Plenty of reminiscence this week about the passing of J.D. Salinger, much of it in the vein of what Catcher in the Rye meant to me . . . While I hate to follow the crowd, I must admit that when I heard the news, I turned instinctively to my bedside table. There was my copy of Catcher, in full view and the only book there. It is a pocketbook edition; maroon cover, yellow title, yellowed pages. Old book smell.
Not sure how long it has been on the nightstand, the last time I read it lying in bed, or in fact when I first read this book and it (must have) influenced my whole world view. I mean, that must be what happened, because there it is, a fundamental piece of my personal mythology and moral landscape, and the volume I turn to when I need a little inspiration before falling asleep.