The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
I have a helluva lot of trouble just finding what I want to read, for God's sake, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I keep looking around the house, waiting for a good book to show up. Finally, on the piano bench, I see a copy of The Catcher in the Rye, written by some moron who used to try to give the time to Joyce Maynard. I started reading it, and I thought "This book stinks" and kept on. What a phoney. I had a couple of Scotch and sodas, and kept reading about this guy who was being kicked out of some terrible school. He would sweet talk the mothers of his classmates (how nauseating!) when he was taking the train to NYC, and and then went to some cheap hotels and dive bars and was trying to make time with some girls and failing. That killed me.
And then he goes home and talks to his 10 year old sister Old Phoebe about the teachers that would make him puke; that they were such phonies, thinking they were goddam princes or something. And then he started to cry, and went over to one of his old teachers place, and he was a flit and then he was downtown and it was almost Christmas and a million little kids were downtown with their mothers and he went to a movie, and it was so putrid he couldn't take his eyes off it. And every time he stepped off a goddam curb he started thinking about his dead brother, and he met up with Old Phoebe and she rode the carrousel and she looked so damn nice the way she kept going around and around in her blue coat and all.
And that's all I'm going to tell about. If you want to know the truth, I don't know what I think about it.