Every newscast, every newspaper carried news of the death of J.D.Salinger this week. If you read news online, there were multiple references to the passing of the man who wrote "The Catcher in the Rye", one of the best selling books in past decades. One late night host joked that Salinger who lived a reclucive life, died of teenage angst.
My husband who very, very rarely reads fiction, said he had read it. Our second son who reads mostly sports or political themed books, read it. I read it. Generations of kids read it as an assigned book in high school.
I confess I vaguely remember the book. I recall the character, Holden Caufield, running away from his prep school to New York and that the book was about adolescent turmoil. Fifty years have passed since I picked up the novel. I doubt it was required reading at the Catholic girls school I attended. Since I don't recall a great deal of angst during my coming of age years, it probably wasn't a pivotal book for me.
Death makes people more famous and people curious about their work. An online check of availability of the book at the local library shows the queue is ten deep waiting for a copy. I won't request it. At this point in my life I am more interested in ham on rye.
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