I think there’s a moment in your life when you need to have read Catcher in the Rye to have appreciated it: not too early, as I did in high school, when being the relatively perfect student that I was, I easily dismissed Holden Caulfield as a lazy, good for nothing rebel; nor too late, as in now, when I can easily dismiss him as naive, too young and idealistic.
You read it at that point in your life——or in my case, re-read as a rebel student in college——during which the world goes beyond the four corners of your classroom and you question having a perfect attendance or being prepared for surprise exams as a measure of self-worth. That exact point, during which the world revolves around you and your dreams alone and not around having to earn your keep.
You read it while you are on that brink of finally deciding, for the first time in your life, who you are going to be.
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