his date. I heard how he avidly endeavored to persuade his date to live reclusively with him. He spoke in a despicable, brusque manner. He, as you may have noticed, didn't have a very pleaseant disposition.
His date beseached to stop spontaneously yelling in order to extricate herself from the uncomfortable situation. I quickly conjectured that he was a homeless adult, or he was just another teenager that had ran away from home.
Everyone at the bar heard him as he continued his interminable tirade , but at last it was serene. For quite a while, it was silent, as everyone was turning their attention from the young man, towards their own conversations.
To our surprise, the tirade continued. This time, however, it was concise, but far more demeaning. I began to wonder what a fine young woman like her was doing with a guy like that. Boy, I don't understand this generation.

Catcher in the Rye - Waiting for a Goodbye

At the top of Thomsen Hill,
waiting for a goodbye,
a forgotten memory,
a lost picture,
a piece of his life,
fading away.

Ossenberger Hall,
his not-so-sweet home,
where he read,
book after book.

But he was leaving,
once again,
packing his bags,
leave this goddamn place,
school after school.

Book Review: Shattering Glass

Gail Giles’s Shattering Glass is a suspenseful and all around captivating realistic fiction novel that is told from the point of view of Young Steward – a member of a family of doctors, which causes his father to obligate him to take science courses over the much preferred writing ones.
This book is about a group of friends one of them being Rob – the most popular kid in the entire High School. He controls the school as he pleases, if he wants someone to do something for him, he will get them to do it. As he cruises around the school, he notices a kid – Simon Glass, the biggest nerd in the school – and decides to make him popular. This affects Young though, as he sometimes doesn’t agree with Rob, and sometimes he is asked to give up something very valuable to him.
Shattering Glass is a very entertaining novel that will keep you intrigued about what is going to happen. But although the novel does a great job at portraying equality, how High Schools are divided into hierarchies, I didn’t clarify a profound lesson or message. The characters where relatable and realistic; however, some of their actions where out of character.
This is a medium sized book (215 pages) but it is all filled with action and entertaining reads. It has none of those “boring parts,” but it doesn’t take a lot of effort to understand what is going on in the story; therefore, this is a great choice for those who look for a fun, easy-to-understand novel; it takes away all the boring parts out of the book and only consists of the action and excitement. On the other hand, I wouldn’t recommend it for readers looking for a deep message and complex puzzle for one to figure out.

Poetry Friday: My Father

My father,
the comedian,
the short fuse on a bomb
waiting
to explode.
The workhorse,
my companion.

The sage man at the top of the hill,
to whom I resort to for advice.

Because of him,
I try to emulate his jokes,
work hard,
and try to stretch that fuse
just a little bit more
for an extra second
before it explodes.

Memoir Monday: Wild Pitch

It was a cold and barely lit morning. It was 9 A.M but it felt like 5 A.M because it was a weekend. We had a game today, so I was warming up my arm with a teammate. Coach walked towards me and asked, “Have you ever pitched before?”

“No,” I answered.

“Do you dare to try?”

“Sure,” I said. Truth is I had always dreamed of being a pitcher. Ever since I started playing baseball a couple of years ago I had great respect for the position and hoped some day coach would call me upon me to pitch. I had never stood on the mound and delivered a pitch towards home plate during practice. I had once in a pick-up game a year ago, but not once since.

I warmed up with the catcher, he was calm and nice, I looked up to him and had great respect for him because of the elegant way he played. I threw the ball from in front of the mound at first, then from behind, and then I got on it. I threw a couple of strikes that went right down the pipe towards home (four-seem fastballs), some that took a curved down and to the right (two-seem fastballs) in which I accidentally threw with my palm facing outwards, and some that started up and away for a righty which dropped nastily into the down and inside corner (which I wasn’t sure if it would be called a screwball or a sharp sinker).

We batted first, and the first two walked. I came up to the plate and saw four pitches, all balls, and took a base. Two more walks and a hit to short, left field took me from first to home. We batted around, so I came up to bat once again in the same inning. I took another walk, this time on six pitches. A hit to right field moved me to second, and I started for third. The ball beat me to the base for so much I turned around and prayed they would make a mistake.

The third baseman threw it to second, making me stop, and try for third again. It got to a point where I was five feet from third (and the third baseman), and the shortstop (and the ball) where five feet to the other side of me. If the shortstop tried to tag me, I would just run for third and hope for the best. If he threw it to third I would go back to second and continue the rundown. He did neither, and I inched closer to the bag until I was at a distance where I thought it was safe to make a break for it. I took off and slid feet first. The rocks of the infield scraped my leg, and I accidentally laid my weight on my arm. I was called safe, and the runner from first got to second. This I would call a heads-up play. My arm throbbed in pain. It wasn’t a scrape or a bruise. It was the bone. I came home on another hit, and sat in the dugout hoping I would feel better.

It didn’t feel much better, and now I had to pitch. I was given a couple of warm-up throws but my arm was failing me. I was pounded in the inning, mostly thanks to the first baseman because he couldn’t make rather two-out play that would have ended the inning with low damage. Instead they scored six runs on that. Another play was flunked by the first baseman and I got furious. I yelled a couple of phrases at him, nothing rude but I do admit it wasn’t on the best tone of voice. On the next play I got the batter to pop-up and thank god the first baseman wasn’t there fielding because I swear he would have dropped it.

I learned that even if you learn fast or think you can do something, you can’t do something in a game that you have never practiced. Also, luck can get the best of you in situations that matter the most.

Poetry Friday: My sister

I lie down in my bed,

And memories of her are evoked.

I remember how she would walk in my room,

And we would rant about anything, or everything.

She would tell me stories,

Some funny,

some sad,

and some a little bit of both.

I remember…

I remember the times she drove me to school,

Listening to music,

And singing along to our favorite tunes,

At the top of our lungs,

Wanting people to listen to us.

I remember…

I remember the times we would watch movies together,

Staying up late,

Listening to it on headphones,

Not wanting to alert my parents.

We would laugh and joke,

Repeating lines from the movie,

and laughing some more.

I remember…

I remember the inside jokes we had,

Which only we

would understand.

We would show them off to everyone like a new pair of shoes,

Telling them over and over again,

And then burst out laughing,

Leaving them puzzled.

I remember…

I remember…

I know that I am here,

And you are there,

But you will always be

My sister.